Lost Chapter - Eʀʀᴏʀ.606: F̺̩̩il̄̚e͖͙̳͍̒̏͘ ̠̼̤̲̐̄̌̄̈̇ͫN͕̹͚̦̜̠̄͗͑ͬ̇̋͠ö̤͈̺̆̈́ͅt̨ͩ͗̂ ͥ̈ͥF̯̭͕̹̱͈͔͞o̻ͬ̾ͬu̫̫ͣ̄n̰̹̲̰͈̅ͣͧ̿̚͝d̪̖͉̾

[b]012.0 | Archive Ref #: b12.-216-X(L)-m01 | [b]13.0 

  After the last two occasions of having my documents, pilfered, mistreated or destroyed, I decided to begin digitizing some of my more precious documents. I believed that it would make my information more secure, since I have a password protected laptop, and I kept the files within an encrypted file.
  However, just three days ago I was scanning several more images to add to the file, when I realized that I couldn’t add the new files. It said there was an unknown file error. I opened the file, and the computer froze. My laptop was infected with an insidious virus. It took me half a day, but I managed to clear up some of the malware with several free virus-cleaning programs I found online and run the computer in safe mode so I could save some of the files to a USB, but then I had to format the laptop. I lost all of those files, But this contains all the data that I could resurrect from that USB of corrupted files.

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The Duke held his hands up to his face, but as his hands moved, the leather sleeves of his coat shuffled and whipped as though underwater.  “No . . .”
The Duke threw his hands down to stop the ship, but it was as though he was swimming through treacle. He grabbed the handbrake and twisted it sharply, then reached up for the ignition lever, but it was like he was pushing through mud. Then sand. Then stone . . . slowing slowing, the grinding was so slow, it sounded like a low growl. Then, stopped.
The Duke tried to look left and right, but time was almost entirely frozen; the attempt made his eyes hurt as though he was in a wind tunnel, the air was like a solid. He tried to blink, but it took a minute just for them to close.
“How is this possible? My body has slowed, but my mind is still as swift as ever,” thought the Duke. “I’ve never encountered something like this before.”
As his eyes finally managed to open, there was a ding. The Duke wanted to turn around, but couldn’t. He was frozen in increasingly slowed time. All he could see was a bright rectangle of white light that shone from the door as someone entered the console room, with the sound of slow, determined footsteps.
That’s impossible. Nothing survives within the vortex, let alone something with two legs.
There was a soft scrape as the feet came to a stop, a few metres behind the Duke. There was a light click, a creak of leather, then the person spoke.
  “.͠ .͞ ͟. ̶Duk̷e,͝ ̷is̨ i̸t̀? ̨O͏r is̢ ͟i͜t́ '̛T͏h͜e̶'̷ Dukę?̡” asked the man, his voice sounded hoarse and dry, and his cadence was slow, as though he hesitated for a slight moment before each word. “I ne͜v̨er̀ c͢an͝ ̛qui̶t͞e ̸t́e̕ll.̡"Ỳo͜ur͠ ̶file ̛says͠ 'R͢h́o to̢ th͝e Fir̶s̴t,̴ T̛he͜t̴a-Eta ͝to the̴ Zero̧t͠h͘', ͢bu͠t ̵also Rat́h'ḩe; Doog͏h; Second;͝ Èǹd͜e̷r a̶n͢d̴ .͟ ͡.͞ ͝. ͞Mo͏r̢p̕h̡eús.́”
The Duke couldn’t respond. Any reply would take a week for him to speak, so he didn’t even try.
  “I͟ do ͞apólog̢ìze ̸f̴or̵ t͜h͞e ͏i̡ǹc͞o͠nven̨ienćé, but w̛e hąve app͜lie͝d ̡a͢ chr͏o͞n̸o͢l̷ogi̸ca̡l̸ ͟s͠u͜spensi̡on͜ o̴n͝ thi͠s tran̷s͠p̕ort̴ ͟and̷ its͜ ̡o̴ccưp͘a̶n͏t͞s.̷ ͜I͞t͞ ͡is ne̸c̢e͜ss͘ary̕ ̕foŕ ̀me̶ t͞o͟ s̵p̀èa̸ḱ ͜w̵it͜h yo͞u͝, ̶but͞ ͞ẁe have̶ ̴c̡a̵l̷cul̀at͘ed that,̵ w͡ere ͘yo̵u͟ t̵o̕ t͢a̧l̴k͝ ͘dùrįng ̧th̵is̡ ͏pre͜l͢imi̷nar̛y c͠o̡nve̛r̡sàt̡i͞o͡n͏ it͡ wou͝l̡d͜ mąk̡ȩ ͝oúr ͟m͡e̡s̷sag̡e͝ ̷m̢u͠ch ́le̸ss ̀eff̶ici͟e͠n͠t.͞”
There were further footsteps as the man walked around the console, the Duke looked to the left, waiting for the nerve endings to send the signal to his eyes, as the man moved around him. As the man entered the periphery of his vision, he saw that he was a white man wearing a grey business suit and had silver hair that was cropped short, and wore glasses, but he only saw the side of his face, but in his left hand the Duke saw a shiny metal briefcase.
  “I ͘r̕e̢pr̴e͜s̛e͏n͝t a ͠.̷ .̕ ̴.͢ ̷d̶épartmęnt ͏o͠f͟ ͟įnd̷i͝vidu͡al̕s̨ thàt, ͞on ̀occa̸s̛i͘o̵ǹ, ov͏erl͝o͝o͠k ̢wha͞t ͢goes͘ ́o̡n͢ ̧i̶ǹ ̀t̡ḩi͠s ͟p͏art̛ o͢f͢ the ͡c͡ont͝inu̶um.̵ ̸W͞e ̕do͟ ̴ơc̕ca͞s͢i͞on͘a̡lly ̀i̸n̨terac̢t, but ̸our͠ ͟du̢t͢ies ͞t̸end̛ to͝war̶d ̶a͢ mǫr̨e m̛án̶ager͞ial rơle,̶ ̶le̶ss ̸haǹd́s-́on̢. H͘owevęr͟,̴ w̛e h̛a͡ve͟ som͝e co̕mpe͞t̸i͘t̢ors̸ ͡in ̧t̵h̕is ͘re͜al̡i̛t̀y w̡hich͝ w̕e ͞h̶av̧e sou̶g̷ht tơ ov͘erp̕òwe͠r̴. Un̛f͟ortu͝na̷tely fo̢r ̕ųs, th̵e͡y ͢t̡e̡n̨d͢ t͡o͘ ͟plày͠ d͏irt͟y̴, of́ten ḑo͠n’t̶ fo͟llow ͜th͘e͞ . ̛. .̡ rules̡.͏ ̀W̶e͠ ̧beli̶e̸v̧e ͝yoų hàve͏ ̶m͘et ͢s͞ǫme ͏of ̸th͢eiŗ ͘r̴e̷prȩsen̵ta͠t̷i͘v̸es̸.̨ Ļ̷̶̸̵a̴̵͢͢͜C̕͞ŕ̵̷̢͠ớ͝͏̸i͘͟x̸̴͜ and K̕͢͜r͏͡͠i̡҉͡͠m̸̡i̕͜͝n͏̛҉̕e̶̵̡̢l̨͟.̀ You͡ ͢m̴ay kn̕ow̛ ́th͢em̨ ̧as L̶akwa, Gra͘n͏ ̸Gŗo͜k͢o or ̴Bo̵s̵s C͞r̨os͏s͞;̢ ͜a͟nḑ, ̕B̵aw̴on Cr̀ook̕,̛ ͝Cr̶im͜in͞al ͏or ͜thé ͞Ba͟ron̢,͟ ̨rèspeçtiv͠el͠y̴.̛”
“The Baron?” thought the Duke, “That name . . . the man who tortured Sylvia D’ath called himself the Baron, the man who made her regenerate . . .”
  “T͏hese͜ ͡ìńdivid͏u̕als are m͟embe̴ŕş of ͝a̶ ́larger͡ ͟am̶al͡g̶am͡a̢te͠d gro͠úp ͠wh͝i͏c͢h ͘t͘hre͡atens ̴not only ͡our̛ inte̸r͠e̢s̕tś, bu̵t ͢al̡s͘o ͡the li͞b͢e̷r̶ty͞ of͠ ̡a͢ļl t͠he̕ s͏ta͟ke͘hol͏d̢e͡rs o̸f̢ ͘this̛ r̨eali͞ţy.”
The businessman turned to look at the Duke across the console, and for the first time, the Duke saw his eyes. The businessman looked human for the most part, although he wore a dour face. But his eyes, despite resting behind a trendy pair of frameless, rectangular glasses, were a piercing, bright yellow. “Yo̢ur in̵te͜rfe͢r͠ence in̛ thi͏s̢ ma̷t͟t̀er ͟has͜ n͠o̕t̀ ̵go̵ne ͞unnot͝ićed,̶ ànd ̶w͞e͝ ̡w̸ȩre͜ at́ firśt̷ u͘n͞s̡e͞t͠tle̢d̴ ̢b̢y ͢yo̵ųr activìtie̛s ̷w͝he̴n̷ ͠y̨ou̕r ̵p͡át̵h̴ś ͘cr̵óssed ̀with ͘th̸o͢s̴e̶ of ̸o̧u͞r͟ com͏pe͝tito͝rs ͡.̸ ̷. ̵.̶ ͡bu͝t ͜a͞f̸ter ćar̵e͡ful͟ ́r̶ev͘i̡ȩw, we̴ ́h̨a͝ve decla̶réd y͡oúr̷ resu̶l̷ts t̛o͞ ́b̡e ̷.̧ . . im̵pre͠s͢śi̴ve. Y̧o͞u̧ ̀h͞a̧ve ̢prov̢e͟n̶ ͠your͜se͏l̵f̛ ͝to̡ ́be ̕a ͏val̸ùabĺe̛ as̢set̀,̛ D̢̀̀u̢͟͏̴k̵̸̡̕e̷̸̡҉̸.͝”
The businessman then walked forward, through the console, but not intangibly. As he stepped forward his legs seemed to stretch to the side. To the Duke, it looked as though he were a holographic projection whose lower half was clipping and glitching along the texture of the console, the image of his legs wrapping like a coloured shadow as it was emitted from the corner of the room, but from the look in the businessman’s eyes, the Duke knew he was not a hologram, he was a living creature that was manipulating his body to walk through a solid object.
  “The͡ i̸nd̨i̛vi͝dua͏l̀s ̢th̢a̕t ͝I͟ re̡ṕr͜e̶s̵e͡nt ̸l̴ikę t ̨offìćiate̴ ̧a͠ll͞ o̴f̸ our fore͟i̴g͠n͢ ͢ćont̨r̷a̕c̷to̵r̀s ̕by̛ ̨the̛ ͜boòk͞, ͘a̕s͟ you ̷sa̕y̡. So, I ̵am he͜ŗe ͏t͝o̕ ̧s͠u͝gǵe̕st͘ a͡ m̡e͝r̡ge͡r̕.̶ You̶ŗ ̶s͠ķi̧ļl̴s͞ ̨an̛d ̀abi̧l̛it̨íe̴s͟ c͜ouplȩd ́with͘ ͟oùr ̵r͞e͝s͏o͠ur̀c̢es̢ sh͡oul̴d̵ r͜es̀ol̕ve t̷his ̵p̷r̢oje̸c͘t̶ mo̷śt͠ effi͢ci̵ent̡ly̵. O̵ùr͝ ̡facilit̨y̡ ̧ca͝n offer͜ ̧ýo̧u ͜t͏he̡ ̵c̶apa͏c͡ity to bȩ án͢y̷wh͝ere,̷ ̸ḑo̢ an͏y͟ţh͜ing,̵ ̕b͜e ͢àn̷yon͟e .̵ ̀. .̶ as lon̢g as we͢ f͜i̧l͘e̡ ́the ̧appro̧p̴r̛ia̶te̕ ̛paper͝wor̶k͏. So̕,͢ are̴ ̨ýo͠ų interest̀e̶d i͡n͏ ou̴r̸ b͞us̡i̷n͢èss̵ p̢ro͢posal?”
The businessman held out his hand, and as he did, the Duke felt the time around him return to normal. He took a deep breath, and looked at the businessman’s outstretched hand.
  “What are you?” asked the Duke.
  “An ͞em̧pl͢oy̕e͝e ̵of my̧ ̵dȩp͜art͝men͜t,” said the man. “M͡y̛ r̛ole ͠i̴s͠ ̨signif̨i̢e̡d̨ by̢ p͘ersònn̴e͜l ̡nu̷m̵b̸er ͜two-͢on͢è-se̡ven̷-̡se̴v̛én͠-ńi͟n͡e͠,͠ how͢e̵v́e͠r, f͘or t͏he sa̧ke ͜of i͡nter͜p̧er̨s̸onal se̸rv̶i͟ce̴ ýo͢u ̶m̵ay̨ ͏addrȩs͜s̀ ̕m̷e͘ as ‘̀Hu̴m̷an,̡ D̵.’͜,̀ ̧or ‘̢D-̡m̕ąn'.”
  “You are a human?”
  “P̶̸̷r̷̢͠o̵v̧͞i̛͘s͡i͜͟͡o͘͝n̸̡a̢͟l͏l̷̡y͘.”
  “So, you enter my ship, freeze my friends and I, and expect me to co-operate?”
  “No̴ thr̕e̢a͏t w̸as ̕i͞mp̛li͏ed,” said the man, lowering his offered handshake. “And ͞co͟ns̸i͏de͏r͞in͢g ho̧w͢ h͏i̡ghl͢y w͢e̡ ͘h̸ave ͡d̀eem͡ed ̢you̷r in͡t̸e͜l̵l͟i͏g͢e̡n̷ce͞,͡ n͞o th͘r͝eat͜ w̧as͝ ̕i̸ǹfe͠ŗr̷ed́. We͏ have̵ ͡the mea̡ns ͡to ha̕r̨m yoù, yet ̛ỳou rema̷i͝n ̛p̶er͢f͟e͠ctl̵y įņt̶ac͝t.”
  “And that’s my point,” said the Duke. “You have deemed me an asset, if I were not an asset, would that deem me ‘disposable’?”
  “Our gǫal ͏is n͝ot͞ des͘truc̴ti͡ve. W͟e ͡ca̸tal͟ogue̸, òrg̨an̵iz͏e an͠d͞ m̸ain̕tai̸n. I m̶er̷e͜l͢y̨ se̵ek͝ t̡o̧ ͢e̵l͝iminat̛e o̧ur̨ c̢omp̨eti͘t͝or͢s͢ b͡eçause̷ ͡th͘ey ̢rep̕res̷en͡t ́a͢ ͢chao͜tìc͢ elem͜e͝n͢t whích i̸s gai̵n͝ing̷ ̕p͏ow̡e͠r͘.̷ ͟M͟y͢ dęp̀a̴r̀tm̕en̴t ͟f͞oŕese͝ȩs̷ ͢thei͞r inevita̢b̶le d͠em̨i͟şe̶,̴ ̀h͠ow̧ev̨er͘ ́y̧our i̷n̵v͟o̶lvem͘ent ̷a͟nd co-̛opeŗa̢t̡ion̵ ͠wou̷ld͘ ex͠p̡e̴d̛i̡t̀e̵ tḩis pr͞oje̕ct̡ ͟co͠ns͡idęra͟bĺy.̢”
  “I don’t like being the soldier in another man’s army.”
  “We arę a̕ll a̛ge̛n̷ts ͠of ̵a gr͡e̸ater ̛p̷ow͠er̨,͞” said the businessman. “I̕ ̧m̛er̶e̕ly off͡er ͏y͡ou th͢e op̧por͘tuńi͘t͘y ͠tó ͝c̶hoo͟se an͠ ̀all̢ianc̶e ͝w͠ith a͝ c̀o̡m̸pa͡ny̴ ̨w̢h̵os̨e ͘g̸o̢als͠ ͟coinc̵ide͏ ͡w̕it͠h ̸yǫu̷rs.”
The businessman offered his hand once more, but the Duke glanced at his two friends, still frozen in time, unaware of this entire interaction.
nbsp;nbsp;“I must decline,” said the Duke.
  “I̢f ͝you͟ w̸i͠s͟h̢,” said the businessman. “H̀o̷w̸e͜v̸e̛r͡, I̷ mu̡s̴t͠ warn yo̸u.̧ ͟W̡e͘ ̧c̨hòs̨ę th͟i̷s ḿo̶ment͡ to ͟sp̸e͘a̸ķ wi͢t̀h̡ you͏, b̢eçaus͡e̛ yo͞ur ͟next ͘d͜e̡s̷tín̨ati̢o͠n͏ ̴w̷i̧ll ̡bri̶n͏g͏ you̸ ̴fa͡c͢e ̕t̶o̵ ̷f̢a̷c̶ę,̛ ̧o͢n̕c̷e͢ ̕more, wit̷h̶ our͟ c̴om͠pe̴t͞i̴t̡o͢rs̷ . .̕ . ͠if̛ ̡you ̡al̵l̀y wit̷h them̧, we wil͡l͠ r͞e͏turn,̶ w̛ith̢ a mućh l̸e͞ss̷ fr͞iendly p̡r͜o̧p̶o͝sa̷l̷.”
  “You see, that’s the reason I had to decline,” said the Duke, frowning. “You offer me your open hand, but hide your closed fist. I don’t measure my friends by contracts, but by conduct. You certainly don’t act like a friend.”
  “W͟e do͘n’t ̨see͘k ̛fr̡ie͏nd͏s̴h͏ip,͢ ̛m̷er͏élý ͠bu͟s̡ines͢s.”

He turned and walked towards the door of the ship. The Duke turned towards the open door, and outside he did not see the vortex, but instead a bright, white light. The D-man stepped into it and was enveloped by a blinding light, then the door closed. There was a soft groaning as time began to speed up, and a loud screeching sound. The Duke looked as his friends began to slowly move, but the screeching became louder and louder.

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  I have cleaned up this document as best I could, but there is still a great amount of corruption in both the text and the images. I don't know all that much about computers, software and viruses, so for your own safety I recommend that you don't copy any of the text, imagery or html on this page, unless you are willing to have your computer infected.
  I don't know who the D-man is, or where he came from, but what disturbs me the most is that some of the information he is referencing sounds like stuff I compiled for some of the other Lost Chapters. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, but it is a truly disturbing implication if I am to believe that there is some "order" behind the chapters which are being targeted, destroyed and mutilated. Tonight, I will go through all of the documents I have, so that if this happens again I will have a greater chance of remembering which of the files have been tampered with.
  Finally, it truly unsettles me that there exists a creature which can control the Duke within the Lift; he is the master of that domain, but he was frozen stiff like a deer in the headlights. What kind of thing could possibly have that kind of power . . . ?