Returning to No Applause, Only More of the Same

Head Observer Dr Darius Falk’s Logbook on Inmate Kreig Wiedemann’s incarceration Entry Nr. 3, October 5’th 2020:

Inmate Wiedemann does not eat mushrooms or fungi of any form. Through the use of an impeccable sense of smell, he is able to instantly understand the contents of a stew or whether or not a seemingly fresh slice of bread is, in reality, carrying the budding spores of mould. Whenever presented with these, he will state that he does not eat it and place the contaminated food piece to the side.

His dislike continues whether or not the food containing fungi has had its scent disguised through natural or supernatural means.

Is it scent, or something else?

Further observations: during the three weeks since his first incarceration, apart from a single incident in which he used an unknown fire-power to transform two destroyed pencils into snow, Inmate Wiedemann has shown no aggression nor use of any destructive powers apart from his physical strength, though even that seems to be unwitting. The only things he has requested have been art supplies and for the two letters he’d written to his family to be delivered. The latter request has been denied though the decision was never made clear to Inmate Wiedemann due to fears of how he may take it.

His artistic abilities have shown a steep increase in quality and quantity as he spends all hours of the day and night drawing. He does not sleep. It is hypothesized that he does not require sleep or food to survive, though he still accepts the food he is given (which for the record is the same food that staff here is given (God help the budget)). According to the testimony recorded from Inmate Gerald Speerhalter (Inmate Id: #442), Inmate Wiedemann (referred to by Inmate Speerhalter as “War”) had neither slept nor ate for 30 years, though Inmate Speerhalter admitted that his knowledge on the matter was lacking.

As of yet, no further interrogation apart from the general conducted by Sergeant Peter Oxford of the Kreepsville Police Department has occurred in reference to Inmate Wiedemann.

Authorities are as of yet continuing their discussion on the future treatment of Inmate Wiedemann. The consensus so far indicates that Inmate Wiedemann may soon be allowed to interact with the inmates on the Lower Level. The matter of the Wiedemann family is still in discussion, as some fear allowing Inmate Wiedemann to meet them may cause an incident. The media and world as a whole are still in the dark, though the Wiedemann family has been reached out to without any current response.

Personal notes:

I do not believe that Inmate Wiedemann is a bad man. We’ve all read the accounts, the story Inmate Wiedemann gave of his own life… It’s enough to make anyone pity him. Although the man is clearly used to a life of isolation, we must not assume that he can remain unbothered by the silence for any longer than one week more. Letting him interact with other prisoners may allow him to grow more stable, though I must agree that uniting him with his family without any preparation may cause a grand incident that we do not have the budget or manpower to handle.

-Dr.

A week after Dr Darius Falk wrote his weekly report, it was announced that Kreig would be allowed to mingle with the Lower Level prisoners on the condition that he didn’t harm anyone or cause a ruckus in any other way. It was a deal Kreig was all too happy to accept, though he remained tenacious in asking if his family had received his letters. He did not receive an answer, but his repressed optimism, brought out by his return to Earth, whispered to him that it was surely on the way.

So it was that while drawing a picture of the White Pope in His Divine Memory that Kreig heard the door to his abode slide open, revealing a small crowd of people. At the head of these Fighters and guards stood a familiar face, carrying a pair of oversized cuffs that seemed to cover the hands as well as the wrist of whoever was to wear them.

“-Yo, my double!” Craig said, a grin proudly on display. Did they not have any other high-levelled Fighter that could escort him to wherever they were going? “Dude, don’t look at me like that. Fighters of my stature are actually really rare, yanno?”

The most unsettling part of Craig seemed to be his ability to read Kreig’s mind, despite Kreig’s facial expressions and body language being the human equivalent of a dried fish.

Human, Lv.122

Human, Lv.197

Human, Lv.146

Out of all the Fighters present, only Craig seemed unfazed by the situation. To the others, although they may not have been completely certain of what their escort mission had been in service to, the second they saw Kreig’s (???), they must have understood that he was not a normal man, not by far. This wasn’t just moving a Lower Level prisoner from one part to another, this was a matter of national safety. After all, apart from this man, the highest-levelled otherworlder was level 287.

A man who roamed the Lower Level.

But this place was beneath that, beyond such meagre depths. True solidarity, an anomaly in every aspect.

“Alright, so, y’see these here cool cuffs? Like, we know you won’t do anything wack, we’re pretty sure that you won’t, but people feel a lot more comfortable when you’re in these big cuffs, you get it?” Craig said, fearlessly striding inside Kreig’s little abode like a blind mouse walking into the den of an equally deaf tiger. “I’ll just put them right here. On the bed.” Craig stared at Kreig, who was staring right back at him. “Dude. Just come over here and put them on.”

“...” Kreig heaved his heavy body out of his comically small chair. One of the many drawings littering the floor was moved to the side, but Kreig didn’t look at it. He walked over to the bed. Next to Craig, he was absolutely massive.

Craig smiled. “‘Kay, so now, you put your hands in these holes. It’s like a pair of metal gloves! Or mittens. You won’t be able to move your hands in them. Unless you’re strong enough to do that? Ah, but these babies cost a lot, so don’t do that. Man, knowing those fat-cats up top, I’m sure they’d somehow twist it all to be my fault! So don’t ruin them. Yeah?”

Kreig suddenly felt a lot like destroying the cuffs, just to mess up for Craig.

...But he didn’t want to be a bother. So, he bent his back down, slid his large, calloused hands inside the iron mittens and felt as it locked up, tightened and captured him all on its own. A very impressive piece of machinery that Kreig almost wanted to think was some sort of magic. This world was filled with so many things that he didn’t understand. Magic, he could understand. He was no magician, not by a longshot, but he got the gist of it. It was mostly mushroom-based anyways, bless those heathens.

As soon as Kreig got the mittens on (which were fastened to each other by an immobile beam that kept his hands constantly together), Craig took a victorious pose, turned to his semi-stunned entourage, and shouted for them to bring the collar.

Kreig was barely able to even so much as wonder what the hell ‘the collar’ was before Craig clasped it around his neck. It was large, thick and kept Kreig’s neck mostly immobile. It had several odd parts to it, but it didn’t poke him in any uncomfortable way. Even then, he was so startled by the sudden addition that he almost ripped it off. “Hey, hey, cool it, big guy! It’s just another safety thing. If you do something weird, a little mic in the side of it will tell you not to do it. And there’s also a tracker, a video camera, a microphone, a chip sensor that’ll know how close you are to which inmates… It’s high-tech! Don’t worry about it!”

Somehow, that was able to calm Kreig down enough for him to allow it on him. Though, even then… He felt like a shackled dog. Degraded.

It wasn’t a good feeling, but it clearly made Craig’s entourage calm down, some even sharing nervous smiles and uncertain laughs. If it put those people less on edge… it was likely a good thing. No matter how he felt.

“Okay! Let’s get going, my other half! I’m sure you’re excited to meet new people, huh?” Craig said while leading Kreig out of his cell, and for once, Kreig was genuinely stunned. Nobody had told him anything about meeting other people. All he knew was that the door opened and Craig put him in cuffs. For all he knew, they could have been leading him to some deeper place in this strange place. “-You didn’t know? Oh, yeah, you’re a prisoner. Nobody tells you anything, huh? Maybe it’s cuz you never tell anybody anything back? Heh!”

Then, Craig gave that throaty laugh again, deciding to take the time to rest his arms behind his head. Entirely uncaring.

One of his followers took note. “Um, sir, are you sure you should be talking to it like that? Isn’t it-, I dunno, a prisoner?”

“Huh? Well, yeah, but look at him!” Kraig glared at the follower as she tried to look at him. “-Total wuss. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” The way the follower flinched and turned away from Kreig assured him that these people understood him a little better than Craig did. “Seriously. Guys who never talk are really weird. Like if a girl does it, it’s super cute, but a guy? Really, Kreig, get your life together. You’re embarrassing all us other Craig’s!”

It took all of Kreig’s remaining will to not slam his mitten-hands down on Craig, an act that would likely have resulted in the boy’s death. Such a young man. Zero survival instincts. Almost impressive.

Craig, in accordance to his disturbance of the soul, continued chattering like a scalded ape during the entirety of the walk, and every time Kreig started slipping into silent, unnoticeable excitement over the prospect of meeting people he could talk to, Craig would notice and pull him back out. Kreig could swear that the kid could read minds. Of course, even if he did have such a skill, Kreig’s skill Defence of the Soul (X) protected him against any and all mind or soul-based skills and attacks.

Shame it did nothing to protect him from mental weariness as a direct result of Craig’s chattiness. At some point, he’d started gossiping about the possible love-life between a Fighter and a prison guard, but Kreig really couldn’t handle it.

He was stuck between zoning out and paying as little attention as possible.