After digesting the stomach churning sight in front of me, I quickly return freak show to her original position on the bed. What in blazes is this Unity Prospect? Is Hobo Beard trying to create some kind of man-demon-angel hybrid? But to what purpose? Contrary to popular belief, scientists don't just go about creating abominations to man on a whim. Science is expensive after all. Someone has to be bankrolling this operation.

I managed to get one final observation out of freak show though. Her core is strong, like seriously strong. She is burning with almost pure spiritual energy. And the energy feels clean. There is none of that "heaviness" or pressure that I sense when seeing someone flare their core. This includes the Hero and the Heroines as well. Its as if freak show's spirit energy had been run through a filter and had all the impurities removed from it.

If freak show's body was not utterly broken, she would be close to a force of nature. Oh yeah, she would also need to be not completely catatonic as well. But the point remains, Hobo Beard is doing something here that is boosting core growth. Probably altering the core as well, judging from freak show. And what Hobo Beard's doing is very likely an affront to nature. Just a guess.

"What do you think of what we just saw?" I ask The Voice for its opinion.

"A failed experiment most likely." The Voice dismisses, "The laws of this world are not so easily overturned."

"Laws?" I question before referring back to the diagnostic report for freak show. There's something odd here, but I can't place my finger on it.

"Just a manner of speech, Transmigrator." The Voice rasps, "The gulf between races is not so easily overcome."

"What? I've seen mixed race folks walking about on the street. The Hero himself is mixed race." I protest, "This is not just race mixing, its something else entirely."

The Voice rumbles unconcernedly, "Perhaps. Though the only thing this experiment is proving is the Archmage's incompetence."

I narrow my eyes upon hearing The Voice's answer as I keep scanning the diagnostic record. The Voice is being far too glib about this entire affair. It knows something. It knows what actually is going on here. But for some reason it doesn't want to share that information with me. I stifle my curiosity and remind myself to focus on the task at hand for now. The Voice's secrets can wait.

"Check this out." I say, "From the diagnostic log, freak show here checked in after those black site guards came in for treatment. That makes absolutely no sense though. The black site guards returned to work with no problems. What happened to freak show?"

"I am no doctor. Perhaps the answers lie somewhere else in this ward." The Voice suggests. Nothing for it then. After memorizing the drugs Hobo Beard had prescribed for freak show from the diagnostic record, I close up the privacy curtains around her bed and continue my inspection of the area.

I have a go at checking a few more of the patients around me but the result is always the same. Catatonic and suffering from various bizarre mutations caused by the catastrophic merge of the three separate species. One demon guy's arms were turning into angel wings while the goat horns on his head have begun to flake away. A female angel whose neck had morphed into a snake's body. And a human male who had a parrot's beak growing out from his crotch. Are all the patients like this? Where is Hobo Beard getting these guys anyway? I seriously doubt they are volunteers. Bile starts to rise in my throat and I quickly decide to move on.

Moving past the other beds with the drawn privacy curtains as quickly as I can, I make it to the end of the ward where the two rooms are located. One of the doors is marked as 'pantry' and as before, I hear the sounds of chatter and radio music coming from that room. The other room is simply identified as 'storage'. I try the handle of the door leading to storage and it opens without resistance. I step into the storage room, shutting the door and locking it behind me. I then draw the maglite and flick it on, dispelling the room's former darkness.

Well, its a storage room, same as any other. There's a whiteboard hung up on the wall, several boxes arranged in stacks and a large refrigerator humming away contentedly. I shine the maglite on the whiteboard and there is a single message written there in capital letters.

ALL STAFF, REMEMBER TO LIMIT PATIENT FOOD INTAKE TO THE BARE MINIMUM

I shudder at the memory of moving freak show's body about. She was not just skinny, she well and truly qualified to be called emaciated. My hand could play xylophone with her protruding ribs. So Hobo Beard was deliberately starving his test subjects. I recall The Voice telling me about using food as a means of control over the locals. Was Hobo Beard trying to break The Voice's influence over his test subjects? Just limiting food intake wasn't enough though. Everyone had to eat sooner or later, and then they would get blasted by The Voice's transmission once again.

If Hobo Beard's intention was to work around The Voice's influence, his plan was doomed from the start. But that conclusion raises even more questions. Does Hobo Beard know about The Voice? Is he working with Fate? The likelihood of Magic Police Girl being tampered with is rising higher and higher. I don't like where this investigation is leading.

A quick check on the boxes reveals that they contain the drugs Hobo Beard had been prescribing the test subjects, packed into neat little plastic bottles. I take a bottle of each drug available for The Voice to analyze later at the hideout. Now for the fridge.

A gust of cold air washes over me as I open the fridge's door and check its contents. The fridge holds an absolutely massive number of individually labelled, tightly sealed glass test tubes holding what looks like blood. What catches my attention is that each test tube also contains some form of residual spiritual energy, swirling about restlessly inside the container. Running through the test tubes, I notice that those placed on the upper rows of the fridge are labelled with numbers, while the test tubes placed at the bottom of the fridge bear actual names.

Numbers. Samples taken from the test subjects? A good enough guess as any. I recall freak show's patient number and search among the test tubes for a matching vial. Soon enough, my search turns up a test tube that matches what I am looking for.

"You can inspect souls in the hideout right?" I confirm with The Voice.

"Of course." The Voice replies, "Secure whatever items you feel are necessary. I shall deal with the analysis later."

On a hunch, I try to remember the names of the black site guards contained in the medical report Hernandez had passed to me. Krait. I'm pretty sure one of the guards was called Krait, or something really close to that. I then begin inspecting the test tubes with names on them, hoping that my hunch is right. The guards had been here before. Just because they have all been discharged, does not mean there is no trace of them left behind at the ward.

And there it is. A test tube that matches the name I am looking for. With both these samples, hopefully I can get some answers about what Hobo Beard has been working on. After packing all the drugs and samples I've picked up into the briefcase, I exit the storeroom and make my way out of the ward. I had originally wondered why the staff were so lax here. Now I know. Why bother paying attention when everyone around you is in a bloody coma?

"Not investigating the pantry?" The Voice asks.

"Not much point. Also going there guarantees me being detected." I say, "Too much risk for too little gain."

The Voice rasps, "Very well. I will summon the cab. Proceed to extract at the hospital's entrance."

I hasten my pace leave the ward, passing the still unconscious sentry at the entrance. Its time to go home.