City of Saints: Network

Stay away from the banks of the St. Lawrence.

People have tried to get out without the bridges. It's been in the news (such as the news exists at present). People have taken boats, people have even tried to swim, and those people have just... disappeared like they never existed at all.

I'm not trying to be the resident Rita Skeeter here, but I feel like something needs to be said about what's going on. I can't have been the only person noticing this. It's February and the St. Lawrence isn't frozen. There's steam coming off it, which I thought was some kind of bizarre cold-water-meets-colder-air phenomenon--look, I'm not a geologist or a weatherologist or a person that knows about water and air. I don't fucking know. I just know I ignored it and figured it was seasonal.

I went down there this morning to see what's going on (yeah, ill-advised, I know). The mud on the banks is heated up to the point of being uncomfortable, and my boot sank into it right up to the ankle. The steam reeks of sulfur, which reminds me of some of the hot mud pools at Yellowstone Park, back when I used to visit there when I was a kid. I stood there for a while, mostly because I couldn't get my goddamned foot out of the mud, and watched the water.

There's something in the St. Lawrence. It's big. It's the color of old rubber. I don't think it can see; its eyes are cloudy with cataracts. I don't think that matters. It heard me trying to move. It has limbs... tentacles. Long ones. It can reach... Christ, a football field, maybe, with them. It reached out for me and touched my jeans. As warm as the river is, its tentacle was like ice. I didn't even feel it burn until I screamed from the pain.

I saw it -- the -- the thing -- the monster open its mouth just above the surface, bottom jaw still deep underwater. Teeth crowded in like broken shattered rotting slabs of obsidian.

I left my boot there. I looked back once to see the tentacle poking at it, turning it over, nudging it the way a dog sniffs at a toy.

Don't go down by the St. Lawrence. Whatever is in it... I don't know. I think the metabolism of that thing is making the river hot, it's so huge, it's so fucking enormous that it has to affect everything around it, doesn't it? It makes as much sense as anything else. But that thing won't let anyone cross. It barely let me touch the edge of the water.

Citizens, citizens...

The Infernal Administrative Government of Montreal (IAGM) has heard your complaints regarding the issue of snow removal and abandoned vehicles. We certainly don't want the major arteries of this beautiful city to remain unusable. While we have yet to reach an agreement with the city's human employees, we've made an executive decision to simply force them back to work. Employees who attempt to circumvent this arrangement via anti-possession tattoos or other warding spells may be terminated immediately. If you have already received an anti-possession tattoo and do not wish to be terminated, please make an appointment with the Department of Penitence (extension 2409) and we'll clear that right up. The operation is quite painful but considerably less so than the alternative.

Speaking of tattoo artists, they may be subject to random inspections. Do not think to hide from us.

Finally, from all of us to all of you, the Infernal Régime would like to wish you a happy Valentine's Day. This insignificant Roman martyr's feast day has inspired over a thousand years of debauch, licentiousness, infidelity, heartbreak, bitterness, gluttony, and petty cruelty. Who could ask for more?

What goes in this comm:

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• TEXT: text messages to a particular person or small group.


• VOICEMAIL: voicemails.


• NOTE: hand-written notes, postcards, letters, etc.