Prologue


Summary: "Is everything ready for tonight?" "Yes. The goose is ready any minute now, the guests should be arriving within the hour." That's good. I wonder...if she's still the same petite loir I remember so much. How nice to see her again... Sequel to Amnesia: Justine.

Disclaimer: I owe nothing of Amnesia games. But I'd GLADLY propose this story idea to Frictional Games. :3


Light.

It streamed through the tiniest crack he spied so far up at the ceiling of the huge cavern. The white crystal specks of a late night winter floated down as fine as the dust around him.

Amazing, right underneath the estate and still, the world above managed to seep into this one blackened void. He thought it was impossible since the only way to see the outside was going through the man-made labyrinth towards the surface.

The light he saw, he knew it wasn't the sun. Not yet at least. Probably from a stray lantern or lamppost. But in a few hours, a special day would approach like the awakening of a newly blossomed primrose in dawn's welcoming grace.

He glanced down to a small hairpin in his grubby hand, protected from dirt, oil and filth by a cotton cloth and a sweet purple ribbon. He had handcrafted it, from whatever scraps he could find during his free hours. It was a simple design, nothing like the kinds his mother once wore. He couldn't buy those classy gems with his kind of salary. But he knew she favoured birds so perhaps, she'd appreciate the soaring silver songbird at the top of the hairpin. Polished it day and night until it was perfect in his brown eyes.

She'd like his gift. He hoped so anyway.

She would be mesmerizing with this hairpin in her lovely auburn hair. So mesmerizing that he barely heard the old grumpy voice calling him.

…Wait. Why was it calling his name?

"THOMAS!"

The young Englishman jumped off the stacks of crates, tumbling as he went down with them. He fearfully peered up, seeing the glaring near-sighted dull eyes of his co-worker, Maxwell.

The middle-aged labourer scorned his grey moustache at Thomas, the youngest by far among all the workers, and a juvenile in their eyes. He shook his head at him, immediately guessing that he was day dreaming again.

"Get your arse up. All the checks on this floor are done," Maxwell said

"Y-Yes sir." Thomas leapt up, amassing the crates back up neatly and hurried after his senior, already on his way to the wooden ascending room. "It's really amazing, isn't it? Having this cavern right underneath the east wing? You could fit the Westminster Cathedral in it and it'd probably be not enough."

A snort. "Troublesome if you ask me. Tremors've been getting worse and I swear, once more shake and the nearby floors will likely collapse and sink deeper in. We still have three more floors to go through."

Stones and dirt crumpled downwards, making the two men glance up. A noise had reverberated from above, like thunder in the earth.

"Hm. Sounds like they breached through. About time. Now we can get more people down here for the checks and reinforcements." Maxwell fished out an old pocket watch from his trousers, the chain long gone from his much younger days. He groaned. "Four-thirty in the morning. Brilliant..." A sigh. "Let's call it a night. Get enough sleep before sunrise."

Thomas nodded without question. He took one last look at the fissure around him before they left for the ascending room, Maxwell complaining with another tiring lament. "Wish I was back in London. Damn Frenchies don't know how to make a bloody good cup of grog."

The middle-aged man unlatched open the door of the small wooden two-man box as Thomas unwrapped the rope from a pin. He scurried on board and used every ounce of his youthful energy to hurl them upwards. Slow and steady.

The smell of sulphur flickered into the still air once Maxwell struck a match and lit his pipe. He flung the black-headed piece away, took three deep puffs and leaned his arms on the side, listening to the tugging of the rope and the turning of wheels in the pulley above them.

"I still can't believe the entire basement of the east wing is so big."

There he goes again. Maxwell sighed. Why couldn't the lad's trailing mouth stay quiet for just two minutes?

"There's even a prison. I don't understand why that woman still wants to keep it even."

"Best not question the client's or her forebears' taste in architecture. Their business, not ours," Maxwell grunted. "Of course, I wouldn't cross my mind that there was a prison warden somewhere in the family tree. This place is very old."

"Luckily, the locks still work. I couldn't imagine myself being locked up down there for years," Thomas admitted.

"Most," Maxwell corrected him. "If a blacksmith doesn't come tomorrow, then that surely will happen to someone."

"Still, this is a very big place, from top to bottom. I really wonder what the owner will do with so much space."

"I don't know. Hold parities. Do rich people stuff. Be the Queen of France and send peasants to rot in those cells."

"Now that is a terrible thought."

"Like I said, it's that Frenchie lady's business. Not ours. Don't go snooping around other people's matters. 'Less you want a cut in your pay. I won't have your back, boy."

Maxwell took another puff, tasting and smelling the strong tobacco. His eyes strayed, noticing the little present in Thomas' tool belt.

He shook his head. It doesn't take a genius to know who Junior was planning to give that to. Really, was the lad really ready to have his head on a platter?

"That boon is for the young lady, isn't it?"

Thomas' shoulders twitched anxiously. He glanced back. "W-Well, tomorrow is her birthday. Made this for her. Nothing special."

The middle-aged man sighed. "You're trending into dangerous waters to go after the boss' daughter. Really, do you not have marbles? Look, I admire your stubborn fondness over the prodigy but it's foolish."

Thomas stopped pulling, bringing the ascending room to a halt. Might as well be Maxwell's fault for speaking his mind but it had to be done. The boy was either going to learn on his own and get the boot or hear it from an experienced man.

After all, he too had his fair share of chasing a beaut beyond his reach. Was it simply he didn't want his co-worker to make the same mistake or just be damn stupid?

No, it was the latter one.

"Because I'm in the working class?" the lad asked bitterly. The tone was slight, holding back the tension.

"Boy, we're worlds apart from the aristocrats and middle class. You're only going to make it harder on yourself," Maxwell explained honestly. "Besides, have you forgotten? The last suitors who asked for her hand? Only to get chased off with tails between their legs all by the boss and Sir Abney?"

Oh, Thomas remembered that day all too well. It was during their previous job, restructuring the foundation of a noble's home back in London. And it was a hilarious sight to watch.

"When it's about the young lady, those two are overprotective. You're not only thinking of losing your job, but also having the blade at your neck."

Thomas bit his lip. Maxwell was correct, as much as he hated that. Thomas was one of forty-three employees, deeply grateful to be given the opportunity to serve under the humble contractor for more than five years. To do the unthinkable after everything he has done for his employees would be a horrible deed. And Sir Abney was another matter. A soldier and knight in one, it would be pure madness to go up against such a man of status.

However, fear could be top off by something much powerful. And he'd gather all the courage in the world to achieve it rather than flee it.

He glared eye to eye at his senior. "It's not stopping me from giving this to her. It'll cheer her up for sure. It has to." Thomas went back to the pulling, letting a few seconds of silence hang between them. "Miss Grandville...she's been sad lately. And it hurts me to see her that way."

"She's probably homesick. We've only been in this country for a couple of months now."

"Well, we'll see. She'll be smiling again once she gets my gift. Just as bright as the sun. I know she'll love it. I just know it."

Maxwell took in a deeper, slower puff but there had been a small glimpse of a smile. Youngsters these days, they don't know when to quit until it's too late.

He would not babysit the lad but for now, the senior worker silently wished him the best of luck. "Do whatever you want, boy but just be careful."

Maxwell ignored the surprised glance. Thomas had probably expected him to keep nagging at him for a hopeless dream. Then again, half of the reason was that he was just too tired to continue debating further into the late hour.

"I will. Don't worry." Thomas smiled.

A thud signalled Thomas to stop. They had reached their destination; not yet the surface but it was still one of the higher levels. Maxwell took one last smoke before banging his pipe on the edge of the box to empty it of its burnt content, opening the half-door with soles touching wooden floor. Thomas followed after, tying the rope securely.

Then he heard something.

"Did you hear that?" Thomas asked. The two men glanced to the direction of the source.

Above.

There it was again. This time as many as possible. Nothing of a rhythm but a series of pops and cracks, too faint to know what the sound really was.

However, for some reason, they left a grim feeling in Thomas' gut.

"What do you supposed that was, Maxwell?" Thomas asked, looking at his senior.

Maxwell didn't answer, his back to him. He was stiff, eyes fixated on something like a Greek myth he once heard. Worriedly, Thomas gazed over the middle-aged worker's shoulder to see whatever Maxwell saw.

It was hard at first because whatever it was hid in the shadows, standing in the way of their only passage from the ascending room. Thomas was forced to narrow his eyes just to make sense of it as his hand felt for a nearby lantern. He cast it up, the light creeping forward into the darkness.

Was it another labourer? Odd, the rest of the men should have been upstairs. Only Thomas and Maxwell were on check duty.

His mouth opened but Thomas held back his hello the moment he heard it. Ghastly rasping and wheezing sounds, echoing out from the passageway. Chains rumbling, dragging across the concrete floor. The sounds drew nearer to the men, making the very hair on the back of Thomas' neck stand.

His eyes shot wide once the stranger sluggishly half-stepped into the light.

Horrified. That was what both he and Maxwell were. Words in any level of volume just failed to leave their lips at the sheer sight. 'Monster' wasn't the right term to call it.

Whoever, whatever it was, it was man stripped down to their birthday suit. But that wasn't the most horrid thing to see. He was nearly a skeleton, the skin merely a stretched wrap around bone – some areas peeling off to reveal flesh and a rotten stench. Deep long knife marks crossed over his chest, the blood dried up and slightly healed. Thick chains snaked around his arm and legs, and – was that a wheel collared around his neck? These contraptions restricted him from having complete mobility, his pace slow and clumsy like a bound animal mad for survival.

"What..." Thomas couldn't believe just how shaky his voice sounded. "...is that thing?"

Maybe the mutilated man hadn't heard them. Soft cursing of what seemed to be French was all he could hear from him, besides the beastly hoarseness.

The lad's French was a rusty but he could make out the translation.

Something about...finding a woman?

"M-Maxwell?"

He was pleading. This had to be some sick joke, a custom this country had. Because he had never seen anything like this back home. Nothing like this.

Maxwell grounded his teeth. "Oi, whoever you are, bugger off."

Where the man's eyes once were, black hollow pits seemingly glared at them as if knowing their presence was there.

"Qui êtes -vous? Vous n'êtes pas elle!"

Frozen on the spot, he helplessly watched Maxwell grab hold a hammer from a stack of supplies not too far from reach. Maxwell gripped it tight, his weapon.

"I said get back."

"Ce con qui vous a amené ici?" The mutilated man was growing angry, his heavy-weighted arm reaching out to grab Maxwell.

"Get back, I said!"

BAM!

"Arrrggghhhh!" the blood-soaked, chained man roared, clutching his bleeding temple and then lunging at them. "Je vais vous tuer!"

Thomas knew what that meant.

He was going to kill them.

"Run, Thomas!"

Terror charged their legs to move on their own. The two men wheeled round to their only escape, the small ascending room behind them. Thomas quickly snatched the rope and leapt into the wooden box with Maxwell.

"Hurry! Hurry!"

Thomas hurriedly wound the rope inch by inch. He could hear the mutilated man like a rabid animal, stopping at the ledge before he would fall off. The deranged monster bellowed that he couldn't wrap his bony fingers around their necks that he swung his chain-covered arm about angrily.

CRACUK!

The rope suddenly snaked out of Thomas' hands, taking a life of its own. The world around him seemed to go upwards swiftly as the air swished around them.

"Bloody-! He broke the hoist!"

The ascending room was falling. Uncontrollably. Swinging like a pendulum in a grandfather clock. Thomas gripped the side for dear life as he felt the whole dark world sway into the walls of the lower basement floors.

He braced for the impact.

THU-CRACCK!

Stones crumpled inwards by the ascending room, a cavity into the underground foundation. Thomas wasn't sure what happened next but as far he knew once his vision steadied, he was already out of the wooden box.

Nothing seemed broken inside of him as he slowly stood up. He felt wet on the shoulder and knees but the pain was sober.

"Maxwell? Maxwell!"

Thomas limped to Maxwell, finding the older labourer half buried under the broken stone bricks. His leg was crushed under the smashed ascending room, heavily haemorrhaging.

"Hang on, Maxwell!" Without thinking, Thomas levelled the wrecked box up with his hands.

"Gaaaaargh!" Maxwell hissed and immediately, Thomas stopped.

"I'm sorry!"

"No good. Me leg's pinned down... Gaaaah... Y-You'll need to get help."

"I can't just leave you here. Not with that...monster running around."

"Just go. I'll be fine, lad."

Thomas was reluctant. "L-Let me stop the bleeding. Then I'll-"

"The more time you waste, the more likely I'll be dead soon. Just go." Maxwell seized a piece of cloth that Thomas was about to reach for and held it down on his wound. "Now."

"A-Alright. I'll be right back, Maxwell." Thomas examined his surroundings first. They were somewhere on the lowest floor, probably at the north-east side. The other ascending room should be the opposite, centred in the foundation. His other option would be the stairs but that would take longer.

Thomas rushed down the hall, his only sounds being Maxwell's grunts of pains slowly deafening the farther he went.

Until another sound stopped him, making him turn back.

He had turned around a corner, no longer seeing poor Maxwell. The groans slowly changed to panic at the sound of clanking footsteps.

"W-What manner of-" was what he heard Maxwell say. Then came the terrified screams, as if someone or something was dreadfully approaching him.

Thomas took two steps forward. If that horrible man was back, he couldn't leave Maxwell all alone.

The screams then turned into a desperate order.

"RUN! RUN, THOMAS! RUN-ARGGGGGHHHH! ! ! AHHHHHHH! ! AAAAHHHHHHH! ! !"

The sound of meat ripping and slicing danced along with the bloodcurdling wails. It was left to Thomas' frightened imagination to wonder what was happening to his senior as it went on until finally, the screams died.

He was petrified. His body shook terribly as he swallowed hard. He had an urge to call Maxwell, hoping that maybe whatever it was halted and was going away. That Maxwell was barely alive. All that sounded hopeless to the other half of his self.

The only thing that answered his silent prayer was the clanging metallic footsteps.

It was coming for him.

He didn't take the chance to see what it was, its shadow lurking around the corner. He bolted down the hall, eyes front.

A haunting cry echoed behind him, sounding like it was obstructed through some metal tube. More disturbing than the chained man's howls.

Clank! Clank! Clank!

It was now running up to him. Chasing him.

At the end of the hall, Thomas spotted a door. The prison lobby!

Thomas threw open the door and slammed it shut, the heavy latch down. A crashing bang shook the door, making him jump away like it was demonic.

It would not hold for long. He had to escape!

He rushed to the second ascending room but cursed to find that it had been hurled back up. Who pulled it?

Bam! Bam! BAM!

No time to find the answer. That monster had broken through!

He scampered to a spiralling staircase and darted up. In his panic, he slipped a step and dropped his lantern.

Crack!

The light dimmed out. Another husky wail roared again.

The lantern was useless, no need to pick it up! He yelled in his mind as Thomas continued upwards. Blessed hope was in his heart once he saw the upstairs door.

He swung it hard. This was a door made of metal and wood, too thick to saw through. For good measure, Thomas spotted a stack of supplies from a repair job, movable on wheels. Quickly and with all his might, he pushed the supplies over the door.

There, he thought, pacing away from the door. That will keep him in.

A hot breath gushed down his back, alongside with a hollowed moan.

It was all a blur when he turned; his first thought being that it was a living, walking armour of a knight behind him. Before he could scream, a flash of a blade replacing where the right arm was weaved at the corner of his eyes and the world turned black.

He thought that was it. That was the end of him.

Only pain surged throughout his body, worse than before. And the sound of something dragging could be heard.

Thomas weakly opened his eyes, terrified still that the thing would still be there.

He was on the ground. His worker clothes were drenched in blood. The floor before him had two wide red lines, painted from his legs. Some hand had clutched him by the collar.

He was the one being dragged.

No...someone save me...

I don't want to die...

"Well, well, what have we here? Beinvenue, Monsieur Thomas."

A woman's voice spoke to him from somewhere and yet nowhere. Oddly, it too sounded like traveling through tubes. From above.

Wasn't that...the client?

"Such a nasty wound. I do hope you live long enough. The preparations aren't even finished yet for the special day tomorrow."

Preparations? For what? What had she done? Why? There was nothing special tomorrow...

Except...

No.

What does she plan to do to Miss Grandville?

"Yes, a special day indeed. It will be a lovely 'coming of age' for the petite loir," the voice hummed with a laugh.

That...cunt...if she dare harm her...

"Oh, are you worried about her? Don't be, Monsieur Thomas. You are a special guest to this celebration after all. But I need you to be silent. Just for a bit. Wouldn't want you to spoil the surprise for the young mademoiselle."

Why was the client doing this?

Thomas had never felt so scared in his life and this time, it wasn't fearing for himself but for another. And sadly, his body wouldn't listen to him, to leap and locate Miss Grandville.

So all he could was pray.

"It would be best for you to save your energy until then. Bonne nuit, Monsieur Thomas."

Please...someone out there...don't let her have her way.

Someone hear him. Please.

If he had the strength, he'd gladly protect her. But now he couldn't as he was falling into darkness again.

Someone, please, save her.

Those were the last words he remembered, begging in his mind as eyes shut.

And the world was black once more.


Vickie: Hello, hello, this is my first Amnesia fanfic.

I'll admit one thing though, this idea story I'm about to write...I actually had written this as a game design document. Basically, the whole thing was a game idea I had. And I had constructed something with mechanics and stuff. Truthfully, I had imagined this turning into a sequel game to Justine buuuut I'm only just one person and I think some of the gameplay ideas I had may not be supported in the Amnesia engine. :P So I decided to write the story instead.

If this was a game for you guys to play, Thomas would register as the false protagonist you see in games anyway. And with three endings (which I've already thought of what they are and how do you gain either one like those in Amnesia: the Dark Descent). Buuuut for now, I'll be writing just one ending.

Anyway, this story is following to the aftermaths of Amnesia: Justine and from the ending where all three men were saved (to an extent, you damn bitch, Justine). This also...kinda plays around Portal in story wise (no Portal Gun) and similar to Amnesia: the Dark Descent's story direction. I'll also be researching on what fans have thought up on theories surrounding this game as helpers because there are still lots of work for me to go over. However, I do intend to make this a different story, I guess with plot twists you may never expect. Including new ideas.

There are some decisions I've not finished yet as this is also a crossover (in sense) between Justine and Dark Descent. That means some of Alexander's research may get involved. Not alot but some. Also inspired by the custom story, The Machine (ah, I love LPs like Markiplier, Pewdiepie, Cry, etc, etc to give me inspiration). I may ask your opinions of which direction I should avoid or not for the purpose of writing but if revolving around a character, I'd like it if you don't attack me for that. I'll guarantee you one thing: character deaths are OUT buuut character torture is another matter. No future spoilers from my idea will be given.

Two things before I wrap this up: 1) I need help on deciding an age. If you guys read, there is someone who has a coming of age birthday. I've not chosen what age (18 or 21) because I'm torn between the two for reasons. 18 would be realistic but maybe too young in comparison to the other characters while 21 is just right in comparison but may not be realistic. If you guys could greatly help me before I write the next chapter, write in the comments which age is better for this coming of age. It's not really a major plot device but it's something for me to build for one of my OCs you'll be seeing.

2) This story was first inspired by Pewdiepie's outro score (YES THAT ONE XD) and that the fact that Justine had guests coming over got me curious. Who are those guests? And are they her next victims? So much thinking made me come up with this story because I was so goddamn curious about those guests! And what will unearth from this, something much bigger than Justine's cabinet.

And what her motive is? Well, we'll have to find out, won't we?

Without further ado, I hope you'll enjoy this and be eager for what's next. Please r'n'r if you like and give feedback. :)

PS. My french here may not be correct. I need to go over with my dad (he's French) to see what are my mistakes. :/ Hence no translation until I fix it.