Fate's Journal

A man is being followed. He is being followed by the enemy, and the enemy is going to kill him. The man knows exactly what he'll do, though; he is smart. He will run into the tower, wait for them to get close enough, and close the emergency doors. It will be illegal; it will be dangerous; it will be bloody. But it's the best choice.

Something goes wrong. There's a click and a boom, and a shiny, silver bullet slaps him on the cheek. The injury was minor, but totally unexpected. The Circle doesn't carry guns. At least, they didn't before. They have other methods, but it's unknown. The man falls to the ground, and an eternal second later he is being kicked.

"That's enough," a voice calls out, "we can't kill him. Just make him drink it and we're leaving."

The man's head is tilted up by a leathery hand, and a tasteless liquid is poured into his mouth. He hears another voice. Whether it came from one of the Circle members or not, he did not know; but the voice was harsh, judgemental, and sad. It is in between good and evil, and it sounds like several distorted voices. It makes sudden stops at some words, then very quickly says the rest of the sentence. The man sinks into unconsciousness, straining to hear what it says.

"They give you mercy. You are so lucky. This is your chance. Find the Chast contracts, tell me their fates. Use the tools I provide. Write everything in my journal. You don't realize how important this is. You must do it. Or I will have to kill you. Your choice."