II. The Sigil Cannot Be Altered

“Well, I don’t know if I believe what they’re saying, but we’ve got to clean up this mess.” Aimee, a Valid Trauma Scene Waste Management Practitioner for Soulshine Crime Scene Cleaners.

“It’s not our job to believe or not,” said her supervisor, Courtney, a Valid Trauma Scene Waste Management Class II licensee. “Maybe the janitor killed his friend and then himself or maybe the aliens set it up. Either way, we’ve got three gallons of blood to clean up.”

“Hey,” Aimee said. “Did the work order say anything about this?” She pointed at a strange symbol spray-painted on the concrete, visible beneath droplet sprays of dried blood.

“Hmph.” Courtney pulled a Sharpie from her overalls and drew a looping curve beneath a place where two orbs intersected. “Well, whatever it is, it has a dick now.”

“What?” said Aimee. “You didn’t draw anything.”

Courtney drew the pen across the pavement, leaving an oily black line. “Pen’s working fine,” she said. “Probably just didn’t have any ink flowing.” But her second attempt failed as well; the Sharpie resolutely refused to work.

“Let me see it,” said Aimee. “I think I have an idea.

Courtney, simmering, handed over the pen. Aimee uncapped it, licked the tip…and drove it deeply, forcefully, into her supervisor’s left eye socket.

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