cogitxre

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“This story happened a long time ago (..) It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it. It is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst. It is the story of the end of an age. A strange thing about stories— Though this all happened so long ago and so far away that words cannot describe the time or the distance, it is also happening right now. Right here. It is happening as you read these words. (..) The end starts now.”

vincent burghardt, anatomical study. + uquiz.

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TASK 3.3 :: THE FAMILY TREE.

patrick foss / 52, deceased.

a simple man; a carpenter by trade. married into a family well above his station, along a big heart with enough room for all, and kindness far above and beyond what the treatment he received deserved. there were whispers, of course—people did not take kindly to such a reputable and infamous lineage being sullied. but they were just that: whispers. nothing ever officially known; the fosses kept to themselves.

— you remember him as the only thing that brought warmth to the cold stone pillars of your house. he died when you were six, and now you can barely bring yourself to remember him. the woodcarvings scattered around the house were quickly swept out when he passed. after the funeral, not a scrap of him remained. in some twisted way, you miss him, even though he was someone you never got to understand. and yet you are no worse than him.

aoibhin foss / 83, deceased.

continuing her heritage; a supremely clever woman. well-known bioscientist, from a long line of physicians and mathematicians. a cold presence; not someone to question or cross. the whispers implicated her as well, but never in public. in professional instances, it is always better form to be subtle and sharp as an arrow.

— you remember her as the reason the marble was frozen underfoot. she died the day you turned eighteen, and she haunts you with every step you take. you can't run away from your past, no matter how hard you try—if moving out immediately after the funeral didn't help, nothing will. in some twisted way, you miss her, even though you wouldn't want her back in your life after everything your family has been through. and yet you are no better than her.

milo foss / 27, alive.

following in your mother's footsteps, doing what you were trained to do: inheriting the family lineage. your father would cheer you on no matter what you chose, so long as you liked it. your mother would be proud of the academic achievements you've made so far. neither of them would have been pleased about the trials—patrick out of concern for your safety and aoibhin out of frustration at your risk-taking.

— you carry your heritage with your head held high. the name foss is a well-known one, and it comes with a lot of baggage. you are aware of this. as long as people focus on you alone, all will be well. you intend to follow in your mother's footsteps, and to become someone she would have been proud to call a son.

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TASK 2.5 :: THE ITEM.

DURING THE INTERROGATION . . .

{ ✦ } Several items were found missing from THE TRAGEDY's quarters. Did you take anything that belonged to them? Did you see them in possession of anyone else?

Milo processes the list, foot tapping.

"I don't know anything about most of these."

A truth. He had never placed much interest into Vincent's private affects. His eyebrows furrow, trying to recall any of them.

"The last place I saw the watch was…on Vincent, I believe; so if it wasn't there at his death, that may be a good place to start."

A likely assumption. He didn't know it to be true, but he wouldn't be surprised if it was. A small hesitation elapses, the pause stretching for more than a few seconds.

"…the vial, I found. It was lying on a table in the museum—but I don't know who placed it there. I didn't even know it was Vince's."

All true, mostly. This early in the game, it was better to build up a rapport with honesty than it was to try and turn the tables on the masters' heads.

"And I took it, yes. I've been trying to decipher the symbol on the front. No luck as of right now, but…I could always let you know if I find anything."

The offer hangs from his lips, bouncing off a half-raised shoulder. When the other woman betrays her answer, eyes darting to his hands, his pockets—he has to resist the urge to smile.

"Ah…it's not on me, I'm afraid. Apologies." TRUTH.

AFTER THAT NIGHT . . .

torn from the pages of a journal entry of one Milo Foss.

– vial: found within the scales of Lady Justice. – depositor: unknown. – liquid: clear, green tinge, viscous. tends to "ooze" in drips and drops. – unable to test prior to interrogation; was moved away from equipment soon after. tests have not gotten far. – research: symbol on outside. appears to be alchemical in origin, though the exact definition remains elusive. clearly obscure. further research is required. – final results: inconclusive.

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TASK 3.1 :: THE DINNER.

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TASK 3.2 :: THE PHOTOGRAPH.

a blurry film photo, taken of a stack of letters. the writing is illegible; thick looping script scrawled by a careful hand. the owner of the handwriting—and the recipient of the message—are not apparent.

[cogitxre]

@undecadent

american psycho ii: all american girl (2002)

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TO: Nicolai > [SENT] Well, we didn't choose the names. I suppose the least we can do is embrace them. > [SENT] I will make a note.

TO: Milo > [SENT] Prince seems rather pretentious, but Logician is quite apropos. And I'm quite certain you'd do absolutely fine. > [SENT] As you wish. Just tell me if you need it! Your name is at the top of the list.

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TASK 2.4 :: THE INTERROGATION [CONT.]

— mentions of CASSIEL LECLAIR-PARK [ @undecadent ] and KARUNA TIWARI [ @wrathconsumed ].

{ ✦ } Has anything peculiar caught your attention — a whisper, an object, a note or a text — that might illuminate the identity of our culprit?

Milo watches the woman in front of him for a moment, gently chewing his lip as he considers his options. There were a few ways to handle this question. Not many of them had a positive outcome. Slowly, he settles on one, leaning forward with his hands folded on the desk.

"Peculiar…has a lot of definitions. I don't know that I've seen anything especially pattern-breaking, recently. Not much out of the ordinary."

A hesitation, a glance to her face.

"I did think I caught Cassiel whispering with Karuna up on a staircase the other day…but who knows? Maybe it was just a trick of the light."

A small smile touches the corner of his lips. The lie swirls around his mouth, bending as it touches the air. Whether the woman believed him or not, he didn't particularly care. It was a test; the results of more importance than the method. You can't adjust your variables until you've set them.

TASK 2.1 :: THE INTERROGATION.

— mentions of NICOLAI ARLAY-SINCLAIR [ @honeyedking ], SARAI ODENA [ @eternaladagio ], and THE TRAGEDY.

{ ✦ } Where did you last see [ THE TRAGEDY ]? Or when did you last hear of [ THE TRAGEDY ]?

Milo takes a deep breath, fingers interlacing tightly as he places his hands in his lap; ever the picture of poise, covering up the raging maelstrom of emotion inside. Just like he's learned his whole life.

"I talked to Vincent the evening before his death; likely just a handful of hours prior. I asked him if he would be joining me to study that night."

A wry smile plays at his lips as he thought back to that day, one of the ones that only occurred around close friends. One of his last interactions with Vincent. At least it had been a good one.

"He just smiled, shook his head; told me he had other matters to attend to that night. He was never quite as stuck in his books as I was. Am." "I thought nothing of it. I bid him farewell; figured I would see him the following day."

Near-imperceptible, a muscle in his jaw twitches. If only so much hadn't gone left unsaid between them. Perhaps he would have less regrets. Less...pains.

"...but I didn't."

{ ✦ } Where were you at time of death of [ THE TRAGEDY ]? And what were you doing?

"I was doing my usual: ...studying."

He gives the dark-haired woman a somewhat apologetic glance, though when he speaks, there's a hint of amusement to his tone.

"Sorry, I'm not all that interesting. That night was psychology research...ironically. Spent the entire night in the library reviewing the cortico-striatal-thalamic loop in preparation to discuss how it interacts with Tourette's syndrome. Fascinating stuff, really."

His eyes shift back to his interrogator from where they'd roamed towards the bookshelves, skimming what little bit of the spines he could read. Older volumes had more wear-and-tear to the lettering, making it nigh impossible to make them out. Didn't stop him from trying, though. All knowledge was worth having. Milo offers the woman a half-smile, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"...but you don't particularly care about that, do you? So for both your sake and mine, let's move on. You'd rather not get a lecture on Tourette's, and I'd truly rather not think about my dissertation at the moment. So what's next?"

{ ✦ } Who can attest to your alibi?

"In the library, I was alone. However..."

Milo shifts his weight slightly, crossing his arms. He casts his eyes upwards, thinking back to the night of his friend's demise. After a moment, he nods, and his gaze settles back on the woman.

"Nicolai Arlay-Sinclair. I messaged him the night of Vincent's death, and mentioned I would be in the library all night. I thought he might join me."

His lips twitch, settling ever-so-slightly into a frown. Showing about as much emotion as he ever did, merely a ripple in his icy façade. But whether it was concern or suspicion was practically unintelligible.

"...it seems he never made it out to meet me."

Shaking his head, as if to clear his thoughts, Milo returns his gaze to the interrogator. He gives another half-shrug, a finishing signal, leaving little room for expansion on his following point.

"Sarai Odena can also attest."

{ ✦ } The SOCIETY requires your verdict on [ THE TRAGEDY ]'s demise: Was it the calculated hand of murder? The cruel whim of accident? Or the final, desperate act of self-annihilation?

There it is again, the faintest twitch of the muscle near his jawline. He stills, gaze dropping to the table for a moment. After a few beats of silence, Milo nods.

"A knife is too personal a choice of weapon for an accident, and I doubt someone interested in a quick exit would have slit their throat. It's not exactly a common choice."

He glances back at the woman, a hint of that firm tone from the end of his statement returning.

"I do, in fact, believe it was murder."

[cogitxre]

THE X-FILES 2.03 | "Blood"

[cogitxre]

@faantasm

Dare Me - 1.02 “Mutually Assured Destruction”

[cogitxre]

@lambentine

“My little sister told me that she buried a flower once after accidentally picking it. Can you imagine that kind of humanity?”

— Mary Lambert, Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across; “Dear YouTube Comments” (via andrumedus)

[cogitxre]

Cassandra Clare

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POST-EVENT :: the phone call.

The phone screen stared patiently up at his face, the blinking cursor waiting for him to input the numbers he hadn't touched in months. They were still present, burned into his mind with the ferocity of a thousand suns. He could still see the black ink on the white page in Vince's hand, passing it to him with an easy gesture, barely a thought. Now, his memorization skills had once again landed him with a job he didn't particularly want to complete.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly punched in the numbers on the small flip phone keypad; one by one by one. The phone beeped in elation after each digit, though whether cheering him on or mocking him mercilessly he couldn't tell. Doing this so soon after the game was perhaps a bit…obvious. Quite possibly the most obvious thing he'd done since the Trials had begun. But it didn't much matter. Vincent was dead, and nothing he could say or do was going to change that fact. The least he could do was leave a notice.

The phone beeped shrilly and began to dial. The metal was cold against his ear; despite having sat in his pocket for most of the night, it had been laying in his hand for much more than a little while, exposed to the elements. The earpiece felt loud next to his ear, and he did his best not to wince at every ring of the dial tone, ignoring the way his heart hammered in his chest.

After a few minutes of ringing, the familiar sound of the voicemail began to play. He let out a breath of loose relief, grateful that this wouldn't be quite as hard as he'd been afraid.

"Hello, this is Milo—I'm calling with an…update. Of sorts. It's about your son."

His voice couldn't fail him now.

"There was…an incident on campus."

An accident wasn't accurate enough. An incident at least implied something deeper.

"Vincent was caught up in it and…is no longer with us."

Dead air filled the majority of the remaining time on the recording.

"When you get a chance, feel free to call me back. Or don't. Your decision."

The line monotonously clicked dead without any further input. Silence fell over the dorm room once more. Milo stared at the flip phone in his hand, as if willing it to go off. Call back while I'm still prepared; if you catch me off-guard at a bad moment, this could end badly. But it didn't buzz, and he didn't budge.

[cogitxre]

POST-EVENT :: updates.

– [+13] new information has been added to the dossier.

– [+3] new music has been added to the playlist.

– [+73] new material has been added to the pinterest.

[cogitxre]

High Society (1956) dir. Charles Walters

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— THE LOGICIAN. (dossier)

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