The Dream Keeper

"Organs here! Get yer Organs here! Fresh living organs! Brains, hearts, lungs, bowels, skins, hair, teeth, ya name it! For food or for transplant! Get yer organs here!" The man was in his forties, balding, fat and sweaty. Clearly he'd been at it all day. His name-tag read "Moskowitz" and he was pushing a cart that held a metal tree with numerous branches. At the ends of it were bottles and jars with pulsing, throbbing organs contained in various fluids; tubes and pipes ran from the jars around the branches to the base, where a system of pumps and filters flushed the necessary chemicals in and out, in and out. God, do I have some mixed feelings about this fucking place. I pulled up the edge of my coat, made of some poor girl's skin (I'm sorry, "Bolivian Leather") and tried to look ambiguous. I wasn't here to sell as much as to get rid of the rest of the evidence. I came here for the first time like, what, five months ago? Wanted...

THRYTEC “NECROPOLIS MNEMONITEKTON” Etymology: “Memory-Builder of the City of Death”, from the Greek “Necropolis” (City of the Dead, City of Death) “Mnemonic” (Memory) and “Tekton” (Builder, Artisan, Craftsman).        T hese ones are no more dangerous than any other kind of animal – however, their nature is rather depressing by default.        T hrytec walk on three-toed feet, something like that of an ostrich or Cassowary in the slender kinds. They can mangle their hands into strange structures on their four three-clawed arms, making them blunt, hammering tools or stone-cutting blades or long, fiddling artisan’s hands. Their eyes are white and luminescent, and whenever they walk about they speak amongst themselves in a low, hooting and whistling tongue or a repetitive, rhythmic humming. To me, it seems likely that this is not a language, but instead some kind of thought-cancelling chaunt to prevent themselve...