\documentclass[char]{conditionechoblueshift}
\begin{document}
\name{\cFrosh{}}
\bigquote{``I say to you againe, doe not call up Any that you can not put downe; by the
Which I meane, Any that can in Turne call up somewhat against you, whereby your
Powerfullest Devices may not be of use. Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater
shall not wish to Answer, and shall commande more than you.''}{-- H.P. Lovecraft, a letter from Simon Orne, in "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward"}


\cenquote{``His disdain for pure mathematics and his unique geometrical insights\\
Left him well equipped to face those demons down''}
{-- Jonathan Coulton, ``Mandelbrot Set''}

You always wanted to be the best.  Second place was never good enough
for you, even in grammar school.  While other students were out
playing in the yard, you were in the library, swotting %.uk slang term
for your exams.  Other students called you a spod, but their insults
were nothing compared to the knowledge that \emph{you were better than
them}.  When the dean's roll was announced, your name always headed
the list.  Everyone knew you were destined for greatness.

Then came the time in university (Cambridge for you - nothing but the
best) when your research into Hamiltonian networks uncovered some
interesting results.  Very interesting results.  You poured all your
effort into your work, spending days and nights without food or sleep
in a relentless pursuit of the answer - the theorem you were sure
would shake the foundations of modern mathematics.  Just as you were
about to reach the final proof, it all went away - vanishing like a
popped soap bubble. They blamed the laboratory fire on your
carelessness, stripped you of your place at the university, and threw
you out onto the streets, telling you that you were lucky to escape
prison.

You wandered around in a gray funk for a few days before you were
contacted by a secretive individual who referred to himself as 'H'.
He offered you a job, and despite his strange evasiveness about its
nature (he assured you it had something to do with mathematics), you
agreed to meet him and discuss it.

Government work was never on your list of top career choices (indeed,
you always considered Civil Service to be the job of the
less-qualified masses), but H - and the Laundry's binding geas - left
you little choice.  Before you knew it, you had signed the Official
Secrets Act and been forcibly conscripted into Special Operations
Executive, Q Section.  Under the instructions of H, you vanished from
your old life, giving some story about going abroad, and reluctantly
began to study the arts of the Laundry.

What you read fascinated you.  It began where your aborted
research ended, and the implications were staggering.  More than
implications - there were \emph{practical instructions} for
calculations of earth-shattering power.  You dived eagerly into the
books - only to be brought up short by H, who stated perfunctorily
that you were required to earn your keep, and would shortly be
assigned a job in the Laundry's internal structure.

You knew what job you wanted - computational demonology, the chance to
truly \emph{use} some of the knowledge you'd only read about before.
Despite reading that, in the history of the Laundry, only a few junior
Laundry members have ever been granted the appropriate clearances, you
\emph{wanted that job}.  They told you that you were too young, too
inexperienced, but you knew, deep down, that you were \emph{ready}.
After all, you were the best.

You took a whole day to craft the perfect letter to Angleton, the
reclusive head of the Counter-Possession unit.  One crisp, clean sheet
of professional-looking type outlined your reasons why you would be
perfect for the job.  Your achievements and awards filled half the
page - surely no other candidate had ever been so qualified!

You will always remember the night Angleton's response came in.  It was
amazing how a few terse lines could shatter all you had longed for -
your image of yourself running the final program that would protect
England from the demonic hordes forever, of receiving your secret OBE
from a grateful Queen - gone, in an instant.  Instead, you were
assigned to some useless backwater research job, and the fact
that you were to be an \emph{assistant} just twisted the knife.  You
don't remember much of the rest of that night - it was the first time
you ever got truly smashed.

Damn them all!  They were bound and determined to consign you to
oblivion, just because you didn't meet their precious standards.  But
you'd show them.  If all your other qualifications weren't enough,
you'd find some way to prove to them what you'd known all along - that
you were the best.

Outwardly, you were the image of the perfect Laundry civil servant -
always on time for meetings, never missing a report, and diligently
assisting your fellow researchers.  \cDemon{}, your supervisor (a
demon with a human soul - what will they think of next?), filed
glowing reports about you, praising your utility to the Laundry.
Privately, though, you were desperately seeking a way to prove
yourself worthy of the job you truly wanted - the only job worth
having.  But the really advanced material was beyond your clearance
level - but not \cDemon{}'s.

After weeks of covertly searching \cDemon{}'s office, you found
part of a file that had fallen behind a desk.  The contents were
electrifying: instructions for creating a phase-linked Dho-Nha
geometry curve to establish a long-lasting power conduit to another
dimension.

You spent the better part of your meager savings and all your
accumulated sick leave constructing a pentacle and the associated
Dee-Hamilton gate hardware in the bedroom of your modest flat.  You
began to catch disappointed looks from your supervisor, but you
shrugged them off - this would be the project that would prove to the
entire Laundry that you were more than just a junior employee on a
dead-end path to some backwater maintenance job.

Finally, late one night, you aligned the final mirror.  Your device
was flawless - but that was only to be expected, given the care you
put into creating it.  Your hand only shook slightly as you threw the
switch \ldots and all at once, everything changed.

You became abruptly aware of a \emph{PRESENCE} permeating your mind
and body.  There was no sense of intrusion - one moment all was
normal, the next, a sense of stark alienness was everywhere.
Desperately, you tried to turn the pentacle off, to stop the device,
but your hand would not obey you.  Thoughts not your own began to fill
your mind, and memories of your past began to rush through your
consciousness - slowly at first, then faster and faster until you
could not bear it any longer.

You awoke the next morning with an odd feeling of triumph.  You felt
as if you had been sleepwalking through your whole life and had
suddenly been \emph{awakened}.  So the Laundry didn't appreciate your
talents - what need did you have of them?  There were powers far
greater in the multiverse than the pitiful humans of the Laundry.  And
now you were one of them.  The presence in your mind was no longer
all-pervading - rather, it was settled in the back of your mind, your
constant companion.

In the following days, you noticed small changes happening in your
life.  Your eyesight and hearing became keener but oddly narrower, as
if you were constantly focused on something you couldn't see.  A
carton of milk in your fridge became mysteriously spoiled overnight,
and your car broke down twice in the next week.  It was as if chaos
followed you wherever you went.  You didn't care - there were more
important things in your life now.  Besides, your stomach didn't seem
to care as much for food anymore - you could go days without eating
and not even notice.

You remember turning off the main road to a back alley.  You remember
the beseeching gaze in the eyes of the old woman as you walked slowly
towards her.  You remember the feeling of bliss, of the satiation of
the presence within as you fed on her mind, leaving her collapsed and
drooling on the ground - all without laying a finger on her.

A few days later - you can't remember when, exactly - you realized
what had happened.  You were being possessed by a creature from one of
the Dungeon Dimensions - precisely the power that your partial
instructions had warned you about.  Lying in bed, late at night, it
whispered in your mind, and the stories it told were compelling beyond
belief - of power and glory that could be yours, if you served the
Elder Gods.  The Laundry had turned its back on you, it said, put you
aside and denied you your rightful place.  The ancient Powers would
not make the same mistake.  It was what you had always wanted to hear.

It was barely a day later when your supervisor received the call - 
something about \CEB{} being in effect.  It was difficult to alter the 
orders, but you managed to arrange it so that you would accompany 
\cDemon{} and \cDemon{\their} other subordinate to Dunwich.  Something 
big was happening there, the presence in your mind assured you, and you 
wouldn't want to miss it.  Before you left, you gorged yourself on the 
mind of one of your neighbors - something was telling you you weren't 
coming back, and you needed all the power you could get.

The night before you left, you had a very, \emph{very} vivid dream.
You were standing in a room with two other people.  Glancing down at
your watch, you remember seeing (with the odd clarity that sometimes
comes in dreams) that it is the day of the treaty negotiations.
Looking to your left, you see the characteristic form of a Deep One,
who you now know to be named \cAlphaAsst{\formal}.  To your right, you
note, in a detached way, an unfamiliar person -- no, suddenly you
remember seeing \cMP{\them} in the newspapers.  It's \cMP{\formal},
the Member of Parliament!  The Presence in your mind speaks soothing
words, assuring you that these two would follow \emph{your lead} --
that together, you would become the \bCthulht{}.

``But what shall I do?'' you remember asking the Presence.  In answer,
a torrent of images races through your mind, imprinting itself upon
you -- instructions on how to split the rift wide open and become the
true emissaries of the Powers Beyond.  You see a figure lying
spread-eagled in the center of a pentagram drawn in blood, a silver
dagger in his chest; for one, fleeting instant, you behold the true
POWERS which you serve, and are filled with awe and terror at their
glory.

You awaken with your heart filled with a renewed, unshakable resolve.
You, and no other, must lead the \bCthulht{} in this ritual -- for no
other can truly serve the Powers as you do.

After all, you're the best.

\begin{itemz}[Goals]
  \item Keep your possession a secret.  Remember, given the
  opportunity, someone might be able to tell.
  \item Make contact with the rest of the \bCthulht{}.
  \item Sabotage the computational demonologists' efforts to
  repair the computer stations.  Make sure the rift stays open.
\end{itemz}

\begin{contacts}
  
  \contact{\cDemon{}} Head of the Paranormal Research division of the 
 \bLaundry{}. Also, a demon with a human soul.
\contact{\cPRSoulless{}} A member of the Paranormal Research division 
 of the Laundry.  
 \contact{\cAlphaAsst{}}  The assistant envoy from \bAlpha{}, and a member of the \bCthulht{}.
 \contact{\cMP{}}  A Member of Parliament, and also of the \bCthulht{}. 
\end{contacts}

\starttag{mems}
\memfold{Open if approached by the character with badge number 
  \cNegotiator{\MYnumber} about sanity.}
	{Permanently fixing someone's sanity is a hard job. You remember 
	  there being something about this in the Church Lab, under 
          Project 4571.}
	
\endtag


\end{document}
