grist for the mill

I'm trying desperately to escape the Vortex and Erebus. I'll save you the epic and give you the rundown. The other Koen was actually Uncle Marcus...the magic sword Grandpa Jeremiah (Am I really saying this?) whacked him with disintegrated his human DNA and left only the dormant Bloodtail DNA, which made him regenerate.

I told Vortex I don't CARE if he merges Marcus with the rest of his Nine Lives instead of me so he'll be strong enough to slay the Hydra once and for all *coughfatchancecough* and rule Erebus with an Iron Paw.

These Ereb'ai demons glorify Honor and Duty and Well-Done Treachery in the same damn breath. It's like Washington City got subbed out by the Aztecs. So they think I'm batshit crazy because I DON'T WANT TO BE KING. I left Marcus and Vortex arguing so they can work out. But the natives are waving shredded banners and chasing me through the streets and howling. I just want ONE NORMAL LIFE.

So now I'm at hiding out at a hangout that used to be big with the tourists. (Yes, Hell has tourists.) Since the place is almost empty I gave them all my inherited jewelry and they're not only keeping their traps shut, they're giving me VIP treatment.

This place is called the Rumor Mill. Down here metaphors are sometimes taken way too literally. You probably knew people ate souls as food down here. Well the "foodies" down here use parts of souls as ingredients for fancier fare. This here Rumor Mill that grinds people's deepest secrets into the best bread in Erebus. I was stooped over circling this huge freakin' grindstone for hours talking into it like it's one of Doc Mason's tiwttergraph machines. People used to crowd around this thing confessing their secrets into it, hoping for some bread in return. Some poor bastards got shoved too hard and squished into it. That makes for courser bread, of course.

Business has been piss-poor for the Mill since the Founder blew up the Capital Sector, so I don't have to fight anyone for a bit of bread in return. This is no ordinary bread, mind you. It's made from thousands of secrets ground to a powder, risen with Lethe-water and baked in hellfire. After I eat this, I will lose my memory and have it replaced with one that's totally reconstituted. That way the Imperial Guard can't track my soul down by scent again. And I'll get one more chance at something resembling a normal life.

I'm using that amulet I stole on the way to open a Siege Perilous to New Babbage. I won't be the same person coming out as I was going in. That's they're easy to steal.

Yep. This is Babbage alright. Damn, it's cold. Anything's colder than Hell, except for the icecaps of course. I asked the baker for bread from Steamlands secrets so I'll fit back in. Hmmm. Tastes a bit sooty, though. Oh! It's Babbage Pumpernickel! No wonder it tastes familiar...

...familiar?

I know where am, but...

Who am I?