Sleep with the Fishies

Part 3: Again with the Cult Stuff

     I didn't have serious head trauma. The passed-out-from-crashing-into-a-tree quickly became passed-out-from-sheer-exhaustion, and I woke rather refreshed—if injured—in a spooky cultist cave. Apparently no one trusts me, 'cuz I was tied up again.

     The cultist on Joanah-watching-duty jerked awake when I did. She watched me evenly as I tested the restraints and squirmed in the surprisingly comfortable chair. Who knew cultists would have better furniture than Hemming.

     Hold on.

     I squinted at the cultist. "Do you work for Hemming?"

     She shook her head furiously. "We serve the Great Dreamer. No mortal can know his will, so we do as he and only he commands."

     "Oh, just chat with Cthulhu whenever you like? Open a line, I wanna tell him he fucked up my life."

     The girl was getting more and more agitated. She got to her feet, spreading her arms in that all-encompassing preachy gesture. "The Dreamer is the beginning and the end of this world, and—"

     "Speeding that along is the way to go?" I snorted. "I don't think you thought this through. The chunky asshole is just gonna put everyone's minds through the paper shredder, doesn't matter if you worshipped him or not. Cut your life short so everyone else dies too? Is that honestly your best plan?"

     The cultist looked on the verge of tears. "Don't you have any respect—"

     "RESPECT? People are dead, you shit." I planted my feet and stood, the chair riding piggyback. "Believe what you want, I don't give a damn. But the second you harm another fucking person, I will personally make sure my foot is jammed up your ass."

     "What is going on here?"

     "I'm surrounded by senseless cultists, that's what. Do you fools honestly believe he'll spare you?" I faced the entry, and the forgettable-faced average-looking dude with the outfit of a high priest standing there. "Last I heard you still had plenty of cultists to drown pointlessly, so why kidnap me?"

     The high priest jerked his head at the girl. "Get out. Ensure we're not disturbed." Once alone, he raised an eyebrow at me. "Won't you sit?"

     "Ha ha, go die." I plopped back to the ground, but only 'cuz my back hurt. "Wanna untie me or you too much of a coward?"

     "So you can—how did you put it—personally make sure your foot is jammed up my ass? I think not."

     My eyes narrowed. "Fine. Why am I here?"

     "Our finest members sensed a creature of R'lyeh at the Ink Press. When we investigated, we found you. Alive too, interestingly. And you had hellgae on you. Cthulhu blessed us today. With your gift, we shall summon the Great Dreamer once more."

     "Hemming's doing that. Talk to her."

     He waved a hand. "She turns the noble cause of Cthulhu into a show. When we summon him, it will be done properly."

     "Yeah, when everyone's dead he'll definitely remember you did things properly."

     The high priest considered me. "And how many have you left broken in your wake?"

     Keng's empty face. Typhon's grinning one. I sagged in the chair. Why am I the one who survives?

     Hey. It's not your fault, idiot. And Typhon's not dead.

     Just Keng.

     "True," I said through gritted teeth. "But that's hilarious coming from a psychopath cult leader. You're wasting your breath if you think I'm going to join your stupid cult, and if you're trying to explain yourself to me, you're even more pathetic than I thought."