Hey! Look at this poster!

Well, you know I'm skeptical. Says here, in the fine print…

Nothing's more annoying than having to clean up gallons of blood.

Just yesterday, we had a woman — as desperate as the rest of them — begging for a shot. She had a son back home, only 2 months old, having lived without a mother for who knows how long. Tried to swap one parent for another. All she wanted was to hold her son and feel his gentle skin again. As I had expected, the Tooth rejected her claim — I guess she didn't love her husband as much as she thought.

Now, what I did not expect was the absolutely hellish aftermath. Holy shit. All her skin was stripped from her body. All of it. Gone. She was just nothing but muscles, loose organs, and a fuck ton of blood. It took every ounce of willpower in me to not vomit. But I managed to keep my composure. I cleaned the floor, reported the fatality, and sold her remains on the Black Market.

And that's just one person out of the hundreds I saw that day. Every single day, shrieks are heard; blood gets spilled; bodies start piling. Most people tasked with monitoring the Asset don't last very long. Yet somehow, I'm still standing.

You do not get used to it. Trust me, I've tried.

In that time, I've seen so much grotesque shit no human should ever have to witness. Mothers willing to sacrifice their children. Husbands willing to trade their wives. Lifelong best friends who backstabbed each other when their lives were at risk. I used to think they were out of their mind, but I guess self-preservation instincts always won out in the end. And every time, I was forced to sweep their guts off the floor.

For the past 834 days, Leviathan's Tooth has destroyed more lives than it has saved. And yet, people will still do anything and give up everything to get access to it. Every single time. It's ironic.

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Leviathan's Tooth. The B.N.T.G.'s Prized Asset.

At first glance, it's nothing special. It's just a tablet with inscriptions. And I think the allure lies not in what it is but rather what it says:

Leviathan's Tooth.
Two names. Yours, then your loved one's. I measure your love.
If your love is of sufficient strength, you go home. Your loved one replaces you.¹
If your love is tainted or weak, I shall take from you what you cherish most about this love.
I now offer you this contract. If you have faith in my terms, you may sign it.

No one hesitates to write their own name down, but I can always see their hands shake when they try to write down the second name — it's that hesitation that I know all too well. Some people can't do it. They win a once-in-a-million B.N.T.G. sweepstakes for this opportunity yet fail to follow through on it. Others immediately regret their decision in the moments afterward, but the Tooth doesn't permit recission. As long as the cleanup isn't arduous, I honestly could give less of a fuck about what happens. If shit hits the fan, my B.N.T.G.-issued revolver has never failed me.²

Write their name. Or don't. I'm not here to be your therapist. My job's just to keep an eye on the Tooth and ensure business runs as usual — don't make my job any harder than it needs to be.

Yesterday was a total doozy. Hopefully, today's shift goes better.

At a certain point, everyone's screams and cries start to blend together.

We did have one woman write in a pair of names, only for nothing to happen. The names were spelled right and everything. I gotta say, that's one fucked up way to learn that your husband died. She tried her son next. Nothing. Ouch. That's a double bogey right there.

That woman's cries reverberated around the room. A loud, deafening cacophony of just pure noise.

She walked out. Not sure if she had no one else, or if she found ignorance preferable to a triple bogey. I didn't know — I didn't ask.

We don't get people like that often, leaving the room empty-handed. To be honest, she's pretty lucky she even had the opportunity to leave the room in one piece. Most people have to be sedated, put out of their misery, or mopped up.

"You okay?" I hear a deep voice say.

I snap out of my contemplation. The man standing in front of me has a concerned look on his face. Shiny boots, well-combed hair, smooth tuxedo. He's here for the Tooth.

"Yes, yes. Just let me get ready."

"Well, you better be quick. I've got a dinner date with the wife to get to."

I hand over a clipboard, a waiver form, and a pen to the stranger. I begin to explain the mechanisms of the Tooth and the procedures the B.N.T.G. takes to ensure that the Tooth is kept in pristine condition. His eyes are looking downward, darting left and right.

Eventually, he gives his signature and gives me back the items. I then give him a specialized stylus to etch the Tooth.

"Thank you," he says, as he walks towards it. His steps are loud and infrequent.

He eventually pauses and takes a deep breath. Though his back is still facing me, he then asks me something in a bellowing voice: "Have you ever used it yourself?"

"No," I answer honestly.

"Any reason why?"

"I was born here, sir."

"Can't hunger something you've never tasted. I suppose you haven't experienced true freedom yet, working here and all. How tragic. This is God's greatest gift to us. It's living proof that the will to survive — the will to love — is deeply engrained within us. I don't know if you've ever seen the fine inscriptions on the Tooth. Names, always in pairs. Back home, my wife and I would grab padlocks and scribble our initials on them, just to hook them on the wire of a nearby bridge. There's something deeply meaningful about that — you two will always be chained together on that bridge. Through rain and shine, the two of you always stick together. You'll weather every storm together. It means your love is unbreakable. And when you visit that bridge again, there will be another padlock. A different pair with the same idea. And another. And another. Soon, the whole bridge gets filled with padlocks until there are no more places to put them."

He finally turns around to look at me. Most people fear the Tooth, but this man seems to be at peace — his shoulders are relaxed and his face is stoic. He closes his eyes and sighs. "And I made a promise to Lydia. To be by her side, no matter what obstacles stand between us. So if Caleb asks, tell him that Saturn devoured his own son. And that he had no regrets."

He turns back towards the Tooth.

"So many names. It's only right I leave mine."

And he etches the two names in.

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Leviathan smiles, its conditions met.

In his place is a young boy, no older than ten. He's curled up in the fetal position, tears streaming down his eyes. He's constantly murmuring "Don't go" to himself.

I wait for a minute for him to get situated. He's still on the floor.

"Hey kid, take your crying elsewhere."

No answer.

"Kid?"

Still no answer.

I take a deep breath. "Look, I don't know what you're going through, but you're impeding official B.N.T.G. business, and I can't allow that."

The child finally looks at me and asks, "Where is she?"

How the fuck am I supposed to answer that? Dear lord, he's harder to deal with than the adults who lost body parts.

"Where is she? I saw Dad, but…" he says, louder.

I'm just about to respond, but he cuts me off.

"No, no! Not you! I want her!" he screams. He's standing up now, breathing heavily, clutching his chest as he tries to run away from me. The rest of his vocalizations are indecipherable.

I've never dealt with a situation like this before, I'll be honest. Adults are easy to sedate. Kids, on the other hand… well… the B.N.T.G. is not paying me to babysit.

The kid continues screaming for his mom. "What did you do to her? What did you do to her?!" I give up and leave the room for a breath of fresh air… and to call for back up. He's still screaming, still crying. All that pent-up frustration, being let out. Who knew kids could be so damn loud?

And yet, even outside, I still hear him calling out, "Where are you?"

The screaming stops after 5 minutes. I go back in the room and find him passed out, probably from exhaustion. When the B.N.T.G. reinforcements arrive, I hand the child to them and breathe a sigh of relief. What a ride.

A small part of me still hears his cries, feels his pain. It's just ringing in my ears. Ugh. I can't let that distract me from my job. I hit my head against the wall, trying to rid myself of these thoughts. Several times, until I feel numb. God, my head is splitting right now.

There's nothing relaxing about this job. This is just my daily routine. Best I can do is just endure it and take naps when I can. Maybe true freedom is not having to endure this on a regular basis. I let out a small chuckle. "Can't hunger something you've never tasted," the man said. Perhaps I'll hunger for freedom one day, but at this moment, I'm perfectly content with a bagel.

So I take a bite out of a bagel, sit in my chair, and close my eyes. I need to rest.

An alarm sounds in the distance. Apparently, the Trader's Keep is on Code-5 alarm now because our Managing Director got violently stabbed in the neck. I don't know what the fuck's going on, but I don't really care. Goddamnit — I'm on my lunch break, eating a bagel. This shit is above my pay grade and none of my concern.

Now, normally, we don't take visitors during emergencies. Official protocol is to just… I don't know… stand around and make yourself useful, I guess. So imagine my surprise when some lunatic decides to take advantage of the chaos and bust through our iron door into the room where we keep our Tooth. Unauthorized, mind you. I glance at him. Most of his body is hidden under a massive trench coat. His stride is a little staggered, and beneath that heavy coat, his body is quivering and bloodied. He's got a messy hairline and a fire in his eyes. But he definitely doesn't look like the kind of guy who'd murder one of our officials. Probably killed a couple freshies to get here, but no one important.

Now, we get the occasional psycho from time to time — they barge in and demand to prove their worth to the Tooth, bypassing our lottery system entirely. Security stops most of them, but a couple persistent individuals make it through after plowing through a bunch of our men. I don't get paid to put myself in harm's way, so I just allow them to use the Asset. It never ends well for them, and the Boss never reprimands me for it.

I let out a heavy sigh. Bagel would have to wait. I put on my uniform, stand in front of the stranger, and look him in the eye. I see the muscles in his face tense up. I begin to recite from memory the rules of operation and ask him to sign a waiver, as I do with everyone who enters this place, legally or not.

But he stops me mid-sentence. "Step aside. I'm here for the Tooth," the stranger says, interrupting my well-prepared speech about B.N.T.G. liability.

"Well, that much was obvious, wasn't it? Alright. Suit yourself." Saves me a load of energy. I walk back to my station and continue eating my bagel, though I monitor him closely. He walks up to the Tooth and takes off his trench coat. His left hand's ring finger is missing. Not a fresh wound, either — it's got a stump. In his right hand is…

Fuck. I instinctively reach for my revolver. I fumble with it for a bit and advance towards the stranger.

"Step away from the Asset!" I yell, as I pull out the gun, hand on the trigger. The B.N.T.G. never even considered the possibility that someone would bring combustible devices into the room. My hands are shaking and sweating, but I still try my best to recite Penal Code #786. How did it go again? "D-destruction of B.N.T.G. property is subject to—"

"And why should I care?" the stranger quips. His fistful of Firesalt is enough to blow this room (and with it, the Asset) into smithereens. Unfortunately, since he's the one with explosives, my options are kind of limited. If that hits the ground at any point, we'll all be burnt to a crisp.

Shit, shit, shit. I didn't take this job to risk my life. I just took it because they paid me well.

The stranger flails the Firesalt around. "You see this? The name's Jason Henderson! Remember that name! Remember this day — the day I slay Leviathan!"

As he's on his high horse, I reach for my radio. There's back-up coming already, but a couple more reinforcements would be real nice right about now.³ I just need to make sure he doesn't blow up before then.

"S-sir! Calm down! We can talk this—"

"It's a fucking piece of rock, playing God! Why do you devote yourself towards protecting this act of blasphemy? It thinks it knows me, knows what love is worth… that it gets to decide what love is worth. No… that thing doesn't get to decide. Not mine, not anyone's!"

I let the loose cannon monologue. Despite this, I keep the gun pointed at him. The longer I can stall him, the better my chances of keeping this job. I regain my composure.

His eyes widen. "…It doesn't know about the time I spent 6 weeks caring for Denise in the hospital. It doesn't know about the time I quit my job to live with her in run-down California! It doesn't know that I'd give up the luxurious life I created here just so I can be at home, caring for our son! I sacrificed so much for her, and your little 'Asset' doesn't want to see that. Trust me — when I made that decision to sacrifice her, to have her take my place in this shithole… while I made it back home, you bet it was the hardest decision of my life. And look where it got me. You say you love someone, but then you discard them to save yourself. It's a fucking paradox! I can't win. No one can. So your Asset… its only purpose is to destroy lives. For every life saved, if you can even prove that the ones who succeed make it back home, the Tooth destroys one to satisfy its perverted need for balance. Leviathan, a symbol of unbridled chaos, demanding order?

His speech would have done nothing if I heard it 2 years ago. But this time, I feel my chest tightening, my stomach dropping. My head was wrestling with the idea of blurting, "Well, you should have just loved your wife more!" I could feel myself losing my grip. I quelled those thoughts; I had to stay professional, keep his anger controlled. I take a deep breath.

I have no answer to his question, so I try to negotiate.

"W-we can give you a prosthetic finger… to replace the one that it taxed. It'll be on us.⁴"

He laughs. Mockingly, even. His jaw clenches tighter.

"The finger! You think it took my finger? You think what it took from me is replaceable with your shitty, overpriced technology? Do you really think that the Tooth just taxes our cells, or do you just lack the empathy? When I think of Denise now, all I see is a fucking silhouette in my mind — she's just a stranger. A dark shadow where she would have been. I feel nothing when I think of her now. All those butterflies, all those feelings, all those memories. Gone. Replaced by a fucking void. It strips away our humanity. But you B.N.T.G. bootlickers never seem to feel anything, because all of you lost your humanity the moment you joined this organization." His hand tightens around the Firesalt. "And there's nothing left except ENVY. You'll never see what the Tooth took from me, but I sure as hell always will!"

Fuck, he's about to strike. I'm just about ready to pull the trigger, my hand shaking.

In a desperate plea to get him to stop, I yell out, "Sacrificing yourself won't do anything! We'll just get another Tooth⁵, and you will have died for nothing! I would know! I… I work here!"

He yells back, "You only know what they allow you to know! You know nothing!"

Thoughts whirl in my head. "I can't let you do this."

"Then shoot me! Only reason why you haven't done it already is because you know I'm right! I die either way, and this fucking atrocity goes down with me!"

I close my eyes. Unfortunately, I do have to admit — he's right. Any action I take would be pointless. I could shoot him, risk the Firesalt dropping from his hands and exploding when it hits the ground. Or, I could let him be — he throws the Firesalt on the ground and blows this place up. Either way, the Asset's fucked and so is my job. Three years of comfortable routine, gone in one day.⁶

I look at the stranger in front of me. Jason Henderson. He was shedding tears. He was terrified. I don't know if he's always been doing that since he entered the room or if I just finally saw something I was always blind to. He's just an ordinary man who was pushed to the brink. He is human.

And he notices my hesitation. "I suppose you've made your decision."

Before I get any time to respond, he throws the Firesalt.

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Shades of Red and Yellow, Burning Bright.

The resulting explosion knocks me onto the ground. I let out a cry of pain, but everything's being drowned out. Jason's screaming in pain as his flesh melts. The alarms are blaring as loud as they have ever been. My ears are ringing.

All this cacophony in a room up in roaring flames, and…

The Asset. Oh dear God, the Asset. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It's nowhere to be seen. There's a giant wall of fire.

No, no, no. I try to get up, but I can't.

No, no, no! Come on, pull yourself together!

Not… like… this.

I crawl. And I crawl. And I crawl.

Closer to the Asset. As I move closer, Jason's screams grow louder. More agonizing. He's rolling on the floor. On fire.

Everything. Crumbling before my eyes. The flames are spreading.

Goddamnit. Goddamnit. Goddamnit!

Why didn't I just fucking shoot him? If I had just pulled the damn trigger, I wouldn't have to endure his screaming!

As I get closer, his silhouette becomes much clearer. He cries out to me, dragging himself towards me, his words interspersed with painful wails and violent coughs. "SHOOT ME." He is unrecognizable — his clothes charred beyond repair, his face crimson red, his body smoked. The tissues beneath his skin are all exposed, liquefied, and ragged. The scent of burnt flesh is unbearable.

The heat just keeps intensifying as I make my way towards the epicenter. I cough and cough.

My sweat evaporating. My vision blurring. My head splitting. I still push on, but the Asset's still nowhere to be found amid the bright flames and heavy smoke. I don't know how much longer I can put up with this.

In a brief moment of clarity, I realize that even if I find the Asset, it's unsalvageable. It's ashes by now. In these brief moments of chaos, I remember that my life is worth more than the Asset. I said I wasn't going to risk my life for the Asset, and… well… I guess I forgot. B.N.T.G. training's just instinct, you know?

I try to crawl backward, but it's no use.

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God, I feel terrible.

Beep… beep… beep…

A blur of shapes enter my vision. My brain hurts trying to process everything. I try to move my left arm in an attempt to rub my eyes but find it rigid.

As my vision clears up, I realize I'm in a hospital bed. Casts on both legs and bandages wrapped around my arms. A nurse stands at my bedside, just there to monitor my vitals, maybe.

The nurse notices my condition and looks at me. "Hey, can you hear me?"

I try to say something, but no sound comes out. I nod my head instead.

"Good. Your boss wants to see you. I'll call him in. Get some rest."

The nurse leaves the room, and I close my eyes.

Soon afterward, maybe like ten to twenty minutes later, my boss enters the room, holding a set of loose papers. He sits in a chair next to my bed. There's a solemn, yet cold look on his face.

He hands me the papers, then says, in his signature monotone voice, "Apologies, Mr… uh…"

I try to remember my own name. My voice is weak, but I manage to utter a word out. "Stillwell."

"Alright, Stillwell. We are relieving you of your duties, effective immediately."

Huh? I was shocked. So shocked that I guess my voice just suddenly regained its power.

"What?! Why?!"

"You failed to protect the Asset."

"B-but I risked my life! You know th—"

He cuts me off. "Clearly not enough. What you did doesn't change the facts. And my decision is final. We've packed up your belongings — you can pick them up later today near the Trader's Keep. Salutations, Stillwell." He then turns around and begins to walk towards the door.

I begin to voice my dismay. I beg. I plead. One more chance. Reassign me to warehouse work. I've been here five fucking years and they're going to get rid of me just like that? I submitted my will to the B.N.T.G., and this is how they pay me for my loyalty? All that time, watching over the Tooth, witnessing blood and pain… was it all for nothing? I try and try to make my point but nothing I say is decipherable.

He doesn't even look at me as he exits the room. But before he fully closes the door, my curiosity gets the better of me. I exclaim, "Boss, one more question."

He pauses. "Make it quick. Every minute I spend is lost productivity."

"Wh-what is Leviathan?"

He turns back to look at me and lets out a laugh. "You truly knew nothing, huh?" He waits a bit before finally answering the question and lets out a huge grin as he does. "Why do you think the Tooth offers a contract?" And before I can ask him to elaborate, he slams the door shut. Even through the walls, I can hear his obnoxious laugh until it fades in the distance.

I'm now alone, in complete silence with nothing but the beeping heart monitor to keep me company. I look at the papers my boss handed to me. At the top, in big, bold print, are two words I've always dreaded seeing. Only got through "TERM-" before I had to divert my eyes out of shame. Maybe I didn't love my job enough. Or maybe that was Leviathan's wicked way of granting me "true freedom."

Tears start forming in my eyes. I clench my jaw and look up at the ceiling, trying to hold it together. Nothing's working. Finally, when I can no longer hold it back, I stop fighting and just let the tears stream down my cheeks. A wave of emotion washes over me.

And I cried. For the first time in years, I cried.

Leviathan had consumed another soul. The Tooth had claimed its final victim.

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Leviathan. To It, we submit.