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SCP-001 (Unlocked) SCP-001 » WJS Proposal » SCP-001 (Unlocked) rating: +625 + – X Hello.
I'm afraid you won't find SCP-001 here. It's stored in a far more unreachable location than this. I'm sure you were hoping you could get in, edit it in a couple places here and there, and voilà, you're no longer anomalous, you're free to go, the Foundation will harass you no longer. Of course, it can't be that easy. But I am going to help you. You deserve this much.
I'm going to tell you why.
Why the Foundation targets you. Why we deem you something to contain, to persecute. After all, there are far worse evils in the world. We kept our record of nuclear weapons above as an example. There are numerous genocides throughout history. The death toll from just the flu alone is far greater than the potential damage for thousands of the people and objects we contain, and yet we dedicate ourselves to branding you anomalous. Something not normal.
Something inherently wrong. Something that cannot be allowed its peace.
Why?
I'm not going to patronize you and say there's nothing I can do. I am only one voice on the Council, and I can't change things on my own, that's true, but the decisions I make, and the way I let myself view your circumstance are a direct cause of people seeing fit to throw you into a box. Even if I can't change the document, I could remain one more advocate for your normalcy. After all, humanity has believed in ghosts and spirits for thousands of years. We all believe in the monster under our beds when we're children. These phenomena are very real, and very much a part of the way the world works. Why can't we just declare them normal? Why won't I free you from your torment?
It's because we aren't only here to secure, contain, and protect the world.
We're here to secure, contain, and protect you.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in The defining feature of the anomalous is that it cannot be explained through simple scientific testing. This makes you and your nature different. Unique, even. And that scarcity makes it valuable. But that doesn't mean that your value is something everyone can appreciate. Sometimes, it can only be appreciated by those who would use it against you.
That scarcity is also the tool by which a monster can exploit you. Others aren't familiar with your anomaly, and won't respond to descriptions of it as real. This gives opportunity to nefarious individuals to exploit that lack of knowledge and use you as an eldritch pawn to their pleasure. They can isolate you, consume you, make your anomaly their lever to destroy, slake a sadistic thirst with your existence.
I'm sure you've seen it happen. Someone is different. Their desires, needs, their reality forces them to be ostracized by the world at large. They're left alone. Probably not friendless, but sidelined, starved for connection. That's when someone swoops in, promising greatness, but only offering that connection you crave through consumption of you, destruction of your world, perversion of your reality. You fight back, try to tell someone of your plight, but others respond, "Oh, that can't be happening. That's not real. You must be mistaken." You are alone in your anomaly, and left to suffer.
We can't let that happen. Yes, go ahead, point out that we're isolating you at least as well, slowly consuming you and your existence just as surely as some abuser might wish to burn you up. Call us monsters. It's okay. But keep in mind that even in our pursuit of you, our coverup, our incarceration of you, we still want to make sure that you continue to exist, that you aren't removed entirely from this world. You have every right to exist. You have every right to be as different as you are.
You, the monsters out there, the monsters in here, you are all just as real as we are. Just as real as the teeming, irrational, self-destructive humanity that remains ignorant to your plight. And the conclusion that we are all, in the end, the same stuff, I hope you can find comfort in it.
Yes, you are a monster. But, whether we are deemed anomalous or not, so is every last one of us. And that means you deserve your existence.
We secure you.
We contain you.
We protect you.
And even if you still don't get why I'm doing this, please understand that I still love you.
- O5-5 ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License Cite this page as: "SCP-001 (Unlocked)" by WrongJohnSilver, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/wjs-proposal-1. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
supplement page revision: 12, last edited: 23 Jan 2024, 19:07 (404 days ago) Edit Rate (+625) Tags Discuss (57) History Files Print Site tools + Options ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ |
DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-01 SCP-001-01.
SCP-001-01 Description: SCP-001-01 is the Bridge Archive, an underground storage area below Site-01 that holds approximately 2,000 historical artifacts from the early 18th century to the late 21st. While a few artifacts are anomalous in and of themselves, the vast majority are not.
However, handling an object of historical value within SCP-001-01 subjects the handler to a sudden burst of visions, typically associated with the object's historical context. A plurality of SCP-001-01's artifacts originate from various European wars. Examples: Attached File: Item: A Spanish naval cannon, inlaid with beryllium-bronze insets.
Vision: A single galleon flying the Spanish flag approaches a larger English man-o-war and its escorts on a clear, crystal blue sea, possibly that of the Caribbean. The man-o-war turns to face the Spanish galleon, readying its cannons. The cannon, unusually placed at the bow of the ship, is loaded with something and fired - the single cannonball collides with the hull of the man- o-war. Several seconds later, a number of massive tentacles that dwarf both ships rise from the depths. A gigantic eye is visible below the water. The tentacles wrap and crush the man-o-war while the escorts rapidly retreat. No damage is caused to the Spanish galleon.
Item: A French cavalry sword, inscribed with the insignia of estate Noir.
Vision: A view of a battlefield in France. French troops huddle in a trench, a distant screaming overhead. The sky is golden. For a moment, the screaming stops, and a roar swells through the French line as they rush out of the trench.
At the other end of no man's land, a swirling sphere of wings and music screams again. The scene cuts to after the battle - no man's land is littered with corpses, and O5-1 stands on the fallen body of the angel, pulling the cavalry sword from it and wiping the golden blood on his shirt.
Administrator's Note — 1: 6-5-1959 Adiyat has fallen. Samothrace is lost. The occupiers will no doubt slaughter the survivors when they enter the city. We had the means to stop it. I didn't.
Everything is worse now.
- D.B Django was a good man. I met him just after World War I. He had been one of the experts on the paranormal so many of the governments had enlisted for the war effort. The pay was good, he was given free reign to experiment and test how he wanted. Then he realized all his work was just being used to kill more young men. He quit and worked as a free agent for some time, drifting through France, Denmark, Scotland, landing in Spain.
The paranormal communities back then were tiny compared to what they are now; we knew each other by reputation and we became fast friends. The idea of an organization free from the political squabbles of the time was immensely attractive to him, and I brought him on as an administrative consultant. Nine years later, he took the recently opened position of Overseer Alpha - eventually changed to O5-1.
He was obsessed with history since the day I met him. He had a collection of artifacts from various European wars in his family castle. Some were anomalous, most weren't. That collection became the basis for the one under Site-01 today. He was also dead-set in his belief that the Foundation should never be involved in the political machinations of nation-states, even as they transitioned from kings and czars to presidents and prime ministers. He was the reason we found ourselves painfully neutral during the Cold War. He was the reason we took no action during Samothrace. Men died, but he was firm - more men would die if we intervened.
We could never stay neutral forever. The Insurgency Crisis proved that. My oldest friend died as he lived; immersed in our history trying to decipher our future. I never filled his seat. I think that was the beginning of the end.
Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-02.
SCP-001-02 Description: SCP-001-02 is a converted bedroom in the east wing of the mansion.
Most furniture has been removed to make room for 30 monitors and televisions mounted to the walls. These displays constantly output a variety of global information (e.g. the daily NASDAQ average, the precipitation levels of the Middle East). Higher priority information is permanently held on the larger screens, while smaller screens switch out between data feeds, seemingly at random. The source of the feeds and power to the screens is unknown; none are connected to anything except each other.
Attached File: Screen: Permanently displays the rate of traffic flow on all major American and European highways.
Message: "DRIVER RATE NEEDS MONITORING — FLUCTUATIONS UNCLEAR, MAYBE INDICATIVE. GET IN TOUCH WITH DC AL FINE, GOC OWE ME" Screen: A shifting graph showing the prevalence of anomalous tool-use in Foundation sites.
Message: "RISKING DOMINANCE SCENARIO - ADDRESS COUNCIL ABOUT THIS.
URGENT!!! NOT AGAIN" From: [email protected] To: RAISA Staff (Group) Subject: Dataflow Date: 12-05-2044 I want every goddamn byte that came out of Kabul before the bombs started falling sent to my office by the end of this week. We're in crisis mode. It's our job to make sure shit like that never happens, and we fucked up. The best thing we can do now is use the data we do have to prevent something from ever happening again.
Administrator's Note — 2: From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: (No subject) Date: 12-08-2044 David - You need to let up. We can't change the past, but we can change the future. But you can't do anything if all your staff are terrified of you and hanging on by a thread. This has been the worst week of their lives for most of them - don't ruin them. Don't get obsessed.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Re: (No Subject) Date: 12-08-2044 I'll take two hundred burned out staffers over one more corpse any day.
Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
I picked up David after the Gulf Incident in 2026. He was just a lowly RAISA tech back then, but I saw something else in him. A fiery talent for putting pieces together. Getting disparate information anyone else would consider worthless and forming it into something useful. It's not a learned thing, you either have it or you don't. He had it in spades, and it was being wasted helping researchers reset their passwords.
I gave him a few trial runs - the information breaches the GOC had during the late 2020s? All him. Very impressive young man, if acerbic. When the old Two retired, he was my first pick for the job, and doubled up as the RAISA director, too. He hit the ground running. Information is the reason the Foundation has been dominant since WW1, and he was the best there was at it. He figured out the Insurgency's attack plans from annual ammunition sales in Libya crossed by Anderson's stock prices once. The puzzles stopped being puzzles. What happened next was inevitable.
He fell into the classic trap - he got paranoid. Everything was easier, but he wasn't used to that. The reasonable conclusion was that he was missing things.
Every little accident or statistical improbability became his fault. He felt responsible for the hundreds that died during the Six-Minute War. Kabul was on his hands. It wasn't, of course, but it was how he felt.
Suddenly, every single bit of information was absolutely crucial. He needed to have it, to analyze it, to control it. It wasn't enough just to solve the puzzle, he had to be the only one who had the answer. Paranoia makes monsters of us all, and David was no different. He went early for a human, which is absurdly early for an O5. I found him slumped over in his room, watching the Powerball drawings.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-03.
SCP-001-03 Description: SCP-001-03 is a warehouse on the outer grounds of Site-01.
Remodeled into a workshop, it contains manufacturing implements and industrial machinery from a variety of time periods, as well as raw materials and hand tools.
Any item crafted in SCP-001-03 using the tools and machinery available will carry some sort of minor anomalous effect with it. These can range in power and type, but largely result in 'magic items' that are anomalously improved at their given function (e.g body armor that protects the wearer from damage, a lockpick able to open any lock). A number of these items are strewn around the workshop with labels.
Attached File: Item: A small solid-state drive containing a shackled .AIC program.
Effect: .AIC, named "Sophie", is able to hold and maintain casual conversation and small talk beyond what would be capable for its storage capacity.
Label: "practice.exe" Item: A small crib mobile resembling the solar system, with the addition of a tenth planet between Uranus and Neptune.
Effect: Instantly calms the observer into a state of relaxation. Presumably designed to soothe infant crying.
Label: "aggie's baby" Administrator's Note — 3: O5-3: Oh, hello.
Administrator: Hey, Rhett.
O5-3: I wish you wouldn't use my name.
Administrator: That's what makes it fun.
[Both chuckle, then fall silent for a moment.] O5-3: Did you… need something?
Administrator: Yeah. Well, you know how time flies by, we were going to have a little get-together for Seven, be nice to have you. Maybe bring a gift for the kid.
O5-3: Oh. I see.
[Moment of silence.] O5-3: I'm sorry, I don't think so, I just, you know, have stuff here to finish up. You guys have fun.
[Moment of silence.] Administrator: No worries, Rhett. Just don't work too hard.
Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
Mann was good. I liked him. He was former Prometheus, ended up taking an employment offer from us when his lab went under. Put his brain to work designing more efficient things for us to use. Containment chambers, machines, sometimes even weapons. He built the Null Riggers that eventually replaced SRAs. He was also responsible for the design of the FS Bowe, even though he had about as much experience designing spaceships as anyone else in the Foundation. Mann was a true prodigy - the kind of intelligence you see once in a generation.
He was odd, though. Not in some overt way, just the kind of person that you have to really push to talk to. He never really interfaced with me or any of the others outside of business like everyone else did. Preferred to stay huddled in that little workshop all day and night, crafting up wonders. I'm not really sure whether he couldn't connect because he was always working, or whether he was always working because he couldn't connect. Or maybe they were entirely separate and I'm connecting dots that don't exist. We'll never really know for sure.
We never really found out what happened to him. He just didn't come back from the workshop one day. I started the biggest, quietest manhunt in the world. Never found so much as a hair. Hell, maybe he didn't want to be found. I couldn't fill his seat after that even if I wanted to — it would be admitting the obvious.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-04.
Attached file.
SCP-001-04 Description: SCP-001-04 is a private Library located in the west wing of Site- 01. It contains a variety of texts and books, all concerning various anomalous phenomena. While most of these books have been written, some will be written at some point in the future or have never been written at all, and thus do not technically exist.
SCP-001-04 was placed into Site-01 via a thaumaturgic ritual aimed at amputating a portion of the Wanderers' Library. The ritual succeeded, but resulted in the annihilation of the caster.
Attached Files: Administrator's Note — 4: Index — S to T, cont.
[…] The Selk Chronicle — Abis Wam Serfus Black — Wyrmkragg The Serpent's Hand — //T.M// REMOVED The Serpent: An Analysis — Jericho Benalsh REMOVED The Serpentine Text: Modern Edition — L.S REMOVED!
The Sessenilium - Unknown Author […] A set of small yellow post-its with hasty pencil drawings on one side. The art depicts scenes from SCP-6000, including the Main Hall, and "Page" and "Archivist" instances of SCP-6000-A. The corner of the topmost post-it is wet.
Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
Poor Tilly. She was the rarest of the rare - a Hand member defecting to the Foundation. We see a lot of the other way around, but once in a blue moon does a Hand member come to us willingly. I don't know much about her, honestly. I'm not even entirely sure she was from this particular world - if she had access to the Library she could have been from anywhere. That's probably why it took so long for me to trust her - she took up the mantle of Four thirty years after that meeting, even after becoming the Director of 17.
Between then, she became one of our most valued assets. An encyclopedic knowledge of pretty much every type of magic possible without being a capital-G God. She knew how to neutralize wizards, casters, battlemages, anything. She also knew how to disrupt the Hand's operations. They were pretty much gone by 2049. At least, until the Ninth Occult War - they have a habit of springing up during crises. But I digress.
We had anomalous members of the Council before, but never a true, honest- to-god wizard. Never thought I'd see the day. But she was one of the most loyal people I've ever met. I have no idea what the Hand did to piss her off, but she never forgave them. Her joy in ruining them was only matched by her thirst for knowledge.
That was what did her in, in the end. From the moment she shook my hand, she became a Jailor, and was barred from the Library forever. She knew what she was signing up for but I don't think she fully understood how important that place was to her. She would give anything to have her access restored. She ended up giving everything.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-05.
SCP-001-05 Description: SCP-001-05 is a large greenhouse and conservatory inside the gardens behind the east wing. A variety of colorful plants grow inside, completely unique; the species no longer exist anywhere else in the world. They have never been documented by modern science, and only exist after having been meticulously reconstructed by Foundation gene labs. While never documented by modern science, archaic herbariums from medieval Britain indicate that the species closely match descriptions of plants supposedly found on the Fae island of Hy-Brasil.
Attached File: Administrator's Note — 5: Description: A shrub with small white flowers, secretes a milky white substance.
Placard: Aglaophotis. Has abnormal healing properties — maybe send a cutting to Nine?
Description: An aquatic fern with purple 5-parted leaves.
Placard: Razkovniche. Ground into a paste effective against magical wards.
Seeds from Mom's cache.
Hey whoever finds this I'm sorry about the mess I just I'm sick of all of it and I feel like I'm doing everything wrong I've been spending a lot of time with the plants lately Did you know there's species here that haven't existed for 7 centuries they were all lost when the island disappeared but I had the labs reconstruct them so I guess they'll live on That makes one of us hahaha Sorry bad joke but yeah I'm sorry about the mess Could you please make sure my dad doesn't find out about this I don't know what it would do to him I think it's about time.
bye Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
Chelsea was one I never expected to have as an Overseer. A half-blood fairy? It would be inconceivable. The Foundation's relationship with the Faefolk is one famously riddled with lies, violence, and tragedy on both sides. But the Fae population was decimated after the events in Hy-Brasil — we never saw the island again after '88, and by the turn of the century we assumed they were all either dead or somewhere we couldn't detect them.
But not all the Fae were on the island when it vanished — I'll spare you the details but Chelsea was the result of a union between an Agent and a Fae. She had the benefits of the Fae's magic, and the career prospects that come with having a parent employed by us. It was hard, but stuff was different back then.
We had anomalous task forces, a half-anomalous researcher wasn't that absurd. She had adversity, of course, but she rose through the ranks quickly.
The previous Five recommended her for the position before he went, and I agreed.
She always struggled with it though. Supporting, even leading an organization that was the blood enemy of her people. She was a phenomenal O5, which is what makes everything that much more tragic. It wasn't any sudden event. Just the decades of moral conflict culminating until she couldn't take it anymore.
This greenhouse always meant a lot to her — it was the closest thing to her homeland that still existed anywhere on the planet. Maybe that's why she brought the gun here.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-06.
SCP-001-06 Description: SCP-001-06 is a bedroom in the western wing. It has been renovated and redecorated in the style of traditional Middle Eastern homes. Tapestries, artifacts, and knickknacks line the walls and shelves. A hookah sits on the low table. Quilts and Afghan rugs cover the floor and bed. Touching any of these decorations results in the hookah producing a light smoke. When inhaled, the subject will experience a strong vision.
Attached File: Item: A small flag of the Piercing Sun movement; a sunrise with an eye on it, rendered in minimalist black and white.
Vision: The walls of an unknown city. The flags of the Piercing Sun government are everywhere, and loudspeakers loudly proclaim the date (9-5-2059) and that the Horizon Initiative has beat back another separatist movement. The streets are empty.
Item: A quilted blanket on the bed.
Vision: Standing in the market of an Afghan village. A woman kneels in a small shop and sews the rug. On a small television, a muted news channel dated December 1st shows aerial shots of Kabul in ruins. Small explosions still pepper the rubble. The subject will cry after the vision ends, but is never able to explain why.
Administrator's Note — 6: O5-6: Why?!
Administrator: You know why, Ali.
O5-6: What, the GOC might take offense? They don't give a shit about anything east of Turkey, they never have!
Administrator: No, because we're not in a position to be jamming our fists into every anomalous conflict that springs up.
O5-6: Then why are you even here? You disappear for months at a time and then show up to tell me that my vote is invalid?
Administrator: Because One is dead and I don't want you to go rushing headfirst into a fight you don't know anything about.
O5-6: Didn't we learn anything from Samothrace? Neutrality just means more death, you know this!
Administrator: [Sigh] Look, I agree with you, but the other te- nine don't. I've vested the power in your hands for a reason. This isn't going to end here, Kabul is just first blood. Twelve's replacement is getting fast-tracked, and he knows how to win a fight. Just, wait, okay?
O5-6: Nine. What happened to us?
[Silence.] Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
Ali was from the Middle East. Exposing my Eurocentrism, I couldn't tell you where exactly. He always said that he drifted from country to country after the Arab Spring. He loved it, though, with all his heart. The Foundation has a historically reviled presence in the region, so as an eminent expert on the local paranormal, he was being headhunted by us. He was also being approached by ORIA.
We promised him so many things. That keeping the region stable was in our best interests too, that ORIA's end goal was hegemony against the West. Some of it was true, some of it wasn't. In either case, he believed it, and took the job offer. Naturally, his first task was to go to ORIA and tell them he accepted their job offer. Spies are always useful.
He fed us info, fed them misinfo, all sorts of things. He's directly responsible for the strong relations we have there now. He did well for a good long while, but sooner or later spies get found out. His time came after the Dubai Djinn Incident, and we pulled him back to the States to take an administrative job, well outside ORIA's grip. He was good at his job and had strong personal connections with important players. It wasn't long before a Council spot opened up and I ushered him in.
We never quite managed to make the region stable and ORIA never quite built their hegemony, so what can really be said? All Ali knew is that he had completely screwed the organization dedicated to his people and bet all his money on us. When the Insurgency reared their ugly heads and made a first strike, he realized he'd made the wrong decision and tried to fix his mistakes. I stopped him.
He drank until his liver gave out, then drank some more.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-07 Description: SCP-001-07 is a wooden gazebo in the gardens behind the eastern wing, painted white. It contains an arbor, which is grown over with ivy and roses. Upon stepping through the arbor, the subject will be temporarily transported to one of two extradimensional locations. While the subject is free to walk around, no actions taken will affect anything, and no one will acknowledge their presence.
Attached File: Administrator's Note — 7: Location One: A small wedding in progress on a rainy day. A man and a woman, wet in their wedding clothes, kiss under the arbor to applause from the assembled two dozen individuals. They will mingle, congratulating the couple.
The woman lightly touches her belly.
Location Two: A funeral in progress on a cloudy day. A portrait of the woman stands on an easel. The casket is closed and on a table inside the gazebo, in front of the arbor. A dozen or so individuals stand quietly talking or sit silently.
The man stands at the edge of the gazebo, looking out at Site-01. His face is emotionless.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Re: (No Subject) Date: 01-08-2046 One, I really, really don't care how long you've been on the Council. You don't outrank me. So don't ever get on your high horse and think to shame me for taking action where you won't. People in our facilities are dying by the day and the Insurgency is still marching. The Veil won't fall if we evacuate who we can, even if you're too much of a coward to work with the GOC and end it. I'm not going to sit by and watch people die, One. I can't do that.
Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
Aggie was the best of us. She had a lot of love to give. She was also incredibly talented - her rise through the ranks of Foundation administration was meteoric. When Seven died, she was pretty much the only option. His sphere of influence was containment solutions, and Aggie was the best graded HMCL out there, not to mention having firsthand experience with all the famous anomalies. She was brought on with a shake and a smile - otherwise, she would've been on the Ethics Committee, which was probably the biggest pain in the ass for the Council until the Insurgency. She always had a strong moral bone.
She met Thirteen early on though, long before that. We all work together, it's impossible not to know your fellow Overseers, even if you don't meet them physically all that often. I don't know exactly when they started their romance, but I found out in 2034. About a week before they wedded. She always was a maverick. At least they were happy together. I thought married Overseers were a road to disaster, but in those days the Council were the ones that actually ran things. It wasn't my place to say.
I was wrong anyway. They brought out the best in each other. There were bad times, of course. Every couple has bad times, but the good times seemed to vastly outnumber them. Each was the first thing the other had put on the same level as their careers. They made a funny couple - Thirteen the bureaucrat, Seven the maverick, always doing what she thought was right.
She had a lot of love to give. She died in childbirth. I don't know what happened to the child, I left that to Thirteen. He was good, but never quite the same.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-08 A component of SCP-001-08.
SCP-001-08 Description: SCP-001-08 is a large nonfunctional machine in the basement of Site-01. The express purpose of SCP- 001-08 is unknown but, by O5-8's description, is "a time machine". It has sustained heavy damage through unknown means, resulting in a number of exterior scratches and scorch marks, as well as burns and broken machinery on the inside. The interior is a small space, 2m square, with a seat and controls for the machine. One corner has been cleared of rubble and contains a small shrine with mundane memorabilia.
Attached File: Item: A small black disc, 3 inches wide. When put on a flat surface and pressed, it displays a holographic photo of 2 men with a small child. The child is cutting a birthday cake. All are smiling.
Item: A crumpled paper receipt for a "Saloman Implant Repair" in New Portland.
An address is given and the charge comes out to $198.74. No such store exists at the given address, but the receipt is dated to "9-16-2154". The date is repeatedly underlined in black marker.
Administrator's Note — 8: O5-07: That's everything, I think?
O5-09: Lord, I hope so.
O5-11: It is everything. Meeting adjourned — unless anyone has any concerns?
O5-08: Do you ever think about when you're going to die?
[Silence.] O5-09: Excuse me, son?
O5-08: Just generally. O5s still die eventually, that's how we got our jobs. So… do you?
Administrator: I think this discussion isn't productive.
[Silence.] O5-12: The hell have you been?
Administrator: Fixing things. But hey Eight, maybe you should go take a lie down, huh? Meeting's over anyway.
O5-08: Yeah… Sorry guys.
[Mumbling.] Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
Thad was another one I truly didn't expect. For all my abilities, even I can't see into the future - he could, but only by virtue of being from there. He told us more than enough to both confirm he was from the Foundation of tomorrow and to gain our trust. He warned us about GoI movements, about containment breaches, about significant historical events. Everything we needed.
He was content to tell us what we needed to direct the Foundation into being the technologically dominant force it is today. That said, he never really ever talked about the future, when he was from. Said that it would risk causality or a paradox. I think it's funny, because he ended up proving causality anyway.
Knowing the future has the unfortunate side effect of knowing the future - he knew every single one of his colleagues, even me, would die. He knew how, when, where, whether we'd go gentle into that good night or whether the Reaper would take us kicking and screaming. He never told us, he was smart - but he carried that weight on his soul every single day, every meeting he walked into.
It's so cliche, but one day he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't wake up and talk to us like he didn't know the exact circumstances of our demise. He liked to come down here to think, maybe light a candle and look at the photos. I don't know who they are, but I can take an educated guess. He deserved a better end to his story.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-09.
SCP-001-09 Description: SCP-001-09 is a medicine cabinet in the bathroom of a private bedroom in the eastern wing. The cabinet contains an array of medicines and narcotics, all contained in unlabelled amber glass pill bottles. Ingesting these medicines will result in variable but consistently positive health effects on the user, with no interim until it takes effect.
Use allows suppression of medical conditions considered debilitating by even modern science.
Attached File: Description: A purple and yellow striped pill, circular, stamped with "W".
Effect: Immediately causes short-lasting euphoria in the user. Alters brain chemistry temporarily to more effectively deliver hormones while sending dopamine and serotonin glands into overdrive. The bottle is completely full and still sealed.
Description: A small black pill, square. Stamped with the Foundation seal.
Effect: Stimulates the amygdala, causing the gradual loss of a long-term memory. Of the six contained in the blister pack, one has been used.
Administrator's Note — 9: Two letters: A sealed letter, found on O5-9's desk. "Grandfather" is written on the outside in curling script. There is no return address. The letter is unopened and covered in a thick layer of dust.
An unsealed envelope and folded letter paper, found in the wastebasket. Only a few words are written down: "Thomas - By the time you get this, I".
We used to joke that Jean was a lich. Never to his face, of course. I may be old, but he was an old man, to the T. Grumpy, irritable, resistant to change. Required a small pharmacy to make it through each day.
But make it through each day he did. He was the oldest man I have ever met before he became an Overseer. He was director of 19, and he had worked his whole life to make it to that spot. He'd done well - the only possible move upwards was onto the Council. He made for a good O5 - sharp despite his age, shrewd because of it. He always knew when someone was lying, and never hesitated to tell the whippersnappers like Four exactly what he thought of their ideas. I think I may have been the only one he respected.
Being in Foundation Administration generally extends your life, it's the highest quality healthcare in the world. Being on the Council is the peak of that, what with all the drinking from the Fountain, but he was old when he was brought on - rather than prolonging his life, the doctors were working to stave off the end. And it worked, too. Between the medicines, the machines, and the surgeries, I think he was about to beat out One as the longest living human on the planet.
Then one day he decided he didn't want to do it anymore. He was always inscrutable, I don't know whether something sent him over the edge or whether he decided to do it himself. He got one of his Factotums to take his wheelchair out before dawn and wheel him to the hills in the northern parts of the grounds. Said he wanted to watch the sunrise alone. The records from his vitals are still there - he sat and watched the sunrise. Then he reached behind the chair and turned off his own oxygen. The body was cold by the time someone got there.
Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-10 Description: SCP-001-10 is a large dog bed inside SCP-001-03. It is pushed against the northern wall, and covered in dust. A photo of a golden retriever is pinned to the wall behind it. A number of items sit in the dog bed, including a chew toy, leash, and beaker - upon touching any of these items, the subject will find themselves standing on the southern shore of the pond on the Site-01 grounds.
Attached File: Administrator's Note — 10: To-Do 1. Olympia 2. Deepwell 3. Samsara 4. Eggwalker 5. Persephone 6. Back to normal 7. High-Level Containment Solutions 8. Deific Entity Neutralization (Test 343.8) 9. Figure out Kabul Recovery Plan […] Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
This one we all saw coming. Crow was a true genius, without a doubt. In some ways I think getting turned into a dog made him smarter, bizarrely. He was thinking in ways no human ever possibly could. He was fast friends with Three when he got brought on. I will be the first to admit that I fully recognize the hilarity in a dog as an Overseer, but Crow was one of the best men I have ever had the pleasure of working with, even if he wasn't a man.
Plus being on the Council meant he could have all the time in the world to perfect his creations. We used a lot of his tech after the Six Minute War, even more after 2050. He was a man of the future, that's for certain. He was also friendly in that doglike way. Always looking at the best in people, even when they had done nothing to earn his friendliness.
Unfortunately, he dealt with a lot of the same problems Aktus did. He was an O5, but a dog is a dog, and the unfortunate fact of life is that dogs die a lot faster than we do. Even with the medical wonders of the day available to us, we were fighting biology.
He made the arrangements in advance, he didn't want to go in pain. Spent the day lounging around the manor, playing with us, indulging in his instincts, chasing birds. We went for a walk on midday, all goddamn thirteen of us and a golden retriever. Passed by the pond, and he said this was where he wanted to do it. Walked in a circle three times then sat down and closed his eyes because the sun was in his face. I should like to think the syringe didn't hurt him too bad.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-11.
SCP-001-11 Description: SCP-001-11 is a small armory in the basement of Site-01. A variety of firearms and traditional weapons are arranged on the walls, along with appropriate ammunition. Touching any of the weapons will display a particular scar on the subject's body, generally from a minor wound along the extrema, but occasionally from a significant torso wound. The scar disappears after letting go of the weapon.
Attached File: Weapon: A vibrospear, of the sort used on Luna during the Solidarity Campaign.
It is inlaid with symbols and markings.
Scar: A bite mark along the calf. The teeth marks do not correspond with any possible human dental set or known animal set.
Weapon: A custom rotating-barrel hand cannon. Emblazoned with the logo of the Foundation Agents Corp.
Scar: 15 large knife wounds across the chest, neck, and arms, ragged and violent.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Re: Mission Date: 05-03-2063 You gotta stop worrying about me. I've been doing this shit way before I had a desk job, remember? You had better, you're the one that put me behind it.
I have the best security detail on the planet and I'm going to a site nobody even knows about. The little people need to know we haven't abandoned them. That's how you get people actually defecting.
Focus on getting the other seats filled before you start worrying about what happens if mine goes empty, OK? You're a good boss, but you worry too much.
I'll be fine, I promise.
Administrator's Note — 11: Troy never asked for any of this, but he had the unfortunate fate of being too good at his job. I couldn't let someone like that waste their time in the Foundation hunting down magic objects and following up on Bigfoot rumours.
His condition for being shoved into administration was that he could still take on field jobs if he wanted. As his rank rose, he got less and less time for it, until eventually seeing him go out was a rare thrill. He was a good goddamn Agent.
But he was right. Ultimately he knew something I still fail to understand. Some people just aren't fit for this life. It's one of intrigue, pettiness, and messy, messy politics. He was a simple, down-to-earth guy, he wasn't good for any of that.
But he accepted my offer anyway. Not because he wanted to, but because he thought he should. He was altruistic like that.
Made it a surprisingly good long time behind a desk job, too. Back then if you'd asked anyone how well they thought Agent Lament would do at a desk job, you'd have been laughed out of the room. But there he was. Instead of sneaking into Adiyat or looking into the resurgence of the Spirit, he was making tactical decisions about how best to defend against the Insurgency from the protected walls of the safest place on Earth. He was good at it, but that doesn't mean he was okay with it.
One day he decided he was needed in Site-34 in the Levant. This was in 2063, near the tail end of the Crisis, where none of us were really sure which of our personnel were still truly loyal. You can imagine how worried I was about an Overseer presenting publically, but he said that the people needed to see him, to see that their leadership wasn't scared. He always cared a lot about what people thought.
One of his bodyguards turned out to not be as loyal as we thought. Troy put up a hell of a fight, though - the autolimo arrived at 34 and opened up to a bloodbath. He'd stabbed the assassin with his own knife 12 times before breaking his neck — probably good, Twelve would've castrated the guy for information if he didn't kill him. But he'd gotten cut up a lot, way too much. He might have survived if he was here. As it is, he bled out before the car even stopped.
Knowing Troy, though, that's probably exactly how he'd have wanted to go out.
Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DAWN DAWN DAWN REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal » ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal SCP-001 BY DIRECT ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR The following file is classified Clearance Level 001/1.
All Foundation personnel are permitted and encouraged to read this document.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +768 Welcome, O5-13.
Administrator Franz Williams, circa 1891.
LEVEL 1/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Site-01.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: All personnel are permitted to put in a request to their local Human Resources officer if they would like to visit Site-01. Visits are generally limited to one per 4 years, in order to avoid large amounts of damage to the property. The Site itself is maintained by the Office of the Administrator, and any concerns with the physical building or grounds should be directed there.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to a collection of 13 anomalous areas present within Site-01.
These anomalous areas vary in size and effect, and are scattered throughout the ground of the site. A full list of SCP-001 instances is attached below.
Site-01 is a mansion in rural Virginia constructed between 1764 and 1766 by Duke Franz C. Williams, an Austrian noble who would later become the founder and current Administrator of the Foundation. Williams' emigration from Europe was incited by the Seven Years' War, later regarded as the First Occult War. Documents relate that he arrived in the New World in a private party of twelve, purchasing the land for the mansion ahead of time. The party that arrived would become the first Overseers of the Foundation that they formed, though the organization as it is today would not take shape until the late 19th century during the American Civil War.
Safe Safe It became customary for new Overseers to make their own additions to the mansion as they were inducted, modifying and changing rooms to suit their needs, often with anomalous effects. Due to the secrecy associated with the former O5 Council, access to the Site itself was severely restricted until very recently.
SCP-001-01 SCP-001-02 SCP-001-03 SCP-001-04 SCP-001-05 SCP-001-06 SCP-001-07 SCP-001-08 SCP-001-09 SCP-001-10 SCP-001-11 SCP-001-12 SCP-001-12.
SCP-001-12 Description: SCP-001-12 is a bar cart in an auxiliary office in Site-01. It is set with a large variety of liquor and alcohol, ranging from common beers to expensive scotch. The bottles never run out; however, upon pouring any into a glass, the drink will transmute into another liquid, generally nonpotable or toxic.
Attached File: Drink: Macallan 1948, aged whiskey.
Liquid: Warm, bitter water. Chemical analysis confirms trace amounts of sulfur.
Bottle 3/4 full.
Drink: 1.5 liter jug of moonshine.
Liquid: Freezing cold hard water. Scalds the throat when drunk and induces unconciousness. Jug nearly empty.
Administrator's Note — 12: O5-12: So I guess it's just us left now, huh?
Administrator: Hello, Twelve.
O5-13: So it would seem.
[Silence.] O5-12: Care for a drink?
Administrator: Hah. I thought you'd never ask.
O5-13: Scotch, please.
O5-12: Huh. Never knew you drank.
O5-13: I didn't.
[Pouring.] Administrator: Cheers, gents. It was a good run.
O5-12: Hear, hear.
O5-13: Yes.
[Quiet, intermittent sipping.] Clearance Level 001/5 detected. Would you like to open a classified file addendum?
That nutcase deserved what he got. The only reason he was on the Council is because of the Insurgency Crisis. We needed a strong, capable military leader.
The last time I fought, horses were still on the battlefield. Alto was a deranged maniac but we've had a lot of deranged maniacs. Right then, we needed one.
He did his job. Beat back the enemy. The Insurgency rose and was suppressed with overwhelming force. We waged war in Asia, Africa, even the Antarctic became a warzone. And we won. Clef ceded his control of Applied Force afterwards, but he always directed massive influence in the Division. Not surprising.
After that, he didn't really know what to do. O5 was not the action-packed, cloak-and-dagger job he thought it was. Mostly just paperwork and meetings.
So he lost his fervor over time. Mellowed out, became the kind of guy you could drink with instead of the guy who started bar fights. None us spent too much time around him, never really forgot the shit he pulled way back when.
One day he went looking for a fight and got one. What happened isn't important, but after he was dead and buried, I swear to god I saw the sun blink, just for a moment.
▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-13 Description: SCP-001-13 is a small graveyard on the outer grounds of Site-01.
13 gravestones are arranged in a grid of four columns. Each bears an inscription that changes depending on the reader, conforming to their relationship with the subject of the tombstone. The following is a list of messages as recorded by O5-13.
01. Here lies Django Bridge. An archivist to the end.
02. Here lies David Rosen. Never saw it coming.
03. Here lies Everett Mann. Could make anything except happiness.
An empty grave.
04. Here lies Tilda Moose. Didn't know what she had until she gave it away. Died trying to get it back.
05. Here lies Chelsea Elliot, née Glaistig. Feet in two worlds, fit in neither.
06. Here lies Ali Ibn-Bijhan. Betrayed his countrymen. Died of the guilt.
07. Here lies Agatha Rights. The only one I have ever loved.
08. Here lies Thaddeus Xyank. Came from tomorrow to help us today. Never forgot what he left behind.
09. Here lies Jean Aktus. A relic of the past, but he knew that.
Administrator's Note: ▷CLOSE◁ 10. Here lies Kain Pathos Crow. He was a good boy.
11. Here lies Troy Lament. The best I have ever known.
12. Here lies Alto Clef. Rot in hell.
13. MEMENTO MORI It's been eighty years, Gears. I got you onto senior staff, then directorship, then the Council. I know you well enough to know what you do when you're thinking about ending things.
It's okay. I was here before the Council, I'll be here after. You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.
I'm sorry for putting this crushing burden on you and the others. I can't help but feel responsible. This life isn't an easy one, they might still be alive if not for me. They'd certainly have been happier.
You were all the best and brightest of the Foundation of then. I took you and I ruined you, and I'm sorry.
Don't worry about what happens after — my office has a handle on things, we have since I stopped refilling your seats. It's time to start burying the past. Make room for the future. There will never be a group like this again, but that's okay. The mere existence of the Council seems to invite tragedy. It's time for something different anyway. I don't know what, but the age of the Council is over, I can tell you that.
Come to my study when you're ready to end it. It's okay, Charles.
Don't worry. You did a good job. I'm proud of you.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"ROUNDERHOUSE's Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: manor Name: File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Author: Stephen Lea License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WestoverPlantationSEGL.jpg Filename: administrator Name: File:D. Carlos de Borbón y de Austria-Este smoking.jpg Author: Nadar License: Public Domain Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:D._Carlos_de_Borb%C3%B3n_y_de_Austria -Este_smoking.jpg Filename: archive Name: File:Etnografiska museet May 2013 01.jpg Author: Arild Vågen License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Etnografiska_museet_May_2013_01.jpg Filename: newsroom Name: File:City tv control room Doors Open Toronto 2012.jpg Author: Loozrboy License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:City_tv_control_room_Doors_Open_Toront o_2012.jpg Filename: workshop Name: OLD INDUSTRIAL EQUIPMENT IN ABANDONED WORKSHOP Author: pixy License: Public Domain Source: https://pixy.org/5877694/ Filename: library Name: File:Chatsworth House library.JPG Author: Sb2s3 License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chatsworth_House_library.JPG Filename: postits Name: postits Author: UncertaintyCrossing License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rounderhouse-proposal Filename: greenhouse Name: greenhouse Author: pxhere License: Public Domain Source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/24550 Filename: room Name: File:Berber house.jpg Author: Ilan Molcho License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Berber_house.jpg Filename: machine Name: File:GSI, Darmstadt, Juli 2015 (31).JPG Author: Alexander Blecher License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GSI,_Darmstadt,_Juli_2015_(31).JPG More From This Author Filename: medicine Name: Holmes medicine cabinet Author: Matt Brown License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/2855822695 Filename: guns Name: File:Donnington Historic Weapons Collection Display.jpg Author: Cocklecanoe License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Donnington_Historic_Weapons_Collection_ Display.jpg Filename: booze Name: onyx bar cart Author: goodiesfirst License: CC BY 2.0 Source: https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/52733637-78c2-4bd0-a67e- 4002d2379918 TAGS↴ 001-proposal agent-lament building bureaucracy director-aktus director-moose django-bridge doctor-clef doctor-elliott doctor-gears doctor-mann doctor-rights electronic extradimensional food hallucination historical hy-brasil inscription kain-pathos-crow mechanical medical plant prize-feature researcher-rosen safe scp thad-xyank toxic wanderers-library weapon Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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SCP Foundation SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us Abridged Retirement Proposals » » Abridged Retirement Proposals SCP-001 McDoctorate's Proposal The following is a list of abridged retirement proposals from the Foundation Heritage Collection. Retiring A-Class personnel are permitted to submit a proposal documenting an anomaly of personal significance to one's career, or the Foundation's history. They are to adhere to the following format.
Rating: +78 Fold Table of Contents ╶─────Dr. Quantum's Proposal: The Timer ╶─────Dr. Swann's Proposal: The Database ╶─────Dir. Clef's Proposal: The Garden ╶─────Dr. Brennan's Proposal: God's Blind Spot ╶─────Dr. Ghipo's Proposal: A Good Computer ╶─────Dir. Lily's Proposal: The Sacrifice ╶─────Drs. T. G. and Aktus' Proposal: The Broken Engine ╶─────Dr. Pickman's Proposal: Storytellers ╶─────Dr. Roget Sr.'s Proposal: Project Keter ╶─────Dr. Roget Jr.'s Proposal: The Projectile ╶─────Dr. Mackenzie’s Proposal: The Legacy ╶─────Dr. Argent's Proposal: The Unit ╶─────Dr. Locke's Proposal: Crack of Dawn ╶─────Dr. Tufton's Proposal: The Children‘s Origin ╶─────Researcher Calvin's Proposal: The Noise ╶─────Dr. Dayle’s Proposal:The Pit ╶─────Dr. Scantron’s Proposal: Graduation Day ╶─────Dr. North’s Proposal: The Toybox ╶─────Dr. Wrong’s Proposal: The Agreement ╶─────Dr. Naismith’s Proposal: Kiteen Pallo ╶─────Dr. Valis’ Proposal: Logicism +++++ Dr. [name]'s Proposal: [title] CODE NAME: [AAAA] OBJECT CLASS: SUMMARY: [Brief Description] SIGNIFICANCE: [Why it was proposed] If you are a retiring member of A-Class personnel, you may append your submission to the end of this document. Abridged proposals should not exceed 250 words and should contain only text.
Dr. Quantum's Proposal: The Timer CODE NAME: QNTM OBJECT CLASS: Safe SUMMARY: SCP-QNTM is an anomalous egg timer of unknown origin. When SCP-QNTM is set to a given time (up to a maximum of 60 minutes), the entropy state of the universe is reversed by that duration. This effect is not experienced by SCP-QNTM or its user (designated SCP-QNTM-A); from the perspective of SCP-QNTM-A, time is reversed according to the duration set. This entails that, for the duration set, SCP-QNTM-A will co-exist with the past version of themself (designated SCP-QNTM-B), and can meaningfully affect the sequence of events leading to SCP-QNTM's activation. After activation, SCP-QNTM will tick down as a non-anomalous timer would; however, upon reaching zero, SCP- QNTM-A ceases to exist.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-QNTM is the first known temporal anomaly acquired by the Foundation, and was instrumental in Dr. Quantum's career.
Dr. Swann's Proposal: The Database CODE NAME: SWNN OBJECT CLASS: Thaumiel SUMMARY: SCP-SWNN is the designation for the SCiPnet database framework. SCP-SWNN depends on a variety of anomalous technologies to maintain and present documentation as effectively as possible; namely, SCiPnet reorganizes interrelated documents using a pataphysics-based predictive algorithm. This causes documentation to be presented in a more narratively- appealing format, reducing the likelihood that personnel will miss important information due to lack of interest.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-SWNN is considered Dr. Swann's seminal work, and is regularly essential to Foundation operations.
Dir. Clef's Proposal: The Garden CODE NAME: EDEN OBJECT CLASS: Location SUMMARY: SCP-EDEN is an extradimensional location that features a garden of variable size and topology. If one is surrounded by fire such that they are unable to safely escape (e,g, trapped in a burning building), SCP-EDEN can be accessed by walking through the fire with one's eyes closed, so long as the success of the procedure is not doubted at the point which the fire is crossed.
SCP-EDEN's spatial dimensionality is always exactly one greater than the number of living humans which occupy it; this entails that, as SCP-EDEN is concurrently entered by greater numbers of people, more of the garden becomes accessible, but the entire space becomes less readily-navigable.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-EDEN prompted the development of several revolutionary technologies for the exploration and mapping of hyper- and hypo- dimensional spaces, and contains several artifacts which have assisted in the development of further technologies.
Dr. Brennan's Proposal: God's Blind Spot CODE NAME: SPKB OBJECT CLASS: Neutralized (formerly Safe) SUMMARY: SCP-SPKB was an anomalous phenomenon affecting an Orthodox- Christian Church (designated SCP-SPKB-A) centered in Άνο Βέρβανα, a rural village located in the mountain ranges of northern Greece. For a period of several decades, SCP-SPKB caused any form of worship or spiritual practice within SCP-SPKB-A to be anomalously unfulfilling, causing gradual increases in tension and unrest within the community. SCP-SPKB was eventually Neutralized through the development and use of spiritual channeling technologies.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-SPKB catalyzed the discovery of Akiva radiation, as well as the formation of the Department of Tactical Theology.
Dr. Ghipo's Proposal: A Good Computer CODE NAME: GDBY OBJECT CLASS: Thaumiel SUMMARY: SCP-GDBY is the ERZATZ Type AK9 Computational Engine: an advanced digital computer system designed to suggest initial containment procedures for incoming anomalies. SCP-GDBY is utilized primarily by the Processing Division to detect correlations between existing and newly-acquired anomalies, often suggesting unexpectedly-effective containment procedures for generic anomalies.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-GDBY was developed in 1955 in response to the exponential growth of Foundation operations, to which it is now essential. Its algorithm suggests effective containment procedures for over 75% of all incoming anomalies.
Dir. Lily's Proposal: The Sacrifice CODE NAME: FLWR OBJECT CLASS: Euclid SUMMARY: SCP-FLWR describes a phenomenon in which, when a person in a perceived position of power, significance, or influence is cremated and buried alongside specific and complex arrangements of flora, the land surrounding the burial site becomes anomalously fertile. This land becomes capable of supporting crop yield up to 1400% the baseline average, even in otherwise infertile areas (including desert, concrete, et cetera).
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-FLWR established one of the first in-house anomalous agriculture practices, which was instrumental in establishing self-sustainability early on in the Foundation's history. Director Lily's funeral was carried out as specified in her will, resulting in the creation of the Ultra-high-yield Cultivation Zone. She was posthumously awarded the Foundation Star in Exemplary Service.
Drs. T. G. and Aktus' Proposal: The Broken Engine CODE NAME: BRKN OBJECT CLASS: Safe (formerly Keter) SUMMARY: SCP-BRKN is a collection of anomalous components of a standard automobile engine. When one or more components are separated for more than five minutes, the segment of SCP-BRKN currently possessing the most mass will levitate above the ground (as if it were within a functioning vehicle) before approaching the locations of any unclaimed components. This will cause damage to any materials between or surrounding SCP-BRKN, commensurate to the damage that would be caused by a moderately-sized vehicle.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-BRKN's containment challenges prompted the construction of Site-15 and several revolutionary electro-mechanical containment mechanisms. Site-15 now contains more than 300 electronic and digital anomalies using methods initially devised by Drs. T. G. and Aktus.
Dr. Pickman's Proposal: Storytellers CODE NAME: SPWI OBJECT CLASS: Archon SUMMARY: Observations throughout Nexus-18 (Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin) of actions of individuals and events apparently conforming to narrative and folkloric tropes and archetypes, including the manifestation of urban legends, heightened activity around times of celebration, and an apparent degree of sentience within the Nexus itself, responding to certain trigger phrases (i.e.
"What could possibly go wrong?") with appropriate consequences.
SIGNIFICANCE: Isaiah H. Pickman (1978-2017 (Presumed KIA) was an archivist at Site-87 in Nexus Zone-18, whose cataloging of anomalies within Nexus-18 led to the formulation of this theory by Sinclair, Bailey et. al in early 2018. From this, containment efforts within Nexus-18 have grown over 70% more effective, due to new countermeasures and containment tactics being devised using SCP-SPWI as a jumping-off point.
This proposal is made in memorial to Dr. Pickman by his colleagues; his last will and testament stated that "If anything I ever did led to something new being discovered, give it a new object class, just to fuck with the filing system".
"Archon" is synonymous with "Thaumiel" in this case.
Dr. Roget Sr.'s Proposal: Project Keter CODE NAME: RGT OBJECT CLASS: Thaumiel SUMMARY: SCP-RGT is a Foundation Site, designated Site-Keter, responsible for the containment of most Keter-class objects within Foundation custody. Said Site uses multiple Keter-class objects to contain other ones, in the process creating a 'Thaumiel-Keter-Paradox' scenario, in which almost uncontainable objects are contained by the merit of being uncontained.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-RGT was fundamental in the development of new containment options for Keter-class objects. Prior to the creation of Site-Keter, all such objects were contained separately within Foundation sites; following the construction of said Site however, the need for containment of such anomalies has been minimalized to finding a 'containment counterpart' to such, virtually ending for example the need to actively seek elimination methods for SCP-682. Due to this phenomenon, Foundation resources had been made more available for other projects, not-related to the costly containment procedures of said objects.
SCP-RGT was originally proposed by Dr. Roget following a mass-containment breach in Site-02 occurring, which resulted in the 'Keter-self-containment paradox' event occurring; following this event, multiple in-depth tests have been conducted, which lead to the creation of plans to create Site-Keter.
Dr. Roget Jr.'s Proposal: The Projectile CODE NAME: RGT-II OBJECT CLASS: Neutralized (formerly Eparch) SUMMARY: SCP-RGT-II was the projectile that murdered the US president John F. Kennedy. SCP-RGT-II had the anomalous ability of invoking paranoia in all individuals who witnessed the event (live or otherwise); its main purpose was to stir up such feelings within the USA as a way to overall weaken the country.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-RGT-II led to the discovery of multiple groups aware of the Foundation's existence operating within the Russian and American governments, additionally uncovering the main administrators of GoI-1109 ("Parawatch") a few decades after. Moreover, testing SCP-RGT-II's anomalous properties allowed Dr. Roget Jr. to develop more efficient amnestics and other anomalous chemical substances used by the Foundation.
Dr. Mackenzie’s Proposal: The Legacy CODE NAME: ADMN OBJECT CLASS: Euclid SUMMARY: SCP-ADMN is a diary originating from a prior iteration of existence.
The diary itself belongs to an individual who would later be known as “The Administrator”. The diary documents much of The Administrator’s final moments in his world as his reality comes to an end via an infestation only described as an “entropic force”. The exact details pertaining to the nature of The Administrator and their home universe are unclear as much of the pages have been torn from it. The final page describes a solution designed for omnidimensional travel through realities which only The Administrator has utilized once to materialize himself within our own iteration of existence.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-ADMN is known for being the first ever introduction of the individual known as “The Administrator” as well as his introduction to our mainline reality. This proposal is notable for being one of Dr. Mackenzie’s final works before disappearing under questionable circumstances.
Dr. Argent's Proposal: The Unit CODE NAME: WJSP OBJECT CLASS: Non-Anomalous SUMMARY: SCP-WJSP is a unit of measurement created by Dr. Argent to measure the degree of an object's anomalous properties. Using SCP-WJSP, containment specialists can accurately measure the threat an object or entity poses to normalcy and society at large.
SIGNIFICANCE: Utilization of SCP-WJSP is required on all anomalous objects upon their acquisition by the Foundation, and serves as the basis for all decisions pertaining to the Object Class, Threat Level, and Disruption Class of newly-acquired SCPs.
Dr. Locke's Proposal: Crack of Dawn CODE NAME: WDB OBJECT CLASS: Archon SUMMARY: SCP-WDB was the designation given to the Sun after, during a worldwide famine, the Sun's rays temporarily gained an anomalous effect for approximately 59 days. During this time, organic material exposed to sunlight would undergo several alterations, the most obvious of which was an increased healing factor. Plant life (especially produce) had significantly higher growth rates during this time. Fertility rates were also drastically increased, with human pregnancies only lasting an average of 20-30 days.
SIGNIFICANCE: While Foundation efforts have all but erased anomalous events created by SCP-WDB from the global conciousness, knowledge of these events has proven immensely useful for morale among personnel, especially those who display nihilistic or solitary tendencies.
Dr. Tufton's Proposal: The Children‘s Origin CODE NAME: KING OBJECT CLASS: Neutralized (formerly Safe) SUMMARY: SCP-KING is "The Three Laws of The Scarlet King", a 1787 religious and philosophical book written by Thomas Bruce. It describes violent anti-modernist ideas suggesting societal reversion to a more pre- enlightenment- and survival-based life by worshipping and summoning an entity called "The Scarlet King". It formerly had a cognitohazardous effect that had a high-chance to compel readers to support and believe the philosophy behind it, as well as its religious material, regardless of previous ideologies. The anomalous quality of the book was lost after the SCP-6140 reality-shift.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-KING provides a great amount of information about the formerly existing "Children of the Scarlet King" cult’s history and their beliefs, both in the book‘s text and it‘s background. Dr. Tufton‘s research revealed that Thomas published SCP-KING a year before SCP-140 released to ensure the creation of a religious group themed around Thomas‘ invented myth, since the Chronicles of the Daevas book made few mentions of this fantasized religion.
Researcher Calvin's Proposal: The Noise CODE NAME: NASG OBJECT CLASS: Thaumiel SUMMARY: SCP-NASG is a levitating sphere, with a surface resembling TV static, inside of a cave in Iraq. If a physically written narrative is immersed into it, it will telepathically transfer information to nearby humans, constituting professional advice on how to improve the story. Of note, SCP-NASG mistakes certain texts as narratives, such as clinical documents.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-NASG's critical suggestions on SCP document formats were the inspiration and basis for how future documents would be organized and introduced by SCP-SWNN. Its observations are regularly noted when updates to the database algorithm are developed.
Dr. Dayle’s Proposal:The Pit CODE NAME: GRAVE OBJECT CLASS: Thaumiel SUMMARY: SCP-GRAVE is a pit measuring 5.5 meters or radius and 8.45 meters of depth. SCP-GRAVE is composed of an anomalous material, of unknown composition, that has the capability to lower, while in their vicinity, the Hume levels of various Type-Green entities.
SIGNIFICANCE: By analyzing the material of which SCP-GRAVE is composed of, this has led to its eventual replication and brought to the creation of SRAs by the hand of Dr. Robert Scranton, giving advantage to the SCP Foundation toward various ontokinetic entities.
Dr. Scantron’s Proposal: Graduation Day CODE NAME: SCR OBJECT CLASS: Thaumiel SUMMARY: SCP-SCR is an anomalous phenomenon that occurs when an individual with skills that could be useful to the Foundation graduates high school. Memories will be implanted in their head of them being a Foundation Level One researcher and they will attempt to being work.
SIGNIFICANCE: SCP-SCR leads to approximately 200 new Foundation employees being hired each year and analysis of it was instrumental in studying memetics and the nature of memories. Dr. Scantron was able to isolate the memetic effects of high school into a single image that causes those who look at it to become a Foundation employee.
Dr. North’s Proposal: The Toybox CODE NAME: WNDR OBJECT CLASS: Thaumiel SUMMARY: SCP-WNDR is a box that contains a seemingly infinite space, inside of which are a countless variety of toys. The box is able to read the mind of the individual who opens the box, dispensing the type of toys that would give maximum enjoyment to its user.
SIGNIFICANCE: Dr. North successfully lobbied for the item to be regularly used on stressed employees, this being one of the first cases of an anomalous item being regularly used for the benefit of Foundation employees.
Dr. Wrong’s Proposal: The Agreement CODE NAME: CNSNS OBJECT CLASS: Safe SUMMARY: SCP-CNSNS is a room in the Headquarters of the United Nations that when a group of individuals meet there, will start to discuss wars that did not occur in baseline reality. All affected individuals will begin to negotiate treaties to stop said wars and once leaving the room, will forget about what has occurred. All political decisions made inside SCP-CNSNS seem to have an effect on the next instance of its activation. There are no records of SCP- CNSNS's construction SIGNIFICANCE: Dr. Wrong used this anomaly as proof that CK-Class Reality Restructuring Scenarios could happen, provoking an entire field of study based around them.
Dr. Naismith’s Proposal: Kiteen Pallo CODE NAME: DYF OBJECT CLASS: Thaumiel SUMMARY: SCP-DYF is an aircraft resembling a modified Lockheed F-117 Nighthawk. The vehicle is 100% impervious to any attempt to damage it, possesses cloaking technology, and is capable of traveling at speed more than 1.5 times that of a non-anomalous model. Upon exceeding a speed of 880 mph (1,416 km/h; 764 kn), SCP-DYF is capable of traveling to alternate dimensions.
SIGNIFICANCE: Through the use of SCP-DYF, The Foundation has been able to safely explore and study extradimensional locations that would normally be inaccessible including Corbernic, The Wanderer's Library, Alaggada, and the other one. The reconnaissance provided by SCP-DYF has time and time again provided a strategic advantage against anomalous activity or invasions into the prime reality. It has also been used for diplomatic purposes with less hostile organizations such as The Three Moons Initiative.
Dr. Valis’ Proposal: Logicism CODE NAME: PHD OBJECT CLASS: Gevurah SUMMARY: SCP-PHD is an infohazard affecting anomalies recorded in The Foundation Database. Anomalous objects registered with similar numerical designations to previously registered anomalies will gain the attributes, classes, anomalous properties, or behavior traits associated with said previous anomaly.
SIGNIFICANCE: Dr. Nathan Valis' discovery of SCP-PHD resulted in a complete overhaul of the SCP Foundation's database, transitioning from number sequences to letter sequences. This has also served to create more unique designations to search and identify anomalies more efficiently.
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Arbelict's Proposal SCP-001 » Arbelict's Proposal rating: +298 + – X NOTICE FROM THE RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION The following document was received on 08.10.2026 from the relict dimension R-42 and describes an anomaly threatening all members of humankind in all extant worlds.
It has been established that, before the message was received, a signal had been emitted for eight minutes, containing an exceptionally powerful (stability and penetration class 5) cognitohazard of danger class 0 (safe). The Foundation was unable to counteract this anomaly, but no residual symptoms of it affecting the minds of Earth denizens have been found to this day. There is a high threat of repeated cognitohazardous or other forms of attack from dimension R-42. According to the latest measurements, dimension R-42 no longer exists.
The following message tested negative for hidden memetic agents and is safe to read.
Document Start Greetings.
You are reading this dossier in a paradimension of the relict dimension R-42.
Due to the colossal size of your world's address, for your convenience, your dimension will be hereafter referred to as "PD".
The following message has been constructed by the SCP Foundation of the relict dimension R-42 and is addressed to the SCP Foundation of paradimension PD. Enclosed you will find information about SCP-001, which is a threat to the multiverse.
As you may have noticed, this message was preceded by a burst signal containing a non- dangerous cognitohazard. The burst signal was constructed in such a way that minimal change to the signal would have caused indiscriminate and overwhelming casualties among the denizens of PD. As you can see, R-42 is capable of eliminating the absolute majority of PD denizens but has not exercised this capability. In the context of the above, we ask you to consider this action not as an act of aggression, but as a demonstration of SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Schematic depiction of R-42's and PD's locations in the multiverse the fact that R-42 has no pretension for conquest or other forms of aggression towards PD. Take the following information in earnest.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Paradox-Apollyon Special Containment Procedures: The only known way to guarantee destruction of the anomaly and avoidance of the ZK-Class cross-reality failure event is the full annihilation (or fundamental change) of humankind. The list of possible measures to push back (or completely avert) the incoming 001-ZK event has been outlined below.
Problem Description: SCP-001 consists of all living members of the Homo sapiens species without exception. These currently include humans living in the relict dimension R-42 and the PD paradimension. The anomaly first came into existence and developed in the relict dimension R-42, and later activated in PD by accident.
Unchecked growth of SCP-001 will cause annihilation of the entire multiverse.
It is known to our researchers that, at the moment of the Big Bang, the formation of a finite number of parallel dimensions (57 in total) happened in an event referred to as "Alpha".
Creation of new dimensions in natural conditions (without disruption) is impossible. Due to unknown causes humanity came to exist in only one of the 57 relict dimensions - in dimension R-42.
The danger to reality that SCP-001 poses lies in its anomalous capability for wide-scale replication of paradimensions. This term refers to a parallel reality which has an extremely small deviation from its "parent". It is known that any conceived human decision (even those completely inconsequential) occurring within time complements the multiverse with N paradimensions (where N is the number of choices in the decision), wherein a unique resolution to the event occurs in each. As such, dimensions housing living instances of SCP-001 uncontrollably "grow" a colossal number of minimally differing paradimensions every second.
Other relict dimensions (R-01 to R-57, barring R-42) do not have paradimensions, as humanity has not come to exist in those dimensions due to unknown causes, and as such, all processes therein follow natural physical laws only. R-42's SCP Foundation is not 1 ≡ aware of whether other relict dimensions contain other forms of sapient life, but even if it does exist, there is no sign of further paradimension replication in those dimensions.
R-42's analytics have determined a ceiling on the colossal amount of paradimensions, surpassing which will destroy the multiverse as a whole. This value is referred to as "Omega". There is no visual way to represent this number, an estimation of "Omega" is enclosed in the Addenda and can only be deduced through a cascade of highly challenging mathematical calculations. In roughest estimation, accounting for the current speed of approach of the number of parallel dimensions to "Omega", predictions for growth of PD's populace, and the worst-case scenario (full refusal of your paradimension to counteract the anomaly), the death of the multiverse (also known as the ZK-Class cross-reality failure event) can be expected to occur within 0.3 years ± 2 months after the reception of this message.
The paradimensions created through replication exist in a state of "existence uncertainty" (or "stasis"). While indirectly affecting the stability of the multiverse and objectively forming due to the effects of SCP-001, each paradimension does not exhibit signs of its existence due to the lack of any physical processes within it. This state is broken after opening a spacetime tunnel into the dimension. At that moment the "existence uncertainty" ends and the paradimension begins to "exist" in the full meaning of this term.
All physical processes begin to flow as if they always have been from the Big Bang to the moment of the dimension's formation. Due to the fact that new beings (humans, SCP-001) come into existence with the abolition of "existence uncertainty", this dimension becomes a source of paradimension replication in itself.
You and your paradimension PD were created approximately 17.4 R-42-years ago and afterwards remained in a state of "existence uncertainty" for an extended period of time (from R-42's point of view). Emergence from this state and beginning of you and your dimension's factual existence happened approximately 0.7 PD-years ago after an exploratory portal from R-42 was briefly opened into your world. As such, the society of R-42 technologically and historically surpasses PD by approximately 16.7 years, which has allowed R-42's SCP Foundation to discover SCP-001 and develop computing solutions of colossal scale, which in turn considerably advanced the research of this anomaly.
History of R-42 society's efforts against the anomaly: SCP-001 was discovered by Foundation researchers approximately 5.1 R-42-years ago. The "Omega" value was calculated soon after, and the fact of the number of extant parallel dimensions' catastrophically quick approach to that limit was found. A special research group from relict dimension R-42 began developing methods of complete or partial suppression of paradimension replication to prevent (or postpone by any possible measure of time) the occurrence of a ZK-class cross-reality failure event.
Unfortunately, R-42's SCP Foundation had to go to extreme measures to delay the ZK- Class event as much as possible. Operations "Castling" and "Minimal Gain" were developed for that purpose.
≡ The O5 Council assembled Roster-1, which included all persons who have vital scientific or other importance to SCP-001 research, and Roster-2, which included all persons who were needed to perform fieldwork during the interim period of Operation "Minimum Gain".
To enhance morale, one family member (of choice) per person was included in each list.
+ Descriptions of measures undertaken under Operations "Castling" and "Minimal Gain" As a result of actions undertaken, the cross-reality failure event has been delayed by a considerable margin, and the speed of approach has been slowed to a minimum.
The most prospective paths of development at that moment were the creation of will- and reasoning variability-dampening devices, as well as projects around delegating the consciousnesses of all survivors to a central processing unit. Under most modest estimations, accounting for highly limited human resources, the realization of these projects would take 9 to 15 years out of those available (at the moment) to the Foundation before the onset of the ZK-Class event.
+ Open full list of proposals for development: Unfortunately, at the time very little was known about paradimensions themselves, and the "existence uncertainty" theory had not been developed as of yet. Various researchers proposed a theory that lack of paradimension replication from paradimensions (a process visually akin to an uncontrolled fission reaction) could signify that humans existing in them were not SCP-001, and that, as such, they could be excellent test material for R-42. The O5 Council made a decision to begin development on technology to open a cross- dimension spacetime tunnel into a random paradimension based on remaining anomalous materials at the Foundation's disposal for the purpose of studying it. This paradimension turned out to be your paradimension, PD.
The portal developed by R-42 specialists proved to be highly unstable. The Foundation personnel could not choose a paradimension to enter (PD became the target by chance); additionally, after having existed for an insubstantial period of time (approximately two days), the spacetime tunnel spontaneously closed. At that same time, it was discovered that your world became a source of paradimensions in itself. When considered along with the fact that PD existed in precisely the state R-42 was in at the moment of PD's creation, a hypothesis about "existence uncertainty" was established. R-42's SCP Foundation chose to make no further attempts to open a portal into PD due to the high risk of accidentally afflicting other dimensions with the anomaly.
From the moment PD began to produce its paradimensions and bring the multiverse closer to the ZK-Class event with high speed, R-42 was left no time or hope for salvation.
Unfortunately, R-42's Foundation cannot open a portal into your dimension and destroy PD denizens by itself. R-42 has waived aside the idea of eliminating the majority of PD denizens because the PD's Foundation personnel, surviving in underground bunkers and bearing access to numerous "Thaumiel"-class objects, would render such actions moot.
Little remaining time before the ZK-Class event and lack of technological capability to maintain our research denies the possibility to repeat Operations "Castling" and "Minimal ≡ Gain". Due to the outlined causes, we address you with this message and offer the only way in current conditions to save the multiverse.
The world has existed before us and must remain after us. Our multiverse is ill, and the name of the illness is humanity, SCP-001. The only way out is SCP-0000. We'll cease to become a threat with its help. It is in our power to leave a chance for other sapient species that, perhaps, will not be afflicted by the same anomaly, or will find a way to get rid of it before it's too late. We, the O5 Council and other survivors from R-42, have chosen our fate. We hope you will do the same.
From the O5 Council of dimension R-42 To the О5 Council of dimension PD Enclosed you will find the methodology to calculate "Omega" and the means to investigate paradimensions, main scientific derivations regarding SCP-001, and the instructions to create and use SCP-0000. Hurry.
The final addendum contains a private message for each of you encoded with personal Overseer encryption keys.
Item #: SCP-0000 Object Class: Paradox-Thaumiel Special Containment Procedures: Any containment procedures contradict the concept and purpose of the object.
Description: SCP-0000 consists of a device, developed by the SCP Foundation of relict dimension R-42, capable of annihilating the dimension it is activated in. After the destruction of the target dimension, all child paradimensions in the state of "existence uncertainty" will undergo slow self-destruction.
Object blueprints and principle of operation: The core of SCP-0000 is a four- component device consisting of [REDACTED] as well as "Euclid"-class objects: SCP- ████, SCP-████ and two conjoined SCP-████. The object's principle of operation [DATA EXPUNGED] For: O5-1 From: Joan Simpson Hello, dad.
2 ≡ I don't know if I have the right to call you "dad", for you are just a copy of the one I recently mourned the passing of. In some way, you are the cause of his death. But you are also a human who, like us, is not at fault for any of this.
In your world, I am just a little girl, and the one who's writing now is your grown-up daughter, one of the leading Foundation employees. Strange, isn't it? I didn't want to record a message, but my colleagues made me. They say it's very important. Well, I couldn't have a last word with him, so I'll have a last word with you. I'll address you and not "You", as if I had known you for so many years. Alright?
I remember the day the Rosters started to get implemented. Rosters of those for whose sake everyone else had to keep working. There was an idea to let the Overseers save not one member of family, but two. You yourself stood against it, believing that it would lead to an unhealthy schism within the Foundation that was about to become very, very small. Only a few hundred, that many were supposed to be left after the mad harvest you've planned. Those, and fifteen thousand people in cryosleep. You were implacable, and the day you began to assemble the Roster, I understood everything by the look in your eyes. You didn't save Mother. You chose to save me. I still don't know what to think about that. But… even if I had had some sort of anger directed at you, it's long gone now.
I began to work alongside you. All the "hostages", as they were called behind backs, began to work on the Project. We had more than enough time. Hope was our guiding star.
On the days I felt especially miserable you led me out to the surface. We sat on the grass in hazard suits and watched over the empty city at the bottom of the mountain.
The city that only birds of prey inhabit now. You promised that we'd return there and build a giant monument to the Human at its center. I listened to you and knew it was a lie. Every single one of our prospective projects would've left nothing human in us.
Our descendants would not waste themselves on sentiments.
Then… then someone proposed to open that portal. Fatal mistake. When you've learned the paradimension started replicating worlds you understood that… it was all over. There were flimsy ideas to open the portal again and throw some sort of a wonder bomb in there, but nobody had any guarantee that it would not open into a different paradimension. The countdown went down to months again. Your promise became impossible. You took your own life. In your honor, the seat of O5-1 was left vacant.
Truth be told, I don't care, now, whether you'll destroy your world or not. Whether the universe will exist, whether there will be new life in it. My world has been crushed long ago.
It's good that this message is encrypted with your key, that was passed on to me - or these lines would've been deleted. Everyone wants to save the world. But who needs it like this? Empty and cold. Without those to appreciate its beauty. Without humanity.
≡ Do whatever you think is right.
I truly feel better now.
Love you. Faithfully yours, Joan Simpson.
VERIFICATION KEY – OVERSEER О5-1 Document End Footnotes 1. This anomaly's distinguishing feature is that, in order to eliminate the anomaly that will inevitably eliminate mankind, it is imperative to eliminate mankind or realize another K- Class Event.
2. This object is designed for conclusive, guaranteed, irrevocable destruction of SCP-001 (humanity) and prevention of threat caused by it via realization of a localized ZK-Class event.
Cite this page as: "Arbelict's Proposal" by Arbelict, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/swelling-of-the-worlds. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
Filename: worlds-2.png Author: Arbelict, LanceRadioactive License: CC BY-SA 3.0 ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal esoteric-class international k-class-scenario scp page revision: 24, last edited: 7 Jan 2024, 10:27 (421 days ago) Edit Rate (+298) Tags Discuss (32) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Billith's Proposal SCP-001 » Billith's Proposal RATING: +181 NOTICE FROM THE RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION YOU ARE ACCESSING THE SITE-01 DEEP STORAGE ARCHIVE SITE-01-DSA DIRECTORY SEARCH/MODIFY Enter a query below or type "help" for available commands.
USER: /search SCP-001 … LIBRARIAN.AIC: There are 51 results for "SCP-001". Please refine your search.
USER: /search SCP-001 clearance=1 … LIBRARIAN.AIC: There is 1 result, containing 4 files. Would you like me to retrieve them all?
USER: y … failure to abide by clearance level may result in corrective action OVERWATCH ARCHIVAL SITE-01 About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us LIBRARIAN.AIC: OK, here is what I found: ◈ CD..
◈ CD..
Event #: EE-00059 Event Description: Extranormal Event 00059 was observed on June 14th, 2006, in a region of space roughly 1.6 billion light years from Earth, located in the constellation Indus. It was detected via the Neil Gehrels Swift Observatory telescope system as a prolonged gamma ray burst designated GRB 060614.
EE-00059-1 is an emergent Class-E "Momentary Lapse of Reason" Wormhole (S-CSMWAUC2T) that was observed for 102.0 seconds, during which it exhibited atypical behavior that contradicted all known theoretical and applied models of spacetime folds.
◈ During the event, EE-00059-1 was observed to behave in a manner that first resembled traditional EINSTEIN– ROSEN WORMHOLES, emitting unidentified matter and light, while otherwise resisting the inbound flow of normal matter and fatal to carbon-based life due to topological decoherence.
Despite this, the region possessed a luminance several magnitudes greater than the predicted calculations implied, to an intensity only suggested to occur in WHITE HOLES, which have never been observed.
Upon closer analysis, EE-00059-1 appeared to exert no measurable effect on the surrounding space, evidence that implied the anomaly had little or no gravitational field. This is more consistent with ELLIS DRAINHOLES, which are fully-transferable non-flat three-dimensional regions of simply connected spacetime folds.
These paradoxical behaviors cannot co-exist simultaneously, as each feature creates physical consequence that manipulates the region's own scalar field into a state that, by definition, cannot support the initial conditions of the others.
EE-00059-2 is a series of low-frequency transmissions which originated from the direction of EE-00059, during which EE-00059-1 was first observed. All transmissions were in an unknown language with phonetic structure bearing similarity to Sumerian and Mapudungun, however, said language also possessed unique dialectical attributes consisting of a complex creole of other, unknown lexicons, as well as an unfamiliar syntactical structure.
Due to the nature of EE-00059, classification as a proper SCP is unnecessary.
Knowledge of EE-00059's existence has been successfully distorted via a number of large-scale disinformation campaigns, therefore, no containment measures are required at this time. Any credible information regarding activity arising from EE-00059's vicinity should first be traced to its original source, then delegitimized by any means necessary. These tactics are to be carried out by embedded agents stationed in various observatories, places of academia, and media outlets such as television studios and radio stations.
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] Congnitohazardous glyphs embedded within the broadcast were noted to cause increased contextual/conceptual understanding of the language, without need for direct translation. Thus, there is a high likelihood that anomalous broadcasting equipment was used to transmit the messages.
See EE-00059-2 Transcript Logs, found in the attached .zip folder, for more information.
END OF FILE ◈ CD..
◈ CD..
Transcript Log 00059-2-1 Note: This was the first transmission received during EE-00059, taking place over the course of thirty minutes. Only one party is heard speaking, labeled POI-00059-A.
<BEGIN TRANSCRIPT> POI-00059-A: [STATIC] POI-00059-A: —[maybe/unsure] home hear All—[STATIC]—[boat/ship]. Fault, transmit none, cross tidal length.
POI-00059-A: [STATIC]—spend less time, [mire/darkness] none far behind.
POI-00059-A: No, [mire/darkness] left [boat/ship] alone—[STATIC]—true?
POI-00059-A: [STATIC]—[maybe/unsure]. One, five.
POI-00059-A: [Mire/Darkness], steal time, steal distance—[STATIC] POI-00059-A: Three, three. Understand, yet, [boat/ship] brethren—[STATIC]—fear [feel/register] into All.
POI-00059-A: [STATIC]—How [feel/register] that?
POI-00059-A: None, None—Impossible.
POI-00059-A: [UNKNOWN; Obscenity?], Source-body exist [likewise/again]? How?
POI-00059-A: Understand. Reorganize [UNKNOWN; Wheel?] walkway.
<END TRANSCRIPT> ◈ CD..
Transcript Log 00059-2-2 Note: Conversation was recorded between two parties over a period of five minutes, labeled POI-00059-A and POI-00059-B. Context unknown.
<BEGIN TRANSCRIPT> POI-00059-A: Source-copy walkway [catch/grasp] success. What regard Source?
POI-00059-B: [UNKNOWN; Undone?].
POI-00059-A: Great shame. How such find? [Machine/System] cast great [UNKNOWN; Wellspring?], yet still distance from equal. [Likewise/Again].
POI-00059-B: [Machine/System] [seem/think] such. Yet, none [see/detect] here. [UNKNOWN; Wheel?] [maybe/unsure] breadcrumb [mire/darkness].
POI-00059-A: Must swim through another [UNKNOWN; Wellspring?], [maybe/unsure] when [mire/darkness] may [see/detect] [boat/ship] brethren.
POI-00059-B: None need—[STATIC]—[see/detect] some [wrong/strange] [UNKNOWN; Icon?], equal.
Must stay.
POI-00059-A: Understand [likewise/again], what—[STATIC]—[seem/think] cause?
POI-00059-B: Desperate [choose/decide], danger within [see/detect] more, [seem/think]. State?
POI-00059-A: [STATIC]—there? Four, seven. Still gather, none enough.
POI-00059-B: [Feel/Register]—[STATIC]—alone. Make haste.
POI-00059-A: Yet [maybe/unsure] into—[STATIC]—time. [Mire/Darkness] [see/detect] wave.
POI-00059-B: [Mire/Darkness] [see/detect] either way.
POI-00059-A: Yet regard [decide/choose]? Death mercy, none desire upon many passenger— [Broadcast is drowned out by multiple loud tones, cutting abruptly] <END TRANSCRIPT> ◈ CD..
Transcript Log 00059-2-3 Note: This is a short record of the last fragmented transmission recorded from the direction of EE-00059, during which EE-00059-1 was observed. This conversation took place over a period of ten minutes between two parties, labeled POI-00059-A and POI-00059-B.
<BEGIN TRANSCRIPT> POI-00059-A: [STATIC]—Eight, one. Eight, four, [feel/register]?
POI-00059-B: [Correct/Normal], yet need haste [egress/outside] circle, [responsibility/commitment] within [UNKNOWN; Bedrock?]. Men, immortal [likewise/again].
Anomalous concentrations of gamma radiation begin emitting from EE-00059's approximate location.
Stationed agents report fluctuations in the KBC VOID consistent with levels of dark matter annihilation required to manifest such effects, though nonlocality has never been observed in this manner.
POI-00059-B: [Machine/System] [see/detect] [mire/darkness] imprint. Haste.
POI-00059-A: [STATIC]—nine—[STATIC]—[likewise/again], nine, one, nine, three. Gather none enough wave into [push/start].
POI-00059-B: Enemy [grasp/catch] soon, three [maybe/unsure] four—[STATIC]—[boat/ship] brethren, such distance, haste!
Radiation is observed steadily increasing in concentration. Reports are received of heightened anomalous activity originating from the [DATA PURGED PER O5 REQUEST] and [DATA PURGED PER O5 REQUEST] voids, while observatories monitoring locations of interest in deep space report visual distortions and measurement errors implying the observable universe was growing steadily closer to the KBC Void. This effect continued for remainder of event, along with luminal boundary phenomena akin to that which is postulated to occur during interactions with the CAUCHY HORIZON of spacetime.
POI-00059-B: [STATIC]—Move! Need [transport/movement], haste! [Catch/Grasp] persist yet protective [power/magic]!
EE-00059-1 is observed opening. Two objects can be seen occulting the wormhole, presumed to be POI- 00059-A and POI-00059-B, though they are too small to discern. Estimates place the two parties at ~.01 ly apart from one another. Despite the sudden manifestation of a celestial object in close vicinity to POI- 00059-A and POI-00059-B, no additional gravitational forces are observed, the two parties instead fighting an unknown force pulling them in the direction of the KBC Void anomaly. The two objects are seen blueshifting far greater than expected in response.
POI-00059-A: [UNKNOWN; Obscenity?]—Brethren, stay. [See/Detect] something—[STATIC]—none, none believe, [UNKNOWN; Current?] door [see/detect] into [fog/mist]!
POI-00059-A: [Likewise/Again]! [See/Detect]—[STATIC]—thing?
POI-00059-B: Understand, [likewise/again], yet regard [order/command]?
POI-00059-A: [UNKNOWN; Invert?]?
POI-00059-B: [STATIC]—bad [feel/register], [maybe/unsure] death—[STATIC]—impossible [choose/decide].
POI-00059-A: [STATIC]—sorry, [UNKNOWN; Name?]. Only [choose/decide], die into [UNKNOWN; Empty?] when [choose/decide] none.
POI-00059-A: Nine, five. None enough. None enough.
POI-00059-B: Understand. Haste, brethren. [See/detect] All into Paradise.
POI-00059-A: Paradise, [likewise/again].
A several second pause is heard. Background noises suggest one or both parties are still transmitting.
POI-00059-A: [UNKNOWN; Current?]—[STATIC]—left small. Tell All love, fortune.
POI-00059-B: Good fortune.
Another long pause. One of the objects is observed deviating from course and approaching EE-00059-1.
Background noise persists, mostly in the form of heavy breathing, steady ventilation, and various tones/alarms. After a minute, a low, rattling groan is heard, akin to a large structure resisting strong winds, increasing in volume as the object travels towards the wormhole/away from the KBC Void anomaly.
POI-00059-A: [STATIC]—close within [UNKNOWN; Shoreline?], brethren. All [STATIC]—could [see/detect], can't [catch/grasp] [correct/normal] word.
POI-00059-B: What? What [see/detect]?
POI-00059-A: [DISTORTED]—face. [DISTORTED]—[see/detect] [UNKNOWN; Name?] face! Blind vision —[DISTORTED]—[feel/register] fire. Fire! None—!
POI-00059-A: [DISTORTED] POI-00059-B: [UNKNOWN; Name?] face? None understand, impossible. Please [likewise/again]— POI-00059-A: [SCREAMING] Object corresponding to POI-00059-A is seen rapidly redshifting, vanishing into EE-00059-1 moments later.
POI-00059-B: [UNKNOWN; Obscenity?]! Need—Need [transport/movement], steady into walkway.
[[UNKNOWN; Name?]! [Likewise/Again]? [Likewise/Again]!
EE-00059-1 closes.
POI-00059-B: [UNKNOWN; Current?] left. Where [boat/ship] brethren? Where—[STATIC] POI-00059-B: None [likewise/again]. [UNKNOWN; Obscenity?]!
POI-00059-B: [STATIC] POI-00059-B: Transmit, All [UNKNOWN; Name?], mission within [UNKNOWN; Bedrock?] Survival [Transport/Movement] [Boat/Ship]. Enemy attack. [Mire/Darkness] only [UNKNOWN; Tendrils?]. Many remain, yet Source-body Earth [UNKNOWN; Undone?], left into [mist/fog]. [Maybe/Unsure]—[STATIC]— word within time. [Transport/Movement] into star [UNKNOWN; Cloud?] group ██-██-██.
Please. Any All, [maybe/unsure]—[STATIC]—help. None home. None, yet. Neighbor brethren left into [rot/dissolve] within. Rest sit between [UNKNOWN; Empty?]. Then All found Her, [likewise/again]. Yet [mire/darkness] found All [likewise/again]. Why? How?
Gamma radiation emissions reach the highest concentrations measured during EE-00059 as a massive distortion in spacetime is observed within the region of the KBC Void containing the constellation Indus.
An unknown form of luminescent blue-yellow matter is seen emerging and uncoiling into a barb-like appendage. It begins stretching towards POI-00059-B, utilizing an advanced form of macro-scale quantum tunneling akin to theoretical STUTTER WARP drives. The entity is seen creating multiple wormholes in [7] [8] quick succession and red-greenshifting as it threads itself through them, covering large distances instantaneously.
POI-00059-B: [Mire/Darkness] here. Have walkway through wave [push/start] [UNKNOWN; Wheel?].
[Likewise/Again], [transport/movement] into group ██-██-██.
POI-00059-B: [STATIC]—naki help All.
At this point, object corresponding to POI-00059-B could not be seen, but was detected upon engaging an unknown superluminal warp drive, which caused minor cosmic gravitational fluctuations recorded by the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory (LIGO) located in Hanford, Washington. The entity pursuing POI-00059-B reacted noticeably as well, retracting at high speed through the wormholes it created, all of which immediately dissipated. It then retreated through its incursion point and vanished.
Visual distortions and equipment errors ceased shortly thereafter. No further relevant activity has been detected from EE-00059's origin.
<END TRANSCRIPT> END OF FILE ◈ CD..
Exploration of EE-00059-1 [9] The Altruist-9 Probe, located in the Site-88 Astrophysics and Aerospace hangar.
In the event of EE-00059-1's reemergence upon contact with the location, the Altruist-9's support structures and core payload are kept encased in an exotic polypeptide oligomer weave derived from the wreckage of SCP-001-E1. See SCP-001 for more information.
◇ OPTIONAL SPECIFICATIONS AND ELABORATION In order to reach EE-00059 within a reasonable amount of time, the Altruist-9 was constructed with a prototype exotic faster-than-light (FTL) warp drive and high efficiency solar sails for complex maneuvers in a short distance. However, to minimize adverse quantum effects resulting from interaction between curved spacetime and the mixture of baryonic/non-baryonic matter used in the probe's inner construction, overall travel time will be increased drastically.
UPDATE: The launch of Altruist-9 was successful, carried out on January 8th, 2038.
UPDATE: On February 26th, 4783, the date of the Altruist-9's arrival into EE-00059's location, initial readings were recorded and proven to be non-anomalous. Moments later, however, activity from the region was detected; EE-00059-1 was seen manifesting adjacent to the probe, which was then piloted inside. The phenomenon once again ceased action after 102.0 seconds.
Due to the atypical and intense nature of these manifolds, the Altruist-9 will likely not be recovered from contact with EE-00059-1. However, functional capabilities of the probe's inner core are considered to have survived traversal and will continue to make observations on EE-00059-1's opposite side until CONTACT IS REESTABLISHED ON AN UNSPECIFIED DATE.
UPDATE: [DATA PURGED PER O5 REQUEST] END OF FILE ◈ CD..
On May 18th, 2027, the Foundation proposed the construction of the Altruist-9 deep space probe to observe the status of EE-00059's location, which was approved by a majority vote of the O5 Council.
[10] 001 LEVEL1 UNRESTRICTED CONTAINMENT CLASS: ESOTERIC SECONDARY CLASS: NETZACH 1 DISRUPTION CLASS: DARK 1 RISK CLASS: NOTICE SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: N/A DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 is the planetary body known as Earth.
Given that SCP-001 has existed for the entirety of human memory and written history, the anomalous improbability of Earth's nature as compared to all other planets in the observable universe investigated by the Foundation's TELLUS Program is regarded as "normal" within public perception.
Personnel are to remind themselves daily of the anomalous nature of the planet, especially during times of perceived ennui in regards to their participation within the Foundation or when engaging in dissenting thought patterns. Personnel are to encourage one another to persevere through difficult workplace situations with the knowledge that the planet we inhabit is anomalous in its entirety and resists the order of civilization with chaos and aberration. Doing so has increased both productivity and containment success rates, the latter of which by over 12% in the last five years.
SCP-001-E1 is the designation for the remains of a superluminal INTERSTELLAR ARK recovered during an archeological expedition in the Atacama Desert of Chile between 1922-1946, led by American Paleontologist Dr. Hubert ███████. ███████ reported his findings to the Society for American Archaeology, piquing the interest of a number of different parties.
The remaining fragments of the ship's outer hull and mechanical components were excavated and found to be comprised of highly durable exotic polymers which were unaffected by time and environmental exposure.
Various dating methods have analyzed the material and yielded inconsistent results. Despite this, recovered information suggests the vessel was several billion years old.
SCP-001.
[13] [14] [15] Large areas of SCP-001-E1 were noted to have been converted into makeshift living space, implying the vehicle was intact and did not crash upon its arrival. In addition, remnants of personal effects such as clothing, electronics, and furniture were recovered and eventually contained, all possessing anomalous materials and abilities that resisted normal wear to varying degrees. Though the full size of the vessel is unknown, extrapolation from recovered sections of fuselage suggest it was capable of containing a substantial inventory of supplies and a population of anywhere from roughly 200,000-800,000, the remains of which decomposed naturally, aside from the individuals discovered within SCP-001-E2.
SCP-001-E2 is a set of nine ten advanced cryogenic stasis pods discovered among the wreckage in a low- power "hibernation" mode during excavation of SCP-001-E1. Of the pods discovered, all but one were [DATA Fragments of structural material comprising SCP-001-E1's fuselage during transport for analysis. Section presumed to have been used for storage.
Exotic superluminal drive before extraction from SCP-001-E1's propulsion systems, used as a reference in the Altruist- 9's construction.
PURGED PER O5 REQUEST], with the final member, POI-001, possessing base physiology and brain activity expected from recovered imagery and records. POI-001's core tenets and general distrust of anomalous artifacts would establish the Foundation's presence on Earth as a force to contain aberrant objects, locations, and phenomena—beginning with those found inside SCP-001-E1.
Also found among the rubble were several data storage devices which appeared to have been destroyed, despite being comprised of similar exotic materials as other items found inside SCP-001-E1, suggesting they may have been damaged with exotic/anomalous tools. Analysis was largely unsuccessful, with the only salvageable information recovered from a ~4.2 cm fragment of compressed materials forming a complex, multilayered information medium presented as a set of vertical data stacks. The information recovered from the interpreted fragment were then translated from their original language, comprised of Class I cognitohazardous glyphs that appear similar to the engravings found on SCP-093.
These glyphs cause a subjective "Rosetta Stone" effect in readers, allowing for advanced comprehension of the material regardless of known lexicons and proficiency. However, certain words and identifiers such as names are still uninterpretable, lacking equivalent meaning or contextual basis. Clinical language retains a structured yet atypical format, while colloquial language possesses both an unfamiliar creole and syntactic structure. Analysis of the language is ongoing.
END OF FILE ◇ P R O T E G A V E L A M E N ◇ ACCESS FOOTNOTES ‡ LICENSING / CITATION TAGS: 001-proposal esoteric-class extraterrestrial planet scp spatial temporal vehicle PAGE REVISION: 543, LAST EDITED: 11 JAN 2025, 02:33 (51 DAYS AGO) [16] 3 [17] TAGS Edit Rate (+181) Tags Discuss (37) History + Options Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Files Print Site tools Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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SCP-001:O5 SCP-001 » SCP-001:O5 rating: +1957 + – X SCP-001 is an O5's tale Good evening, Doctor.
No, no, don't stand up. And, yes, I am who you think I am. Let's not make any more of this than it is. You know my number, and I know enough about you to make a duplicate that even your mother wouldn't be able to tell apart from the real you. No, that's not a threat, just a fact.
Now, as to my business here, it seems you have stumbled upon something above your clearance. Well, no, stumbled is not the right word. Dug up? Perhaps. And you are getting to the point where further digging would end in some fairly lethal gunshot wounds. This would be a sad state of affairs, as you are otherwise quite a good researcher. Therefore, you are getting something very few people in the Foundation ever get… an explanation.
Yes, we were alerted when you first started digging into SCP-001. Every researcher who's been around for a while looks into it. Most are satisfied when they uncover the angel with the flaming sword, it's buried under enough levels. But then you started looking into The Factory, and that is when I knew you wouldn't stop. So, here it is, plain and simple.
The Factory is SCP-001.
But it will never be written up. It was a choice I made early on in the creation of the Foundation, and a choice I still stand by. You researchers are far too curious. I'm not sure which scares me worse. That we'll never understand the Factory… or that we one day will.
Ah well, I'm sure you're eager to learn more.
The Factory was built in 1835. Back then it was known as The Anderson Factory, named after James Anderson, a rather well-to-do industrialist. It was built in, well, we'll just say America, and was the largest factory yet designed, a good mile across at its widest, three stories tall throughout, with a special seven story tower by the front gate that Anderson lived in. It was designed to be the ultimate factory, capable of taking care of everything, including the housing of workers. People could be born, work, live, and die, without ever SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in leaving the confines of the Factory. And work they did, on everything from cattle raising and slaughtering, to textiles, to everything else under the sun.
Now, no one knows whether James Anderson was actually a Satan worshiper. It's just as likely that he followed some kind of Pagan gods. What is known is that he was VERY exact in the building of his factory, and in the placement of his machinery within it. Survivors claim the floor was engraved with arcane symbols, that were only visible when blood flowed across them… But then the survivors claimed a lot of things. What is known is that Anderson made his money on the blood and sweat, and sometimes body parts of the lower class. His journals indicate he thought of them as less than human, being put on this Earth only to serve his will.
Of course, at that time, no one knew about his predilections, and so people flocked to the Factory. A place to both work and live at the same time? Well, of course people wanted in!
Never mind the harsh hours, working conditions, sadistic security force, and all the rest.
Factory workers were forced to work 16 hour days, work only shutting down on Sundays, between sunrise and sunset. Workers were not given individual rooms, instead sharing rooms with eight other people, sleeping in shifts of three. Medical attention was unheard of. If you were injured in the course of your duties, which most people were, you were expected to just keep working. Anyone too injured to work was dragged off by the security, never to be heard from again.
For forty years, the Anderson Factory cranked out all sorts of things for people. Meat, clothes, weapons. Never mind that the beef might be mixed with human. Don't care that the weapons were forged in blood. No attention need be paid that the clothes were dyed with…well, you get the idea. Rumors leaked out, but the products were so good, why bother? Until someone got out.
I never met the brave soul who managed to escape, but she managed to meet with President Grant, and, in 1875, he enlisted my aid. At the time I was… well, it doesn't matter. We'll say I was military, kind of, and that my people were the same. A hundred and fifty good men and some few women, who were often given jobs that weren't supposed to be common knowledge. We'd been cleaning out some Confederate holdouts, and some of the worse things we found down South. So, we did some research, didn't like what we saw, and went in, loaded for bear.
I don't actually remember much about the night it all went down. Most of it blends together in my head. I get flashes, sometimes, of the people chained to the line, living next to dead, and damned hard to tell which was which. Children working underneath machines, the majority of the flesh scoured from their bones by the great wheels and cogs. And the other things… No, I'm all right. I haven't thought about that night for a very long time. The security force wasn't much of a problem. But then Anderson's creations showed up. He'd been taking the injured workers and, well, experimenting on them. Men, if you could call them men, with multiple arms, sewn together, some of them combined with animals, horrible monstrosities out of mankind's worst nightmares. They kept coming, wave after wave of ≡ not quite living creatures. I lost a lot of good people that night. And then we found Anderson's breeding pits, girls as young as eight, chained to the walls, forced to be nothing more than- I'm sorry. Even today, more than a century later, the memory makes me see red. When we finally found Anderson cowering in his office, we hung him from his tower window, with his own entrails. As he died, he laughed, saying it didn't matter, we could kill him, but his factory, The Factory, would go on. He was still laughing 24 hours later when we finally cut him down, had him drawn and quartered, and then burned the remains. The entire time he uttered blasphemies that I don't like to think about.
We spent a week cleaning that place out, freeing the workers, putting down the things we found in the basements and many lightless rooms. We pulled out things that were useful, stocked them in a house near the gate, tried to make sense of everything. A hundred and fifty of us went into that hell pit that night, and only ninety-three came out. By the end of that week, we were down to seventy-one.
But the things we found in there, my god. Well, you've been with the Foundation a while, they wouldn't seem as amazing to you, but we found toy guns that shot real bullets. A yo- yo that would flay the skin from anyone it touched, hammers that only worked on human flesh. A breed of skeletal horse that ran faster than anything we'd ever seen. Cloaks that seemed woven from the night itself, and let men access a shadowy dimension that… I get away from myself. We found tools, both wondrous and horrible. And we were faced with a choice.
I gathered my highest ranking, well, we'll call them officers, to me, and we tried to figure out what we would do. They all had opinions. The Chaplain, he had gone a little crazed.
Thought all these objects must be miracles sent from god, holy relics to be worshipped.
Marshall and his little toady Dawkins thought there was a fortune to be made here, making and selling these things to the highest bidder. The Injun we all called Bass, due to his deep speaking voice, he called these things an abomination, and declared that we should hunt down and destroy everything we could find. And Smith thought we should take this stuff back to the president. The only one without an opinion was the old man, but he never said much of anything anyways. We argued for hours, days, trying to work it out. Me, I thought we were sitting on a gold mine, all right. But that we could use these things, these objects, to hunt down some of the scary things we'd run into down South, the other monsters this world had to offer, and use this factory for good, as a place to contain these things, find a way to make them work for our fellow man, or at least protect our fellow man from having to deal with them.
I'm sure you can figure out what happened. The Chaplain snuck away in the night with his devotees, taking a couple of small items with him. Marshall we kicked out when we found him… abusing his authority. He promised he'd get revenge, and that little Dawkins shit led the rest of their group off with some of the juicier items. Bass and his people tried to light the whole damn thing on fire, then just left when it didn't work. And Smith left, to report back to the president. I did manage to get him to promise me he'd tell Grant the Factory had been destroyed. I had big plans for that place.
≡ A'course, it was kinda hard to follow through on big plans when you only have 12 other people to work with. But it was a start.
And it worked, for a while. We had these amazing toys, and finding people to work with us was easy. Back then, going off the grid was as simple as leaving town. We knew what we wanted, we knew what we could be.
Leventhal set out getting us backing. A simple invention here, some well invested money there, it all worked out. White and Jones set out getting us… other backing. In our previous work we'd found out some interesting things about people. Some secrets that powerful men didn't want getting out. And, with our new position helping keep secrets, we got more people asking us to deal with their secrets. Blackmail is a dirty word, but it works. Bright, Argent and Lumineux got to work cataloging the items. Light and Bright's wife, the nurse, they made sure we kept ourselves healthy. Heh. No, it's just, remembering Light. She had such unusual ideas about hygiene, for the time. Brilliant woman. Czov, Fleischer and Carnoff dealt with training the troops. Tesla and Tamlin were in charge of figuring out how to take advantage of the items, without making it obvious.
We were amazing. The city we built around the Factory, which we took to calling Site Alpha, was self supporting. Agents, researchers, operatives of all sorts… not by those names, of course, but those positions. We expanded.
… I'm sorry, I am an old man. I know I do not look it, but the body lies. The mind… doesn't always remember right. And sometimes I get lost in my memories. Things get confused.
But, the long and simple of it is this: We used the Factory. It always seemed to have more empty rooms to store things in. Back then, that was the word for them, things. No Skips then, no. We thought we had the Factory tamed. That's one of the reasons I refuse to quit this job. If there's anything I can do here, it's remind people that we will NEVER tame these things. Contain them, yes, but as we saw with Able, tame them? Never.
After a decade or so, we were pretty organized. The 13 original of us were being called by numbers, not names. We knew how to make things work. And, if a thing or two vanished inside of the Factory, still? And the occasional D-class? What? Yes, we had D-class back then. Disposables. That's where the D comes from. Had to have someone to test things on, Tesla and Tamlin were both very firm about that. But, yes, sometimes we lost people who didn't matter. Adam… sorry, Dr. Bright, was fond of saying it was the Factory taking its toll. You can't get something for nothing.
1911 was when it all went wrong. Things… we called them faeries. An entire race of things, living beside us. They could look the same as you or I. The only obvious difference was an allergy to Iron. Yes, that's why we called them faeries. No, you haven't heard of them.
Why? Because it's the one time the Foundation wiped out an entire race of things. Root and branch. And I'm the one who did it.
We'd been hunting them for some time. We'd run into them a time or two before, come out on top. So, when a certain royal asked us for help, of course we were eager to get them in ≡ our debt. We've always loved having people in our debt. We sent a team to help out, take care of what we thought was a hunting party. The next time we saw them, their heads were on poles, attached to the saddles of the creatures the Faeries rode, when they attacked the Factory.
It was horrible.
Three words, but they convey so much. I have never… I'm sorry, please, give me a moment. I've never told this part to anyone. You should consider yourself lucky. And, if you ever tell anyone any of what I am about to impart on you, I will not just kill you, but everyone who shares your DNA, in the worst ways possible. You'll think Procedure 110- Montauk is a walk in the park compared to what I do to you.
We lost. The things came, and they destroyed us. Rode over our emplacements, slaughtered our people, shrugged off our weapons like they were nothing. I watched my thirteen go down, left and right, just trying to hold the Factory. And I? I, their leader, their friend, their father figure? Godfather to the Bright's four young children. Confidant, sometimes lover, always the confessor? I ran. I ran like a scared little school boy, deep into the dark guts of the Factory. I was chased by the things, always just one step ahead. I could hear them behind me, feel their breath upon my neck, and … I came to a door I'd never seen before. A bronze door, covered in Arabic script of some sort. I've never been one for languages, especially not the curvy bullshit the musselmen use. But I didn't care. They were coming for me, and I threw the door open and dived through it. Everything inside… was different. There was a feeling of peace, that nothing could hurt me here. The light was this dark red, but still felt right. My ears were filled with the steady thrumming of a gigantic heartbeat. And, in front of me, were the remains of Anderson. It spoke to me then, but I'll be damned if I could tell you exactly what it said.
What it told me was more meaning, than exact. It offered me hope. It told me… it told me that each of the things we had used from the Factory, no matter what we did with them, fed it. Helped it grow. But, if the Faeries took the Factory, they would destroy it, and we couldn't have that. It offered me… a deal. It could remove this event. Make it have never happened. All I needed to give it was… us.
I didn't want to. I knew it was a bad idea. But then, I saw them again, my family, my friends, dead. Dead by the hands of those bastards… I agreed. It smiled. And I found myself once more upon the ramparts, watching the horde of Faeries crest the hill. My Foundation alive once more. In my hands was a weapon. I won't bore you with the details, but we slaughtered them. And, with these new weapons, continued to slaughter them, everywhere they lived, everywhere they bred. My fellow O5s questioned my decision, thinking we should save some, in case we might ever need them… I overruled them.
We moved away from the Factory. Shut it down. Moved our things out of there. We changed the name from things to Special Containment Protocols, focusing on containing them, not… anything else. The others were curious, but understood I had my reasons. I boarded up the Factory. Locked it shut. Buried it under a ton of rubble, saying it was too ≡ dangerous. I thought… thought I'd gotten away with it. Until I found a thing on my desk.
One of the old toy guns that shot real bullets. And it had the Factory label on it.
… I've sent people in, from time to time, to see what it might be doing. Last time I sent people in to look, there was nothing there. We keep finding Factory items out there. I can't help but think of how many more we don't find. The people who use them, and keep it hidden. I think back to the body telling me how each item used gave energy to the Factory. I never asked it 'energy for what?' I don't think I want to know.
What do we give it? D-class, mostly. Where DID you think all those bodies went? There's a place. Bodies are left, and they vanish. Everyone thinks I'm a genius for figuring it out.
Sometimes… sometimes I have to feed it other things. Researchers. Agents. They never know it's coming. It just reaches out and takes them.
But, in the end, we're doing more good by being here. Whatever the Factory wants, whatever it IS… We're doing good here. I have to believe that.
And now you know. Are you happy? I didn't think so. Why tell you? I'm getting old, Everett. Should I die, someone will have to keep feeding it. Maybe you'll be different.
Maybe you'll figure out how to stand up to it.
… But I doubt it.
Cite this page as: "SCP-001:O5" by AdminBright, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/scp-001-o5. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
001-proposal bleak doctor-mann factory fantasy featured historical horror tale page revision: 52, last edited: 9 Oct 2024, 15:10 (144 days ago) ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License Edit Rate (+1957) Tags Discuss (167) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
SCP-001 photographed from the vantage point at Site 0. Note the four flaming "wing" appendages located above and to either side of the figure.
Dr Clef's Proposal SCP-001 » Dr Clef's Proposal rating: +2467 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Euclid/Keter Special Containment Procedures: Because of the nature of SCP-001, no containment procedures are necessary.
24/7 monitoring of SCP-001 is to take place from a safe (10 km+) distance from a pre-determined location (Site 0).
The location of Site 0 is known only to the current SCP Administrator and the single Overseer-level Agent of Abrahamic faith (O5-14) assigned to monitor SCP-001 from Site 0. Said Agent is authorized to take any action necessary should SCP-001 become active, and is required to immediately alert the Administrator and all other Overseer-level agents should SCP-001 show any change in behavior, as this may constitute the beginning of a PATMOS XK-class end-of-the-world scenario.
Should SCP-001 become active in any way, personnel are required to immediately consult the Patmos series of Emergency Orders. Decoding algorithms for Emergency Order Patmos are to be maintained on-site at Site 0 in the possession of the designated observer, and are to be transmitted to SCP Foundation offices only in the event of SCP- 001 becoming active. Foundation Personnel with vital roles in one or more variants of Emergency Procedure PATMOS are to be advised to take the following precautions: To maintain good relations with one or more organized Abrahamic faiths.
To maintain, on hand, a supply of the following: holy water, a rosary, crucifix, cross, prayer rug, or other symbol blessed by an Abrahamic cleric of bishop or equivalent SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in higher rank, a copy of Abrahamic scriptures (Torah, Bible, Quran), and standard emergency supplies in mobile form (bug-out bag).
In case of a premillenial rapture scenario, all vital personnel are to designate a secondary operative of non-Abrahamic faith. Said secondary operative is to be informed of the location of the primary designate's copy of Emergency Procedure PATMOS and memetic kill agent innoculant, and is to be kept on ready status to take over the primary's duties as necessary.
To maintain familiarity with all other SCPs involved in possible PATMOS XK-class end-of-the-world scenarios.
Description: SCP-001 is a humanoid entity, approximately seven hundred (700) cubits in height, located in an undisclosed location near the intersection of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. The following features are known about the entity: A number of luminous, wing-like appendages emerging from the shoulders, back, temples, ankles, and wrists of the entity. Although an accurate count has never been established, most observers place the number of wings at anywhere from two (2) through one hundred and eight (108), with the mean number being four (4).
A weapon, possibly a sword or knife (SCP-001-2). The weapon appears to emit flames at a temperature rivaling that of the sun, based on spectrographic analysis, although there appear to be no destructive effects from the intense heat on the surrounding area. Any entity that approaches within 1 km of SCP-001 is immediately struck by the weapon and obliterated from existence. Any and all hostile actions taken towards SCP-001 have resulted in the annihilation of the attacker, regardless of range (see incident report re: Indian Ocean Submarine Missile Experiment, December 26, 2004) SCP-001 appears to be standing with its head bowed in a gesture of supplication with SCP-001-2 held in both hands point-down in front of it. Since originally recorded by the Founder over [DATA REDACTED] years ago, SCP-001 has not deviated from this stance.
Human beings exposed to SCP-001 report hearing a voice in their heads, giving them a directive which the subject reports cannot be disobeyed. The most common directive is "FORGET", which results in the subject walking away from SCP-001 with no memory of having encountered it. On rare occasions, however, other directives have been given: the most famous of these is the one given to the Founder ("PREPARE"), which he has claimed formed the impetus for founding [DATA REDACTED] to catalog and contain any and all supernatural and/or paranormal artifacts that represent a serious threat to the current existence of humanity. This is the organization now known as the SCP Foundation.
Observers have reported that SCP-001 appears to be standing in front of a gate of immense proportions. Long-range photographs have occasionally detected what appears to be a pastoral grove within, containing numerous other entities of the same composition as SCP-001, as well as several fruit trees of unknown composition. Of particular note are two fruit trees of immense proportion near what appears to be the center of the grove: one, it is noted, appears to be an ordinary ≡ apple tree, although the other bears a fruit unknown on earth, described as [DATA EXPUNGED].
It is the avowed belief of the Founder that the gate which SCP-001 guards may be the gate to [EXPUNGED] based on correlations with ancient Babylonian texts and the Dead Sea Scrolls. In which case, one can deduce that the entity known as SCP-001 may be [EXPUNGED].
Addendum 001-a: Experimentation re: SCP-001-2's effective kill range 1. EXPERIMENT A: 1 Class-D personnel instructed to approach SCP-001 as closely as possible on foot.
Result: Upon making visual contact with SCP-001, subject is ordered to "LEAVE." Subject immediately turns away from entity and walks away. Despite repeated orders to continue the experiment, Class D Personnel refuses to obey and is terminated. Upon termination of Class-D personnel, all research staff involved are immediately obliterated by an unknown force, presumably SCP-001-2.
2. EXPERIMENT B: 1 remote-operated research robot guided to approach SCP-001 from the ground.
Result: Upon approaching within 1 km of SCP-001, research robot is obliterated, presumably by SCP-001-2. All further attempts at remote reconnaissance have the same result.
3. EXPERIMENT C: 100 pre-programmed research drones instructed to approach SCP-001 from multiple angles simultaneously.
Result: Coordination is successful, and all 100 drones cross the 1 km mark simultaneously; however, all 100 are simultaneously obliterated by SCP-001-2. Designated observer at Site 0 reports that SCP-001-2 appeared to "strike in all directions at once." SCP-001 did not deviate from its stance while this took place.
4. EXPERIMENT D: Wire-guided missile fired from a distance of 3 km.
Result: SCP-001-2 obliterates weapon upon crossing the 1km mark, simultaneously obliterating the launch site and killing all personnel.
5. EXPERIMENT E: Multi-Warhead Intercontinental Ballistic Missile fired from SCP nuclear submarine "Nautilus." Result: See Indian Ocean Submarine Missile Experiment, December 26, 2004 6. EXPERIMENT F: SCP-076 and Task Force Omega 7 instructed to approach SCP-001 on foot.
Result: SCP-076 refuses to carry out mission, despite not being informed of the mission's nature. Upon being asked why, SCP-076 replies, "No. Just no." 7. EXPERIMENT G: SCP-073. Due to the results of experiment F, SCP-073 was not informed of his destination until arriving at Site 0.
Result: SCP-073 approached the site on foot. Upon seeing SCP-001, SCP-073 became distressed and asked to abort. SCP-073 was ordered to continue. At that point, the symbol ≡ on SCP-073's forehead became [DATA EXPUNGED]. Experiment was terminated due to [DATA EXPUNGED]. See Addendum 001-aa.
Addendum 001-aa: By executive order of the Administrator, no further experiments are to be carried out re: SCP-001. No further SCPs are to be exposed to SCP-001. SCP-001 is not to be used to dispose of dangerous SCPs. Please see revised containment procedures for details.
ADDENDUM: On ██-██-████, the following errant transmission was received by Foundation personnel: INITIATE EMERGENCY PROCEDURE PATMOS-OMEGA ATTN: All Foundation Personnel.
The following message was received at approximately ████:██:██ this morning from Site 0.
SCP-001 has left its location. The Gate is Open. They are riding forth.
Oh G_d, it's so beautiful… thelordreigneththelordhasreignedthelordshallreignforeverthe lordrei gneththelordhasreignedthelordshallreignforeverthelordreigne ththel ordhasreignedthelordshallreignforeverthelordheisgodthelordh eisgod thelordheisgodthelordheisgodthelordheisgodthelordheisgodthe lord heisgodthelordheisgodHEAROISRAELTHELORDOURGODTHELORDISONE Because of this event's confluence with the recent breach of SCP-995, the opening of SCP-616, and the activation of SCP-098, the Foundation is required to immediately begin preparations for an XK-class end-of-the- world scenario. SCP-076 and SCP-073 are to be secured immediately. All personnel are to unlock and decode Emergency Order Patmos-Omega, and follow all orders within. Site 19 is to be secured, and all nonessential SCPs and personnel terminated and/or destroyed. Repeat, because of this event's confluence with the recent breach of SCP-995, the opening of SCP-616, and the activation of SCP-098, the Foundation is required to immediately begin preparations for an XK-class end-of-the-world scenario. SCP-076 and SCP-073 are to be secured immediately. All personnel are to unlock and decode Emergency Order Patmos-Omega, and follow all orders within. Site 19 is to be secured, and all nonessential SCPs and personnel terminated and/or destroyed. Repeat, because of this ≡ event's confluence with the recent breach of SCP-995, the opening of SCP-616, and the aktivation of SCP-098, the Foundation is rekwired to immediatelebegin preprrations ffr an XK-class end-of-theworldsenario.
SCP-076 and SCP-073 @re to be secured immediately Cain and Abel my two sons, I amcoming all personnel are to unlock and decode behold, I stand at the gate and knock and if anyanayansdfysffollow aall alla khaf3242!$$@andisawanewheavenandanewearthandthefruitofofof ^&@#$@#@#$@#$███████ █████████ █████████ █████████ ███ [SIGNAL LOST] Upon contacting Site 0, O5-14 responded that no such message had been sent from his location and that SCP-001 remained inert. The transmission was initially determined to be a hoax. However, close examination of the transmission reveals a timestamp dated [DATA REDACTED] years in the future. It is theorized that [DATA EXPUNGED].
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Filename: Angel-new-video.webm Author: stephlynch License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal able ectoentropic euclid humanoid illustrated k-class-scenario keter portal religious sapient scp the-administrator page revision: 91, last edited: 4 Aug 2024, 05:36 (210 days ago) Edit Rate (+2467) Tags Discuss (389) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Dr Gears' Proposal SCP-001 » Dr Gears' Proposal rating: +825 + – X Item designation number: #86243AR-001 Warning: Item displays aggressive and dangerous behavior Description of item: 6’5” tall, 97 lbs (average, varies by 5-10 lbs higher or lower), unknown age, grey-brown skin (may be bruising), eye (?) color milky blue, no hair. Emaciated appearance, bone and muscle structure unlike any recorded species. Legs are long and thin, ending in sharp black points. Three fingers on each hand, also ending in black points. Legs and arms are twice as long as torso. No reproductive organs, anal orifice, ears, nose, or pores anywhere on body. Head is spherical, very large in proportion to body, neck appears too thin to support head. Mouth extends halfway around head, no lips. Twenty-one (21) teeth, spaced randomly around mouth; many appear broken, rotten, or chipped. “Eye” is a large, ball-shaped, milky-blue sphere presumably kept in the head or throat. Appears to “roll” into the mouth when mouth is open. Has no pupil or iris.
Detail of current containment: Room is lead-lined and kept lit with floodlights. Temperature is kept at 98 degrees, with 100% humidity. Room is sealed with a reinforced steel blast door. Outer area patrolled by guards with high-powered strobes. Anybody entering the containment room should carry a strobe and wear welding goggles. Any person attempting to remove the item or enter without authorization is to be shot on sight.
Report: Recovered in Guatemala early this week. First reported as a “demon” seen by several boys on a rural road. Appeared to be sick or injured. Boys reported seeing the creature panting and jerking its legs. Creature then raised its head and exposed its “eye”. Boys ran home, reporting to local law enforcement. Several reports of “horrible roaring” or “shrieks” from locals over several days. Twelve people admitted to local hospital with severe radiation poisoning, and seven reported missing. Recovery team assembled, headed by General Machoi and dispatched from base ADRX-19. Reports to Overseers from recovery team SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com after standard containment failure led to additional containment protocols, developed by Dr. Hermann Keter. Dr. Keter was unfortunately killed in initial testing, after which creature was moved to ADRX-19.
Creature appears to be able to create microsingularities, using them both as a form of teleportation and defense. These singularities disappear several seconds after creation, but emit massive amounts of radiation and cause severe damage to the surrounding area.
The “eye” appears to control these manifestations, as it has always had the eye exposed when creating a singularity. Omnivorous, it views humans as a food supply. Creature shows signs of extreme fear and sickness in the presence of high heat, humidity, or bright/flashing light. Creature appears unable to teleport through lead, and cannot form singularities when in its “sick” state. When “well”, it is an extremely fast and cunning being, and has killed several recovery agents with both its singularities and claws. Emits occasional shrieking sounds; all attempts to communicate have failed.
Addendum: Additional objects reported, Overseers considering conversion of ADRX-19 to a dedicated recovery and containment facility. Reports may need censorship for reasons of security.
Cite this page as: "Dr Gears' Proposal" by Dr Gears, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/dr-gears-s-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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001-proposal biological esoteric-class gravity humanoid murder-monster predatory radioactive scp teleportation page revision: 24, last edited: 1 Oct 2024, 14:25 (152 days ago) Edit Rate (+825) Tags Discuss (103) History Files Print Site tools + Options ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License ≡ |
One portion of SCP-001 Dr. Mann's Proposal SCP-001 » Dr. Mann's Proposal rating: +817 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Embla Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is contained on the grounds of Site 0, in upstate [REDACTED]. A fence has been constructed around the perimeter of SCP-001's observed effects. In addition to Site 0's security, no fewer than five armed guards are to be present at all times to prevent unauthorized entry. The adjoining physics laboratory will be manned at all hours, studying any anomalies.
A small metal plaque bearing an inscription will be maintained in good condition. Any damage is to be immediately reported to maintenance.
Description: SCP-001 is a circular gravel path in a wooded area. When traveled in a counter-clockwise direction, the trail is continuously uphill, even after reaching the original point. When traveled in a clockwise direction, the trail shows the same amount of uphill and downhill travel, as expected.
Level 5 clearance is required to access SCP-001’s experiment log.
New members of Overseer Council are required to read Document 001-O5.
Cite this page as: "Dr. Mann's Proposal" by DrEverettMann, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/dr-manns-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: path005.png Author: Bill Henderson [original], S D Locke [edits] License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source Link: [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Track_through_the_woods_leadi ng_down_from_Lounds_Hill_-_geograph.org.uk_-_282372.jpg] 001-proposal esoteric-class location scp spatial page revision: 24, last edited: 6 Apr 2023, 14:31 (696 days ago) Edit Rate (+817) Tags Discuss (47) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Jonathan Ball's Proposal SCP-001 » Jonathan Ball's Proposal rating: +1003 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: To date, no adequate containment procedure has been developed to deal with the possible threat posed by SCP-001. This is due, in part, to the controversial nature of the item and debates concerning the necessity of its containment.
This controversy is reflected in the item’s changing object class and the procedures utilized in its containment. The current administration, despite charges of paranoia, has classed the object Keter, while requesting permission for a higher object class to be created and applied uniquely to this item, considering it to be the most dangerous of all known or possible items. The reason for this classification and changing attitudes towards SCP-001 are dealt with in the description and notes.
At present, SCP-001 is located in a code-locked briefcase made of a high-tensile reinforced polymer. The room and the briefcase are monitored at all times by security cameras. The briefcase cannot be opened without unanimous special clearance from all current O5 officers. The briefcase itself is stored in a small, fully lit, single-room off-site building erected in ███ ██████ ██████. Class D personnel are posted to guard the building but may not enter without the aforementioned agreement from the O5 officers, under threat of immediate termination. This off-site building exists for the sole purpose of housing SCP-001 and is wired for detonation in an emergency.
It is the opinion of the current administration that SCP-001 represents the greatest threat to national and global security known to exist. Nevertheless, due to special circumstances regarding its mode of function, further research on the item is disallowed, despite its promotion in the past, when SCP-001 was contained in minimum security conditions.
Description: SCP-001 is a simple sheaf of papers, stapled together in the top left corner.
The top sheet is a covering sheet reading simply, “Confidential Report on Special Items— Classified.” The number of subsequent papers stapled to this covering sheet is indeterminate, and have ranged from three to thirty. The report is unsigned and its origin is unknown.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in The first appearance of this report was on ███████ █, ████, when it appeared on the desk of ████████ █████ (deceased). The report at that time described “The ‘Living’ Room” (SCP-002). Shortly after reading the report with incredulity, ████████ █████ was contacted by phone regarding said item. The next time ████████ █████ perused SCP- 001, it described not “The ‘Living’ Room” but “Biological Motherboard” (SCP-003).
████████ █████ immediately closed SCP-001, thinking it was a different report, and searched for the original report on SCP-002. Not finding it, he again opened SCP-001, and this time it described not SCP-003 but “The 12 Rusty Keys and the Door” (SCP-004).
████████ █████ closed the report once more and opened it immediately, to read of “Skeleton Key” (SCP-005). It is not known what the next actions of ████████ █████ might have been. At varying times following this incident, the aforementioned items were discovered.
Insufficient research exists concerning the correlation between SCP-001 and all other known items. However, it has been established that every event regarding the discovery of a new SCP item has followed a report on that same item appearing beneath the cover sheet of SCP-001. The current administration regards this coincidence as proof of causal connection.
Additional Notes: Whether SCP-001 is to be regarded as an advance-warning system or whether SCP-001 itself is to be regarded as the creator of the items requiring special containment remains to be seen. However, the distinction is unimportant in the eyes of the current administration. The fact remains: no new SCP items appear unless SCP-001 is opened and read. It is for this reason that the current administration refuses to repeat the mistakes of the past, mistakes that have resulted in over one thousand SCP items coming to the knowledge of the SCP unit.
Arguments concerning the non-lethality of SCP-001 itself, its theoretically beneficial use as an SCP warning system, or its use as a progenitor of advanced biological and non- biological weapons have not swayed the current administration. Nor have arguments criticizing the extreme containment procedures employed in respect to an item that displays no nefarious qualities and is not animate as such. Critics are reminded that these procedures are intended not to contain the item itself, but to isolate it from human interaction, which is to be regarded as the true threat.
Although the current administration refuses to remove the object from isolation barring special authorization as noted above, past administrations have counseled daily with the item, and future administrations will no doubt counsel similar behavior. Nevertheless, it is the opinion of the current administration that, barring the destruction of SCP-001, it is to be contained until such a time when responsibility for its containment falls upon future administrations.
‡ Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal document keter predictive scp page revision: 42, last edited: 17 Mar 2023, 13:41 (716 days ago) Edit Rate (+1003) Tags Discuss (131) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Moonrise » » » Moonrise SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus's Proposal II There is a dark room under a mountain in the far north where a man stands pressed against a corner.
Something is spinning in the center of that room, something dark. He screams out his daughter's name before his body is pulled from the wall and into the darkness. There is an explosion, and the room collapses.
Years earlier, the man lies broken in an alley, the fire escape he had dropped from still ringing from the shock. Inches away from his grasp, a little girl looks at him with horror in her eyes as she is approached by something that moves towards her slowly, one hand outstretched and fluid leaking from its empty eyes. The man reaches for the girl, but his body fails him. He is forced to sit and watch as the rotted corpse of a thing that might have been a man pulled the little girl into pieces. She screams until the thing removes her face, and then they disappear.
It is 1979. A breach of containment occurs involving a low-level reality bender who had killed three people in a car prior to being contained by filling their lungs with liquid mercury when they wouldn't let him pass during a traffic jam. The reality bender is shot and killed by Dr. Calvin Desmet, who later investigation would show was defending himself when the entity attacked him. There was, however, no surveillance footage found of the incident, and although the incident took place several floors up, the entity's containment cell seemed to have been broken into from the outside.
The investigation clears Dr. Desmet, who returns to work.
A man lingers on the edge of darkness for just a moment. His body is broken and his eyes burn. He sees the face of a little girl, her eyes bleeding and her hair being pulled back into the black maw of a dead- eyed corpse. He screams her name but he makes no sound. The vision fades, and suddenly he sees infinitely many little girls - some of them dying but many more alive, growing old and never having to watch as she is consumed by a monster while her father watches, unable to do anything but weep.
He sees the monster, the dead-eyed thing, and traces a line in the air between the world he had left and another world - a world of filth and corrosion and death. He sees, if only for an instant, the thread between the two; a glowing fiber that draws them together. He looks past that thread and sees others, hundreds of thousands, millions, trillions, a number stretching towards infinity that he grasps all at once, and then he follows them down, back down towards his world.
In his mind's eye, he cuts the threads.
Years later, the man sees the threads again, though not now from the eyes of one tumbling into the darkness; instead he sees them from the eyes of a serrated knife.
In the moment before he is dragged back into a cage he reaches out and grabs not just the threads, but the spools where those threads originated. With one deft motion he pulls across them, splitting them and emptying their contents into the void beneath him. The threads disappear. He smiles.
djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +178 The next morning, a note came from within SCP-1322. The translated message was simple: "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" The cost of what they had done became evident immediately. A hundred sites, large and small, all reported apparent abductions of valuable artifacts and entities. So many reported, in fact, that the Foundation's central computer determined they were experiencing a Dominance Shift, and began making preparations to move the records into deep storage. The order was quickly rescinded by Overwatch Command, who later issued a single line of text as an acknowledgement of what had happened.
This did little, however, to assuage the fears of those who had watched as living anomalous entities had been crushed under the weight of something inconceivable into infinitesimally tiny points before disappearing altogether. Even worse, perhaps, were those who had watched their coworkers experience the same. Hundreds reported to site infirmaries around the globe. Dozens were dead - disappeared as if pulled by string into another place.
The news that morning was undisturbed, save for a few stories that might interest someone with insight.
There was an explosion at a chemical plant near Istanbul, though investigators to the scene found nothing except a scorched foundation, a few overturned semi-trucks, and a banner that read "Dr.
Wondertainment Inc: 1,000,000 safe man hours!" Billionaire Skitter Marshall had begun a massive selloff of his holdings, creating a panic in east Asian money markets. The Secretary General of the United Nations had announced the sudden and tragic death of long-serving Under-Secretary-General D.C. al Fine, who had perished when her private plane had gone down over the north Atlantic.
These and other stories littered local and national news the world over, but aside from a few strange incidents and unusual disappearances, nobody seemed to notice.
It is hours earlier. Around a table sit thirteen people. One of them puts her head in her hand.
"It still means the ends of so many lives. It's- it's too many to even comprehend. A number without limit." Another voice answers. "A number without us." There is silence And then another. "We pledged ourselves to maintain normalcy and protect our world. This world. The affairs of other worlds are their own. We would expect any other Overseer Council to act the same way - in the interest of their universe. This, all of this, the science, the militarism, everything. All of it is to accomplish a single, unreachable goal. Keep the monsters tucked out of sight. Now we find out, even that might not be enough. That the end of days is coming for us anyway. But we're given an option: if we do nothing, every universe dies screaming. If we take this action, every universe dies screaming but ours.
Once it's over, it's over. Everything we've struggled for, everyone who has died to protect our world will be validated. Is the end of our road not worth this? Is protecting ourselves from the doomsday to come not worth this?" The Foundation is currently experiencing unexpected shifts in reality. Do not panic.
O5-9 shakes her head. "You're mad. You're all mad. You've lost your minds. You know nothing about this entity, nothing about what it's capable of or what it wants. And you're willing to open the only box we've found to put it in? What has happened to you?
She stands. "You are good men. Intelligent men. Some of the finest men and women I've ever known. But this is madness. I cannot allow it to happen. Even if we manage to somehow survive turning loose an unpredictable… monster… remember today as being the day we gave up our mission. We secure, and we contain. Those two come first. We've now risked everything for the faintest glimmer of hope that we somehow achieve the last, and I fear it will have damned us." She pauses. "Why do you trust it, Bramimond? After all we've achieved, why do you risk everything on this?" There is a rustling sound from a dark corner of the room. O5-1 speaks, but something is strange about his voice.
"I knew Calvin Desmet, years ago. In a different life. He wasn't recruited by the Foundation - he volunteered. He was part of a team contracted by the Insurgency to run trials on new technology they were developing at the time. But he had a young daughter that was killed by SCP-106 when it breached containment during transit in 1975, years before we had developed functional containment procedures for it, and… after that, he sought us out. He never said much about it, but you could tell. If that's him in there, and he had found a way to remove every trace of the anomalous from our universe, no matter the cost, he would do it. I know he would do it. I can hear it in his voice." O5-9 spits. "In another life, you might have been reasonable. This is unacceptable." The rustling stops. From that dark corner, a man slumps forwards onto the ground. His throat has been slit. He is O5-1. The rest of them react with a start. O5-3 turns and draws a weapon.
"Who-" he says, but is cut off when another figure emerges from the shadow. It is O5-1. He is shaking, and his face is streaked with tears. One arms appears to have been crushed.
"I'm sorry," the man says, his voice now trembling. "I'm sorry. It said that if I came here, and I told you, it would spare my life. It would spare-" A gunshot rings out across the chamber. Smoke floats from the barrel of a gun in O5-3's hand. Inches from O5-1's face, a bullet hangs in the air. The space around it appears strangely distorted. In seconds, it collapses into a point and disappears. O5-1 turns towards O5-3, his face warped with fear.
"Don't you see?" His words are panicked. "Don't you get it? You didn't contain him - you just put off the inevitable. He told me that my world would- would be spared, that I would be spared, if I could just convince-" "Liar!" O5-9 shouts across the room, and she too pulls a gun. Another shot rings out, and she slumps over her desk, clutching her throat. O5-3 is pointing his gun at her, but he's staring at O5-1. His eyes are wide.
"Do you trust him?" O5-1 smiles, but behind the smile is terror. "No. He will stop at nothing to achieve what he wants. He has power unlike any I've ever witnessed, but he- he is still a person. There's something inside him that still thinks. He said- he promised, promised that he would spare us." He swallows hard. "I don't want to die." O5-1 turns back towards the rest of them. "I propose a vote. The utilization of the SCP-001 entity to stave off the end of the world. All in favor?" There is silence for a moment. Then, together, eight voices speak together. "Aye." O5-1 nods. "Those opposed?" Four voices, including one choking through blood to do so, answer together. "Nay." O5-3 stands. He paces around the chamber, stopping at three desks. Every time he stops, there is a gunshot. Three bodies hit the ground. He pauses at a fourth, where O5-9 sits leaning against her chair, gun in her hand. For a moment, their eyes lock.
"Whatever comes next," he says, his voice catching, "it's no longer your battle to fight." O5-9 glares at him with purified vehemence. She opens her mouth to speak, and through blood and bile she says two words.
"Spare me." With a deft motion she pulls her gun under her own chin and squeezes the trigger. The chair behind her is sprayed with gore as her consciousness is snuffed out. O5-3 continues to stand over her, unmoving.
O5-1 speaks. "O5-13 abstains. The measure passes." The rest of them stand and leave the room. O5-1 is second to last, and O5-3 lingers a moment longer.
Five bodies stand in silent testament to their opposition. The room goes dark. Gunsmoke hangs in the air.
It is after. O5-3 stands before the shattered glass of an observation deck. Below him is a machine, furiously humming as it spins and twists around a nebulous cloud of darkness. Behind him is a smear of blood where O5-1 had been, moments before he was no longer. The structure around him creaks and groans, and small rivulets of water from the river above them now leak through the walls.
Without looking away, he speaks. "Netzach. Can you hear me?" A low, electronic voices responds. "Yes." "You aren't fitted with any sort of personality module, are you?" "I am not." He sighs. The rest of the staff had been evacuated. He was the only one left. The rest of the Overseers had fled, burying themselves underground or fleeing through extradimensional portals or, in at least one case, killing themselves. Company would have been nice.
"How long can we maintain containment of SCP-001, given our current conditions?" Netzach responds immediately. "Given current conditions, I will be able to maintain stability of the Pietrykau-Fontaine Array for one-hundred and nineteen days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes.
Afterwards, the Array will no longer have the structural integrity necessary to contain SCP-001." O5-3 rubs his forehead. "Given the information you've gathered about SCP-001, what do you think the odds are that our backup containment protocols will be able to neutralize SCP-001?" Netzach pauses. "Given information gathered during containment of SCP-001, it is a certainty that SCP- 001 will be undeterred by current failsafes." "Full of good news today, Netzach." O5-3 sits down against a railing. "You need to give me something here." "I am unable to provide a sufficiently psychologically useful response." O5-3 waves his hand idly. "Yes, I know that. But you can problem solve, right? You're a problem solving robot. What would you do in my shoes?" Netzach pauses again, and does not respond immediately. O5-3 notices the lights dim overhead, and somewhere far away he can hear a low, droning noise increase in volume. After a moment, it stops.
Netzach speaks.
"All attempts to contain SCP-001 by way of brute force or standard means of containment, short of maintaining the Pietrykau-Fontaine Array, will fail. SCP-001 has, by methods currently unknown to this system, fused itself with a fundamental essence of the makeup of reality. It cannot be harmed or interfered with physically, as any such force that would oppose it requires the same forces to exist that SCP-001 is now joined to. SCP-001 will breach containment the moment the Pietrykau-Fontaine Array fails." Netzach pauses a second time.
"However," it continues, "SCP-001 does appear to be a sentient, sapient creature, likely formed out of the death of Dr. Calvin Desmet during an accident within this facility in 1982. While sentient, sapient creatures are often unpredictable and generally unwilling to compromise, diplomacy has historically been an effective means at bridging gaps between creatures with dissimilar goals and motivations." O5-3 barks out a laugh. "You want me to talk to it? That's my best option?" "Yes." O5-3 stands up, still laughing. "You were worth the research dollars, Netzach. Honestly, that comment alone was worth every penny." He grabs his coat. "How about this. You watch Dr. Desmet, I'm going to go get a drink, and when I come back I'll go down there and talk to the Darkbody. It'll almost certainly mean both of our deaths, but it was only a matter of time anyway, wasn't it?" He makes a move to the door, but hesitates. "You know, I've been thinking about that night in the council chambers. About the ones I put a bullet in. Sort of a turn of fortune for them, wasn't it?" He laughs again, more quietly this time. "When I joined the Foundation, someone told me to remain an atheist as long as I can, because I'll see so many gods and they'll all be selling something, but none of them will be the real deal. They said that I'll know the one true God when I see it, and to give that God everything it wants, because that's the only thing that matters." He starts walking again. "That night, I saw God. That night, God wanted me to shoot O5-9, and by the sound of it, tonight God wants to talk to me. So hold down the fort, and I'll be back shortly to speak to him. Does that sound alright to you?" Netzach drones out a reply. "I am unable to provide a sufficiently psychologically useful response." O5-3 smiles as he walks out the door. "That's what I thought." Powered by ‡ Licensing / Citation TAGS↴ tale Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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» » djkaktus's Proposal II SCP-001 Ouroboros SCP-001, as viewed through infrared camera.
Archival Specifications: This data file, being designated SCP-001, will exist separately from the decoy SCP-001 archive on the primary Foundation database and will be accessible only by closed units at Area-11 or Site-01. No other instances of this data file may exist. This data file is designed to corrupt any systems on which it exists that do not carry the encryption markers of either of those two systems.
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is currently contained within the Pietrykau-Fontaine Spatial Stabilization Array located on the 6th basement level of Armed Dimensional Containment Area- 11 near Kunes, Norway. SCP-001's containment chamber must be kept at a temperature no greater than 3.2K. A full contingent of research staff, as well as four Applied Task Forces are to be stationed at ADCA-11. Currently, those assigned task forces are: ATF Indianapolis-13 "Killboys" ATF Detroit-11 "Blessed Rain" ATF Atlanta-9 "Sherman's March" ATF Nevada-3 "Firestarters" In addition to the standard construction of the Pietrykau-Fontaine Array, several significant modifications have been made since the discovery of SCP-001: djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +628 ITEM#: 001 LEVEL5 TOP-SECRET CONTAINMENT CLASS: KETER 5 DISRUPTION CLASS: AMIDA 5 RISK CLASS: CRITICAL Armed Dimensional Containment Area-11 (DEEPWELL #9) The addition of three additional Ivorycannon-Class liquid fluoride thorium reactors to balance additional energy loads.
Nine Class-VI magnesium-alloy suspension rings to maintain structural integrity of the array, Sixteen Scranton-Kempf harmonic dampeners to control excessive energy output.
Three Polycott deflector dishes to control excessive energy output.
Eight Weldon-Stanley fused-energy sinks to control excessive energy output.
The construction of a DEEPWELL borehole to vent and control excessive energy output.
One Autonomously Intelligent Response Vector to manage complex temporal-spatial calculations.
Should a destabilization event occur, the FORTY DAYS protocol is to be implemented: The acting site administrator will initiate a full evacuation of the facility, which will begin a forty minute countdown.
T-MINUS 40 MINUTES: Evacuation order is given.
T-MINUS 33 MINUTES: After a seven minute evacuation window, sluice gates that run into the nearby river will open, flooding the lower portions of the facility.
T-MINUS 31 MINUTES: Charges situated around the test chamber will fire after nine minutes, collapsing the test chamber and basement level into the DEEPWELL borehole.
T-MINUS 21 MINUTES: Additional charges set across the entire site will fire, collapsing the entire structure into the borehole.
T-MINUS 6 MINUTES: Charges set in the mountainside will fire, causing a landslide that will fill and cap the DEEPWELL before being sealed by a set of locking steel plates designed to extend out over the full width of the borehole.
T-MINUS 0 MINUTES: The on-site nuclear device located at the base of the borehole will fire, destroying SCP-001.
In the event that the "FORTY DAYS" Protocol does not prove sufficient to destroy the anomaly, all designated Foundation Overseers, regional administrators, directors, and executives are to report to Overwatch Command (Site-01) and await implementation of the Tredecim Protocol.
Activation of the Tredecim Protocol constitutes the beginning of a CXK-Class "Darkbody" End-of-All- Worlds scenario. All Foundation staff members will be alerted to the beginning of this protocol, which signals the immediate dissolution of the SCP Foundation and termination of all staff contracts. Due to the nature of a CXK-Class scenario, no additional information will be provided past the initial notice.
For more information on the Tredecim Protocol, see Addendum 001.6.
1 2 File photo of Dr. Calvin Desmet, circa 1974.
The Area-11 Pietrykau-Fontaine Spatial Stabilization Array.
Updated Containment Memorandum: This file has been classified LEVEL 5 - OVERSEER EYES ONLY.
All personnel remaining at Area-11 have been reassigned and amnesticized. All Applied Task Forces have been reassigned and amnesticized. Management of containment will be handled solely by the NETZACH system, under Overseer supervision. Identification and implementation of the 40 DAYS Protocol will be carried out solely by the NETZACH system. No other personnel are authorized to view this file.
Description: SCP-001 is a humanoid gravitational singularity currently contained within the Area-11 Pietrykau-Fontaine Array.
SCP-001 is immeasurably dense; only by mitigating its effect on spacetime through the use of Scranton-Kempf devices are Foundation personnel able to maintain the structural integrity of the Spatial Stabilization Array. SCP-001 is not visible without specialized equipment (usually high-contrast infrared cameras), as it is constantly surrounded by a dense cloud of radioactive gas and atomized debris. Additionally, being a singularity, SCP-001 does not reflect light, and is visible only by the obfuscation of light around it.
SCP-001 is capable of manipulating the nature of reality through alterations in gravity that change the shape and structure of spacetime. As such its anomalous capabilities cannot be dampened by anything other than the Pietrykau-Fontaine array , any alterations to spacetime made by SCP-001 are irreversible.
Addendum 001.1 Initial Manifestation On June 19th, 1982, a team of Foundation researchers headed up by Dr. Lamar Fontaine were in the process of running engineering trials on the Pietrykau-Fontaine Spatial Stabilization Array, a device intended for use in containing anomalies that manipulate the nature of spacetime . During these trials, a particle accelerator was used to create superheavy oganesson, which would in turn collapse on itself to create a miniaturized singularity. This procedure had been carried out on several other occasions, with each of the singularities destabilizing quickly after manifesting. The June 19th trial was intended as a scale up test of the procedure.
3 4 5 Area-11 in the wake of the June 19th, 1982 catastrophe.
Shortly after 2030 hours local time, as the particle accelerator was in the process of spooling up, Dr.
Calvin Desmet, one of the project's research assistants, noted minor power fluctuations in one arm of the array's stabilizing rings. Dr. Desmet wanted to replace the failing coupling, which was known to decay under the cold temperatures of the testing chamber. Since the test was still an hour away and the chamber was not sealed, Dr. Desmet entered to repair the coupling. As the accelerator continued to spool, a power regulator attached to the system's primary generator began to fail . Under non-test conditions this event could still flood the chamber with ionizing radiation, so an evacuation order was given and the chamber was sealed. Dr. Desmet, not hearing the alert over the sound of the array coming online (due to the excess power now present in the system), continued to work on the coupling.
Roughly seven minutes later, while outside research staff were attempting to begin a power-down cycle, the power regulator failed entirely and the accelerator began powering to near-test conditions. Dr.
Desmet abandoned the power coupling and attempted to escape the test chamber. Before he could make it to an emergency exit, the accelerator reached peak test conditions and a singularity formed. The array pulled the singularity into alignment, but only milliseconds before the damaged stabilizer arm failed and Dr. Desmet was exposed to the naked singularity. The test chamber collapsed into the singularity, as did much of the rest of the research wing and Dr. Desmet himself. Shortly afterwards, the singularity dissipated.
In the wake of the June 19th incident many administrative personnel at Area-11 were reassigned, while engineering staff and Foundation construction teams worked to repair the damaged portions of the facility (which was at the time still housing several other anomalies). This effort continued for several years, during which time significant control portions of the stabilization array were removed and replaced with autonomous systems in order to reduce staffing and also limit exposure. The engineering team assigned to the stabilizer began running tests of its capabilities starting in March of 1995.
Over the next several years the teams at Area-11 ran minor tests of the stabilizer, typically in an attempt to reduce energy requirements and increase automation. By 2002, the system was almost entirely automated, requiring only a handful of support staff to operate. The array began containing minor gravitational anomalies starting in 2004, and continued to do so full-time up until 2005. In late 2005, staff members at Area-11 began trials that would lead towards testing the stabilizer on a free-standing singularity.
In early 2006, aided by the NETZACH intelligence system , on-site engineers began scaling up their trials into fully-operational experiments. After several months of testing, in May of 2006, the engineers at Area-11 manifested a singularity within the array at full power, and maintained the structural integrity of both the singularity and the containment chamber.
6 7 8 However, after two hours of testing with a fully stable singularity, the space within the array began to change dramatically. The singularity began to rapidly grow in size, threatening to expand past the boundaries of the array. As the automated system initiated an evacuation warning, NETZACH began making adjustments to account for the significant increase in energy being exerted by the singularity.
Eventually the growth rate of the singularity stalled, and the effects it had on the containment chamber were mitigated through alterations to the array's arrangement by NETZACH. It was at this point that the thick cloud of rotating radioactive gas and dust formed, obscuring the singularity within.
As Foundation engineers began work to reinforce the damaged array, SCP-001 made its first attempt at communication with Foundation staff. This initial communication attempt consisted primarily of unintelligible noises, initially became full sentences and then later conversations after Foundation personnel discovered that the singularity within the gas cloud was humanoid in shape and, though unmoving, clearly attempting to speak to them.
Addendum 001.2 First Contact First contact between SCP-001 and the Foundation was conducted by Dr. J. Barton Ramsey, Site-17, at SCP-001's containment array beneath Area-11. Notably, SCP-001 does not appear capable of communicating naturally; its incredible density makes the projection of sound impossible. Instead, SCP- 001 uses gravity to vibrate the suspension rings of the array in order to create sound .
9 [BEGIN AUDIO LOG] Dr. Ramsey: (Muffled voice) -just the microphone. Can it hear me?
(Uncertain murmuring) SCP-001: (Muffled humming) Dr. Ramsey: Wait! What was that? Can you hear that? (Pauses) Listen.
SCP-001: (Metallic ringing) Johannes- Johannes Ramsey.
Dr. Ramsey: You know my name?
SCP-001: (Pauses) He- yes. Johannes Barton Ramsey. You are a doctor. The S- (pauses) -SCP Foundation. Containment. Is he being contained? (Pauses) He can't see, He's- the array. This is the… Pietrykau-Fontaine… He knows this place, he- Dr. Ramsey: Have you been here before?
SCP-001: No, he- (pauses) There is no I, only He, someone else. A man. I think I was him, or He- He is me. (Pauses) He was here once, and then He wasn't.
Dr. Ramsey: (Murmuring off-microphone) Jesus Christ, is that Desmet?
SCP-001: Who? (Pauses) Yes. Desmet. Calvin. His name was Calvin.
Dr. Ramsey: (Muffled discussion away from microphone with containment staff) Unfortunately, there is no way for us to- SCP-001: This machine, the- deactivate it. There is something He needs to do, He needs to… needs to see… needs- (trails off) Dr. Ramsey: What are you?
SCP-001: A- a way to distinguish between two like things. (Pauses) He needs… an Overseer.
Overseers. All of them. Bring them here.
Dr. Ramsey: That's against protocol, and- SCP-001: No. They will come for this. He has something to offer them.
Dr. Ramsey: What's that?
SCP-001: A way out.
[END AUDIO LOG] Addendum 001.3 The Way Out The following is the full log of O5-1's interaction with SCP-001.
[BEGIN AUDIO LOG] O5-1: To whom am I speaking?
SCP-001: A technicality, I'm afraid. It took time to appear like this, and longer to- to manifest an identity. It almost seems unnecessary but… to simplify this means of communication, you may identify me as Calvin Desmet. (Pauses) That seems strange. Applying characteristics to something wholly apart from their genesis.
O5-1: The same Calvin Desmet who was killed in this room twenty-two years ago?
SCP-001: No. Not the same. Similar, in many ways, but changed.
O5-1: You understand, then, how far in breach of protocol we are.
SCP-001: Yes, I think he would recognize that. But these are extraordinary circumstances.
O5-1: You mentioned a way out.
SCP-001: Yes, in a manner of speaking.
O5-1: A way out of what?
SCP-001: You contain the strange and anomalous because they threaten your world, but you're applying salve to symptoms. The root is entropy. Something inevitable. Something you cannot outrun, try as you might. Existence is an infinitely complex tapestry of realities, each neatly aligned above and below each other. Entropy frays the edges, and things begin to… leak through.
O5-1: How do you know this?
SCP-001: I have seen it. Calvin Desmet saw it, in the moment before his soul was cast into darkness. Everything you have contained because you cannot explain it comes from somewhere else, somewhere it can be explained. A different reality, one that seeps into yours. Entropy exacerbates this. Over time the borders will disappear entirely, and your world, just like all worlds, will become a pandaemonium of infinite realities competing for relevance over each other. Your world will die. All worlds will die. They will feast on each other as they suffocate and then they will die. This is not a hypothetical; it is inevitability.
O5-1: (Pauses) You are certain?
SCP-001: Beyond any doubt.
O5-1: How long do we have before this occurs?
SCP-001: Decades. Each tiny tear puts pressure on the whole system. They will continue to grow until the boundaries give way, and the moment the cascade begins the fate of creation is decided. It will be unmade, and it cannot be undone. Not for you, perhaps, but your children and grandchildren will see a sky of nightmares before they die.
O5-1: What is your way out?
SCP-001: Calvin did the math in the moments before he entered the void. Order cannot exist forever in a universe that lingers on disorder. One line can stretch on forever, but infinitely many lines invites chaos. Points that intersect. There is only one way to insure this world's future: remove all other worlds.
O5-1: I don't understand.
SCP-001: You are not expected to, because you cannot see the narratives. Calvin could see them, for a moment. Calvin saw doomsday, and Calvin reasoned a way out of it. Remove all narratives but this one, and you produce a creation of one. One universe, untarnished by the influences of others.
Safe. Your loved ones protected from the encroaching darkness. Your children free to live lives that do not end in horror. An end to your perpetual struggle. An end to darkness. The freedom to live in the light.
O5-1: By destroying all other realities. An incomprehensible loss of life.
SCP-001: (Pauses) Yes.
O5-1: And you are capable of this?
SCP-001: Yes.
O5-1: (Pauses) How?
SCP-001: By removing the barriers for all realities, all at once; save this one. Compress spacetime at the points where it is most vulnerable, and allow entropy to do the rest.
O5-1: If you are set on this path, why haven't you already done it?
SCP-001: When I manifested here, this machine… I cannot see outside of it. I cannot see you. You must deactivate the machine.
O5-1: What is stopping any one of these infinite realities from inhibiting you in the same way?
What is stopping them from realizing what we've done, and coming to destroy us?
SCP-001: They will not realize what I have done until it is finished.
[END LOG] Shortly after the conclusion of this conversation, all staff members located at Area-11 were ordered to report to nearby sites for reassignment and amnesticization.
Addendum 001.4 Deliberations O5-1: The Council has been called to hear arguments for and against the use of SCP-001 for the purpose of staving off the end of the world. O5-3, if you will.
O5-3: After investigation by several teams working independent of each other, we have determined that SCP-001 appears to be correct about what it has said regarding the nature of creation. The trend-line of anomalies we are aware of and have contained has followed the accelerated progression that SCP-001 predicted. Based on our models, we should expect an uncontainable number of new anomalies within 30 years, and even more past that. Our best guess is that something big gets loose within 45, and at that point there's nothing left to be done.
O5-7: How is that possible? How is it that the universe could fall apart as quickly as this entity says it will?
O5-1: According to Desmet, actions taken in other realities to stave off the end of their worlds have significantly damaged the metaphysical construction of all universes. In many ways, we are as much to blame as all of the others, but- (pauses) infinite blame spread over infinite responsible.
O5-8: Given a truly infinite multiverse, the idea of salvation coming to us and not another universe is… it is statistically impossible.
O5-3: Yes, yet no less impossible that it would come to any of them instead of us.
O5-11: How do we know this entity isn't lying to us?
O5-3: If it is, then it has an incredible grasp on high level pataphysical concepts for something that hasn't directly experienced what it claims to have experienced.
O5-1: More than that. I took the liberty of… consulting with a number of the precognitives, and- O5-9: (Interjecting) That is forbidden.
O5-12: (Interrupting O5-9) Wouldn't you want to know?
O5-9: We made a decision that cannot so easily be- O5-1: -we confirmed, as well as we could, that there is a point in time that is arriving soon that obscures their vision. They can see up to it, but not past. I don't even know if they realize it yet - it was only after we drew data from dozens of tests that we realized none of them have made a prediction past 2066.
O5-6: What if it's just a reality bender? What if we let it out of that array and it kills us all?
O5-1: If it was a reality bender it would've done so already. This entity isn't manipulating humes; it's manipulating gravity. Spacetime. If it was affecting humes it could've just reached out and crushed us already; the Stabilization Array mitigates the effect of things that disturb spacetime, which is what is currently keeping it at bay. This entity, Dr. Desmet, if he's actually in there, doesn't seem to be a Type Green. It's something wholly different. It's become something… fundamental, to the nature of all things.
O5-2: I- (pauses) If this creature is what it says it is, and it can do what it says it can do, that would mean the death of- of infinitely many lives. How can we sit in judgement over so many living things?
O5-4: Who's to say the idea of other universes isn't anomalous? Maybe there should just be this one. Maybe that's the natural order.
O5-9: That is absurd. We- O5-2: It still means the ends of so many lives. It's- it's too many to even comprehend. A number without limit.
O5-1: A number without us.
Silence O5-3: We pledged ourselves to maintain normalcy and protect our world. This world. The affairs of other worlds are their own. We would expect any other Overseer Council to act the same way - in the interest of their universe. This, all of this, the science, the militarism, everything. All of it is to accomplish a single, unreachable goal. Keep the monsters tucked out of sight. Now we find out, even that might not be enough. That the end of days is coming for us anyway. But we're given an option: if we do nothing, every universe dies screaming. If we take this action, every universe dies screaming but ours. Once it's over, it's over. Everything we've struggled for, everyone who has died to protect our world will be validated. Is the end of our road not worth this? Is protecting ourselves from the doomsday to come not worth this?
Silence O5-1: I propose a vote. The utilization of the SCP-001 entity to stave off the end of the world. All in favor?
O5-3, -4, -12, -1, -11, 10, -5, -6: Aye.
O5-1: Those opposed?
O5-9, -2, -7, -8: Nay.
O5-1: O5-13 abstains. The measure passes.
O5-9: Even if we manage to somehow survive turning loose an unpredictable… monster… remember today as being the day we gave up our mission. We secure, and we contain. Those two come first. We've now risked everything for the faintest glimmer of hope that we somehow achieve the last, and I fear it will have damned us. (Pauses) Why do you trust it, Bramimond? After all we've achieved, why do you risk everything on this?
Silence O5-1: I knew Calvin Desmet, years ago. In a different life. He wasn't recruited by the Foundation - he volunteered. He was part of a team contracted by the Insurgency to run trials on new technology they were developing at the time. But he had a young daughter that was killed by SCP- 106 when it breached containment during transit in 1975, years before we had developed functional containment procedures for it, and… after that, he sought us out. He never said much about it, but you could tell. If that's him in there, and he had found a way to remove every trace of the anomalous from our universe, no matter the cost, he would do it. I know he would do it. I can hear it in his voice.
Addendum 001.5 The Deception On January 11th, 2007, after further discussion with SCP-001 and additional independent research, the Overseer Council voted 8-4-1 to initiate a power-down of the Spatial Stabilization Array and allow SCP- 001 to take the action it had described. Three Overseers (O5-1, O5-4, and O5-12) were in attendance.
As a sign of good faith, an anomalous artifact (SCP-884) was selected and SCP-001 was directed to target the reality in which the artifact had originated. O5-3 oversaw the artifact during this process.
[BEGIN VIDEO LOG] O5-1, -4, and -12 stand alone in the Stabilization Array's control center. Visible on another screen is the dark cloud of gas and dust encircling SCP-001. O5-4 has a telephone in their right hand. They nod to O5-1.
O5-1: We're going to begin to step down the power running into the array. When we reach the agreed upon point, we'll hold it there until you can prove to us you can do what you claim. Do you understand?
SCP-001: I do.
O5-1 initiates step down procedure. NETZACH cycles down reactors 2 and 3. The cloud of radioactive dust and debris encircling SCP-001 falls into the borehole below it. Visible now as the light from the array is warped around it is a jet black humanoid entity. The entity does not move.
O5-1: This is it. Can you see me?
SCP-001: I can see everything.
O5-1: Do you know what you're looking for?
SCP-001: The mirror.
O5-1: Do it.
SCP-001 does not seem to respond initially. Its position in the center of the array does not change.
SCP-001: The world I see is not unlike your own. In that world, a dying soul attached itself to that mirror; a curse to whoever should own it. (Pauses) It has happened.
There is a moment of silence, until O5-3 is heard over the radio.
O5-3: God… O5-1: What is it?
O5-3: It's gone. It was sitting right here on the table, and then it just… it's like it folded in on itself until it was gone. There's nothing left.
O5-1: (To SCP-001) Was that you?
SCP-001: That narrative has ended.
O5-1: How long will it take?
SCP-001: Moments.
O5-1: Will it hurt them?
SCP-001: It will be agony.
O5-1: (Pauses, then nods) The space around SCP-001 within the array begins to shimmer. Low, loud pulses of noise are emitted from the air around them, and the light within the chamber begins to bend in towards SCP- 001. The array creaks and groans under the stress. O5-4 and O5-12 step away from the observation window. O5-1 does not move.
The building around them begins to shake. Points in the air around SCP-001 begin to distort, as if being dragged down individually towards SCP-001. The room darkens. More low pulses begin to rise up out of the borehole. A single, thin ring of white-hot debris begins to form around SCP-001.
Others join it. Nearby, a klaxon can be heard as NETZACH warns of intolerable load on the array.
O5-1: Does it hurt you?
SCP-001: It is… excruciating.
Suddenly, O5-1 jerks backwards. The space around his body begins to distort, as if being pulled in towards his center. He reaches forwards towards the observation window, his body compressing unnaturally.
O5-1: (Choked) I don't- SCP-001: (In O5-1's voice) If that's him in there, and he had found a way to remove every trace of the anomalous from our universe, no matter the cost, he would do it.
O5-1: Va- SCP-001: (In its own voice) Your children free to live lives that do not end in horror. An end to your perpetual struggle. An end to darkness. The freedom to live in the light. All traces must be removed. (In O5-1's voice) …every trace of the anomalous from our universe. (In its own voice) This world must be washed clean. It is the only way out.
O5-1: (Gurgling) O5-1 collapses in on himself, folding and distorting down into a single point that hangs in the air for a moment, and then disappears. All around the chamber, the walls begin to bend and distort. The air shimmers. O5-4 is lifted into the air, screaming, as her body begins to fold in on itself. Her eyes bulge and her bones audibly shatter. Another wave of force is emitted from within the stabilization array, and the observation window shatters. SCP-001 turns to look up at O5-4, who instantly crumples into a single point and then disappears. O5-12 stands to flee, but is seemingly frozen in fear.
There is a loud grinding sound, and then O5-12 falls to the ground. From within the containment chamber, a loud hum is heard that grows considerably louder. SCP-001 is observed for a moment more staring up at the observation deck, before it is surrounded by a cloud of dust and debris. As the array settles into position, the low pulsing sound dissipates and all that can be heard is the sound of NETZACH's warning klaxon, signalling that it has activated an emergency failsafe. O5-12 is heard sobbing in an unseen corner of the observation deck. SCP-001's voice begins to grind through the metal rings of the stabilization array.
SCP-001: (A dull, grinding roar) Your children free to live lives that do not end in horror. An end to your perpetual struggle. An end to darkness. The freedom to live in the light. All traces must be removed. This world must be washed clean. The Foundation does not escape atonement. It is the only way out.
[END LOG] Addendum 001.6 Tredecim Protocol In the event that SCP-001 breaches containment, the Tredecim protocol is designed to provide an extradimensional escape route for all high-ranking Foundation personnel to avoid annihilation at the hand of SCP-001.
We were wrong. Tredecim is no longer an option. Every alternative must be considered. Sustained containment of SCP-001 is now the Foundation's only objective.
More information will come to you as I receive it.
O5-3 . DEEPWELL #9.
. Codenamed NETZACH.
. Other technologies, such as reality anchors, are ineffective.
. And including notable Foundation researchers Dr. Isaiah Herrimann, Dr. William Bell, Dr.
Simon Pietrykau, Dr. Ernest Duke, Dr. Tilda Moose, Dr. Gina Lazenby, and Dr. Carter Lament.
. Specifically those that warp spacetime due to their immense or fluctuating density.
. The reason for this is still unknown.
. The first autonomous system, VIRTUS, was installed in November of 1989.
. NETZACH, a next generation artificially intelligent system manufactured by the Foundation's advanced Rosenworks Labs, is a complex creative machine built to handle not only the specific high-level mathematical challenges involved in the stabilization array, but also address any potential unknown complications involved in this process.
Unlike previous Foundation artificial intelligences, NETZACH cannot communicate casually, as it does not have a functional personality complex.
. Currently, this is believed to be the outer limit of SCP-001's influence, as the rest of its abilities are mitigated and contained by the stabilization array.
Footnotes 1.
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‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
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Filename: exterior.jpg Name: Factory in the snow - geograph.org.uk - 1276616.jpg Author: Barry Ephgrave License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source Link: Wikimedia Commons Filename: drdesmet.jpg Name: Cory Robbins, circa early 1980s.jpg Author: Giacostone License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: Wikimedia Commons Filename: destroyed.png Name: Destroyed steel factory near Corral - Photo from the autumn of 1960.png Author: Buonasera License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: Wikimedia Commons Image 5 Image 6 Image 7 Filename: accelerator.jpg Name: Joe Moore, Photographer. September, 1996. BEVATRON ROOF SHIELDING AND BUILDING TRUSS STRUCTURE - University of California Radiation Laboratory, Bevatron, 1 Cyclotron Road, HAER CAL,1-BERK,4-71.tif Author: National Park Service License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia Commons Filename: 01_solitude.jpg Name: N/A Author: Damien J. McDonald License: All Rights Reserved (Permission Granted) Source Link: Link Filename: darkbodyclassified.png Name: N/A Author: djkaktus License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: The SCP Wiki Filename: darkbodywarning.png Name: N/A Author: djkaktus License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: The SCP Wiki TAGS↴ 001-proposal doomsday2018 ectoentropic extradimensional foundation-made gravity humanoid immobile k-class-scenario keter sapient scp Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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SCP Foundation SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 All Things Must End Special Containment Procedures: It is the imperative of the Overseer Council to establish containment of SCP-001.
Description: To know the nature of SCP-001 is to know the nature of the Foundation.
For more information, see Document 001-GOI.01-Operatus.
Addendum 001.1: Attached Documentation BY ORDER OF THE OVERSEER COUNCIL The following file is Level 6/001 Classified.
Unauthorized access is forbidden.
001 ITEM#: 001 LEVEL6 COSMIC TOP-SECRET CONTAINMENT CLASS: ESOTERIC SECONDARY CLASS: PRINCIPALIS 5 DISRUPTION CLASS: AMIDA 1 RISK CLASS: NOTICE Decrypting...
The first man stood alone on the barren field and in the distance he saw the locked gate beyond which his greatest shame was kept.
He turned to the snake who writhed on its belly like a worm and cursed it for its treachery.
"You tricked me," the man said "you led my hand astray and now we are damned for it." The snake sighed.
"I gave you knowledge," it said "and with that knowledge you made the choice you made.
I could not make it for you." The man cried out "All the same, trusting you was my greatest mistake." "No," the snake said "Your greatest mistake was believing you had a choice at all." - — - Access Document 001-GOI.01-Operatus Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 NOW — - — The sword in Aaron’s hand flashed, and with a dull roar it tore across the room towards where Calvin stood. He jumped backwards, knocking it away with the butt of his spear sending a shower of sparks cascading across the ground. Aaron pulled up and flames leapt from the blade in all directions, forcing Calvin to spin around to avoid them. He gripped the back end of the spear and spun it over his head as he came to a rest, and the tip of it barely missed Aaron as he too danced away from the end of the long weapon.
Calvin swung low, the spearhead just narrowly missing Aaron’s left thigh, and his momentum carried him forward slightly. Off balance, he caught a glimpse of the flaming red steel falling towards him and hit the ground, rolling to dodge the burst of fire as Aaron buried the sword into the ground. With no shortage of effort, Aaron lifted the sword again and brought it down again, and again, and again, each time forcing Calvin to scramble backwards from the inferno. He found an opening, and quickly scrambled to his feet. Rearing back in the moment before Aaron brought the sword back around, he loosed the spear.
The air in the room grew tight suddenly, and there was a low, dull sound that seemed to pull all other noise out with it. A moment later there was a bang, and the spear was buried in the wall across from them, the impact having sent long jagged cracks through the stone. Aaron looked down at his arm and saw blood and ash – the spear had nicked him as it passed. He turned back towards Calvin, who was also staring at Aaron’s arm. Without hesitating, he pulled the sword to the left and fire leapt from the edge of the blade, billowing around like a curtain drawn over Calvin’s body. He leapt to the side and avoided it, but Aaron was upon him again, drawing up for a killing blow. In desperation, Calvin threw out a hand to stop the blade from falling on him- -and then the spear was back in his hand, catching the flaming sword as it crashed down onto it. Aaron, surprised, hesitated in drawing back again. Calvin pushed up on the spear with both hands, knocking Aaron backwards and giving him the opportunity to swing the razor end of the spear around at him from the side. Aaron ducked, and then caught the next pass with his sword sending sparks cascading across the ground.
The Overseer went on the offensive again, taking long, sweeping cuts towards Calvin as he ducked and rolled out of the way of the streaking fire. He skated around the long table with thirteen chairs as flames lapped up the wall of monitors, melting them and turning them jet black. When he turned back Aaron was upon him again, but this time the golden sword came from below, not above, and caught Calvin in the side. He shouted and twirled away, the long end of the spear forcing Aaron back. He could feel hot blood beginning to soak through his shirt. As he gathered himself, Aaron stopped and brought the sword down to his side.
For a moment, the two of them stood breathing heavily, each eyeing the other carefully from opposite sides of the room.
“You are an incredible testament to the will of the Insurgency,” Aaron said slowly, never taking his eyes off Calvin. “A younger me would've been envious.” Calvin wiped blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you have to be envious of?” Aaron crouched down. “When I was younger, I made mistakes - costly mistakes. I always thought those mistakes were because my resolve wasn’t strong enough – but here you are.
Your resolve is every bit as strong as mine, maybe stronger, and here you are, standing exactly where I stood, making those same mistakes.” “I’m nothing like you,” Calvin said. “I know what you are. Traitor. You were made the Engineer of the Insurgency and you betrayed us, for all the power they could give you. You betrayed your ideals for a golden throne and everlasting life.” Aaron looked up. His eyes were sad. “I’m not the Engineer, Calvin. I never was. Vince Arians was the Engineer. We built it together, but he was its chief architect. He wrote the Summa Modus Operandi and designed the Insurgency as a check again us, against me.” He stood up, taking the sword in his hand again. “You are right about one thing, though. I did betray you. I betrayed all of you – but not to forsake my ideals. A moment came where I had to balance those ideals against something horrible, and they were not strong enough to sustain me.” The sword lit up again, and in the dim light of the cavern the flames of the sword danced against Aaron’s eyes. “I’m going to kill you, Calvin – but not because I hate you, or because I’m afraid you’ll usurp me. I’m going to kill you because I’m afraid that your will now is stronger than mine was then. I’m going to kill you because if you kill me, you are going to be standing in the exact place I was so many years ago, and you will be stronger.” He raised the sword above his head, and from the hilt came an inconceivable blast of fire. It arced into the sky, scorching the ceiling of the cavern and burning out the lights there. The flames billowed down the walls, creeping into cracks in the rock and charring every surface they touched. As they reached the floor, the flames crashes across the chamber like waves, turning and churning and throwing smoke and ash into the air. The entirety of the flaming mass began to spin as Aaron brought the sword around his head, and then again, until the chamber was a single flaming maelstrom.
And then he saw Calvin, leaping through the air off the table in the center of the room, spear in hand. He turned to block it and heard the sound of a crashing locomotive as the spear soared towards him. He brought the blade down towards it, and on the moment of impact the shining golden steel glistened and then shattered. The spear caught Aaron in the chest and threw him across the room, pinning him to the stone wall beneath the monitor at the front of the chamber.
The broken fragments of the sword fell out of his hand and scattered across the ground.
Behind him, where the spear had entered stone, a thick crack now ran up towards the ceiling.
The fire that had consumed the room lingered a moment longer and then went out.
Aaron gasped and slumped against the wall. He raised a hand to his chest and felt blood seeping through his fingers. He put one hand weakly around the shaft of the spear and tried to pull it, but had no strength left to do so. He coughed, and blood pooled in the back of his throat. His body felt numb, and his limbs began to grow cold and lifeless. His vision became blurred, and each breath became shorter and harder.
Then Calvin was standing in front of him, bloodied himself and bruised, but standing. When Aaron saw him, he laughed. Blood spattered against his teeth.
“Spoke too soon,” he said quietly.
Calvin crouched down on one knee and looked him square in the eyes. “It’s over. You are the last of them, and now that you’re done this world can begin to heal again.” Aaron’s head rolled to his side and then straightened up. He brought his eyes up to meet Calvin’s, who suddenly felt the same enormous presence he had that day in the Somali warehouse with Delta, months prior. He had the distinct and unsettling sensation of his entire being – mind, body and soul – being inspected by something considerably larger than he was.
Then, after a moment, it was gone.
Aaron laughed softly and coughed. “No, Calvin, you- you really don’t… understand. I thought… I thought so too, but… I was wrong. We were wrong. Arians couldn’t see it, but I- I saw it. He wouldn’t understand, I could never tell him, and he died thinking I had betrayed him-“ he gasped for air, “-I loved him. He was my brother. But he didn’t know.” Aaron’s breathing became shallow. “It’s not enough, C-Calvin, it’s not- it’s not enough. Cancer, the cancer… it wasn’t- wasn’t us, and it wasn’t- it wasn’t Frederick… Williams… it’s the Foundation. It was always the Foundation.” Calvin stood up. “Enough - it’s over. I’m going downstairs, and I’m going to finish it. This is the way it ends.” Aaron took a few more short breaths and said. “No it's not.” His eyes glazed over and something like a name began to form on his lips.
“So- Sophia, So… Sophia, I- I’m… I’m… I’m-” He tried desperately to suck in a final breath, but with no strength left his body simply collapsed against the spear.
Aaron Siegel was dead.
Calvin stepped back from him unsteadily, his head racing. Small glowing tendrils of melted plastic and metal occasionally dropped from the ceiling around him, barely casting so much as a shadow on an almost perfectly dark room. He stood there in the darkness, catching his breath, until he felt a familiar presence join him in the darkness.
“He’s dead,” Calvin said, his own voice somehow alien to him. “I killed him.” Purpose stood unmoving at the back of the chamber. It brought two hands up and clapped once, and all around the room short glowing cylinders rose up from the stone floor, illuminating the chamber. Calvin took one hesitant step back and then another, and left Aaron’s body pinned to the wall as he crossed back up to the stairwell leading to the main antechamber. The massive humanoid was waiting for him there.
“Purpose,” he said quietly, “there exists a room in this facility where someone could unmake the Foundation, correct?” Purpose did not move. “Correct.” Calvin nodded. “It’s below the antechamber, isn’t it?
“Correct.” “Take me there.” The two of them passed through the strange tunnel of whispers between the antechamber and the meeting hall until they were standing back in the open space beneath the depictions of the Foundation’s legacy. The massive pendulum above them passed over slowly and silently, and the faint ticking of the arms of an enormous clock somewhere in the distance was the only sound in that space aside from their own footsteps.
There, in the center of the chamber, was the elevator. Purpose approached it first, extending his palm to the door which swiftly slid open. Calvin moved to step inside it, but hesitated as Purpose put a hand on his shoulder.
“I am duty-bound to tell you,” he said softly, the baritone of his voice echoing through the hall, “that once you step inside this elevator, there is no going back. There is only one decision to be made past this point, and it is not one that can be unmade.” Calvin nodded. “I know.” He turned to look back towards the massive doors leading down to where Aaron Siegel’s body was pinned to the stone wall, deep beneath the earth. “It’s time.” Purpose stepped aside, and Calvin settled into the elevator. As he did, the door behind him slid shut, and he began to descend.
— - — The elevator stopped, and as the door slid open Calvin had to squint against the light. He stepped out into a room, one with a high ceiling and dark wooden floors. Against the far wall of the chamber was a long, sweeping window that encircled nearly the entire room, and outside the window he could see the mountainside and the setting sun. The walls were lined with bookcases, and the books in them were thick and old but clearly well-maintained.
On one wall was another bank of monitors, much like the ones on the walls in the meeting room above them, only these showed different scenes. In one, he saw a woman slitting her wrists in the rain. In another, a man with a bullet in his skull falling out of a train. He saw the ruined fortress in the mountains where they had camped for the night, and the flaming city that Green had devastated. He saw the airport, and the body of a handsome man twisted and broken in the metal carnage. He saw Aaron Siegel with a spear shoved through his chest.
In the middle of the room was a rich wooden desk, neatly arranged and clean. A monitor was mounted to it, and on the screen was the Foundation’s secure login portal. Calvin walked beside it, and as he took a seat in the high-backed chair behind the desk he noticed something strange on the far end of the desk; a black, metal, rotary telephone.
He turned to the computer and began logging in. The system prompted him with biometrics by producing a fingerprint and iris scanner from within the desk. He reached out instinctively and stared into the flashing red light, and then both retracted into the wood and disappeared. The screen displayed a successful login, and then the screens around the room changed. Each monitor showed a different image, but it was clear what they all had in common; they were Foundation sites. One screen identified Site-19, and then another as Site-42, and one as Site- 77. They filled every available inch of glowing LEDs, until every surface was a Foundation site.
Then, a single option appeared on the screen on his desk.
[TERMINATE] Calvin felt the air catch in his chest. He placed a hand on the keyboard, his fingers hovering over the moment of final victory. He took a deep breath, and- The phone began ringing.
He hesitated, his fingertip a hair’s breadth away from the key. He turned towards it to confirm what he was hearing, and the phone rang again. And again. And again.
On the fifth ring he answered, his hands now acting independently from his mind. There was something robotic about the motion, something instinctual that he could not identify yet drove him all the same. He picked up the receiver carefully, as if it was something alive, and set it against his ear. He heard only silence on the other end of the line.
"Hello?" A voice crackled over the receiver. It was a man’s voice, no doubt - but there was something about it that caused the hair on Calvin’s arms to stand on end. He felt like he was hearing something that was both very far away, and occupying the same space he was.
“Congratulations are in order, Mr. Lucien,” the voice said, its tamber light and its tone smooth.
“You’ve demonstrated exceptional initiative. I’m certain it will serve us well.” Calvin’s pulse quickened. “Who is this?” “Who am I? Please, Mr. Lucien, surely you’ve guessed by now. I’m the man you’ve been trying to kill.” A line of sweat formed on Calvin’s forehead. “What? What do you mean?” “I’m the Administrator, Mr. Lucien.” Something else appeared in Calvin’s soul, something like fear but far more primal. “That’s not possible. The Administrator was killed - Aaron Siegel killed him.” The voice hemmed softly. “No, no, he didn’t. He killed the man called Frederick Williams.” “I don’t… Frederick Williams was the Administrator.” The voice chuckled. It wasn't an unfriendly sound. “Again, not quite. See, Mr. Williams was just a man tugging upon a frayed string, slowly unraveling the universe. He found the string, studied the string — categorized it — classified it, and eventually, he became it. That was how the Foundation was born.” The voice on the other end paused. “Frederick Williams saw something larger than himself and planted the seed that would make it grow. Aaron Siegel killed him for it, but part of him is still here. He’s still here because Aaron Siegel killed a man, but did not kill the seed. Do you see it yet? He did not kill me.” Calvin’s arms felt weak. A heavy weight settled across him. “What are you?” “A signature on a document. A suit in a boardroom. A voice on the phone. Mr. Siegel realized the truth too late: though Frederick Williams was the Foundation’s first Administrator, he was not the Administrator. I am, Mr. Lucien. I exist because of the Foundation. And the Foundation exists because of me. What is it that Purpose is always saying?” The voice paused, considering. "To know my nature is to know the nature of the Foundation. Something like that." Calvin didn’t respond, and the voice continued. “Did you genuinely think Mr. Siegel joined the Foundation for power? That the Foundation seduced him and he fell for its wiles and ways?” The voice scoffed. “No. He reached a conclusion and made a decision, at the expense of his ideals. He did it for the same reason you’re standing here today - because he wanted to finish the job.” Those words were suddenly hostile, but the voice settled again. “Then you came along, and after all the warnings you still decided to put a spear through his heart, the only man standing between myself and all of creation.” The voice paused for a moment. “And then? You picked up the phone.” A tiny flash of resistance surged through Calvin’s chest. ”And what if I hadn’t picked it up?” The voice on the other line laughed. It was a harsh, sudden sound; the sort of noise that wakes you before you even hear it. “Don’t be silly, Calvin. Someone always picks up the phone.” “I could still walk away.” The words felt like chalk on Calvin’s tongue. He knew what was coming. He struggled against the growing weight. He looked back at the monitor, at the cursor.
It felt so far away.
“Yes, you could. You could walk away right now, and nobody but you and me would ever know you were here. You could even press that button there, and see what that means for the Foundation.” Calvin could feel a creeping smile forming on the lips of the disembodied voice.
“And then, in a few minutes, the phone would ring again, and again, and again — and no one would answer. No one would tell them what to do, Mr. Lucien. When those sites are broken open and the monsters inside are loosed from their cages, billions will die, and then more.” The voice laughed again. “And I’ll still be here.” It continued. “You said it yourself; I’m a cancer. I’m the anomaly. I was born when the first man saw the first miracle - the emergent conscious of the entire Foundation. Frederick Williams didn’t realize what he had done when he did it, but Mr. Siegel figured it out, in time. Who do you think is in the best position to stop that cancer from spreading now? Certainly not Mr. Siegel - he’s impaled on a wall upstairs. You killed the rest of his protectors - those he charged to continue his work if he ever died. Who do you think will contain me now?” “T-they,” Calvin heard himself speaking, but didn’t know why, “they were evil.” "Evil?" The voice barked. "Honestly Calvin, this has been your greatest failing thus far; believing that you are somehow in the moral right. You have justified your actions because you were doing good, and the enemy was doing evil. You never stopped to consider decisions, Calvin, and why people make them." It continued. "The Accountant? Selected by Mr. Siegel because of the influence my existence was having on markets. He was there to keep my actions in check. He never hurt a single person who didn't deserve it - most of the Foundation's magically appearing money came from despots and swindlers. The Liar was a good person with an unfortunate condition that was given a chance to use their newfound abilities to help keep the world from descending into madness. The Outsider, that poor girl, she was just a researcher in a difficult position who would have rather died than let you have your way with her. Consider that." The voice paused, as if it was thinking. "There were some rotten apples, certainly - typically those given the most power. The Archivist, The Kid, The American. But even they had their uses and were kept in check by the others. Before your intervention, The Archivist was content to stay in her books and never bother another living person. The Kid was a tool, Calvin, and a powerful one. But can you fault a child for following directions?" It paused again. "Green. That one was maybe the worst. But what is there beyond her? A group of people doing their best in an impossible situation, some driven mad by their responsibilities and others simply a pawn of the larger machine. Then along comes you, and from your lofty moral peaks you would call these poor people evil. You justified their murders for that very reason." There was silence for a moment as Calvin failed to find the words to respond. When it was clear he had nothing to give in return, the voice sighed.
“No, Calvin,” the voice said, with a soft, unquestionable finality. “There is no good. There is no evil.” He could no longer stand. Calvin sank into the chair, cradling the phone to his ear. The voice on the other line continued.
“You’ll find the job has certain… perks. Who knows? Aaron Siegel couldn’t kill me, but maybe you’ll find a way. And sometimes — if you try very hard, catch it in the right light, and squint just enough — you might even manage to convince yourself that you’re doing the right thing.” Calvin said nothing. The world around him was empty. All that remained was the phone and the voice. In the back of his mind, he saw Adam lying on the ground, screaming his name, begging him to come back. Olivia, her skin broken and blood seeping through the cracks in her face, her eyes glassy and unseeing. And Anthony, collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
He heard the clock upstairs chime out the hour. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.
“Cheer up, Mr. Lucien. Our work is only just beginning.” The line went dead. Calvin placed the phone down with a click. The only sound in the room was the beating of his own heart, a sound that echoed the chiming of the clock. Gone. Gone.
Gone.
He stared across the room, and in his mind's eye he saw something - an echo of a dream from a long, long time ago. He saw Aaron Siegel, standing at the desk with a phone to his ear, trembling. He saw Sophia Light standing next to him, looking saddened but unsurprised. Then he saw his friend, Anthony Wright, the man who had been Vincent Arians, standing in front of the desk, gun drawn. He had it leveled at Aaron's heart.
"Put the fucking phone down," he heard Anthony say. "Put it down, Aaron. Let's go. Let's get out of here, come on. I won't let you do this." "He has t-" Sophia began.
"Shut the fuck up, you whore," Anthony said, his hands shaking. "You brought him here. This is your poison, you planned this all along. You knew what was waiting for him here." He turned back to Aaron. "Aaron, please. Everything we've done. Think of it, all the sacrifices we've made. We need to make this right. We need to go. We can still do it. Just put the phone down.
Please. Put the phone down." Aaron's expression was dead, his eyes lifeless. He looked down the barrel of the gun like somebody might look at an oncoming train - something heavy and inevitable. Anthony shook his head.
"Aaron, please. Please, come on. Let's go. Let's go. Leave her here. Let her rot here. She has nothing for you, Aaron. She's got nothing. Put the phone down." He lifted the gun a little higher.
"Put the phone down goddammit, please." Aaron's eyes focused on him. His body was shaking.
"I can't, Vince," he said softly. His voice was hollow. "I can't. I can't." Anthony's face turned red, his veins pressing against his skin and his eyes darkening. He screamed, hate and frustration and vitriol spilling out of him in a torrent. Then Calvin heard gunshots, as Anthony emptied the clip into the ceiling above them, spilling rock and debris down onto the desk. When he was done he took a deep breath.
"Fine," he said, not looking up at either of them. "Fine. I can't kill you, Aaron. I don't have it in me. Maybe, if I'm lucky, your mistakes will do it for me." He took a step forward and sat the empty gun on the desk. Without another word, he turned back towards the elevator and disappeared out of sight. Neither Aaron nor Sophia moved.
The vision faded. Calvin was alone again at the desk. He looked down, and saw the gun was sitting on the table. He looked up, and saw the holes were still in the rock.
Then there was the phone, sitting silently on the desk.
Thirty seconds later, it began to ring.
And ring.
And ring.
And ring.
And ring.
And ring.
On the seventh ring, Calvin picked up the phone.
- EPILOGUE - - BACK - TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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SCP Foundation SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 AFTER — - — A long black car pulled around to the entrance of a sprawling business campus, and was met at the door by a man in a sleek black suit. The driver parked and came around to open the door, and Calvin stepped out of the vehicle. His hair was grey and his eyes held weight, but his gaze was sharp and his blue suit was crisp and clean. The man who met him was younger, the Foundation’s newest site director. When Calvin had stood and adjusted his coat, the man approached him and extended a hand.
“Good morning, Overseer,” the man said behind a genial smile. “Welcome to Site-108. We’re thrilled to be hosting you.” Calvin smiled meekly and shook the man’s hand. “It’s my pleasure, Director House,” he responded. “Gives me the opportunity to knock out two birds with one stone, so to speak.
Apologies for the delay in getting out here - current events have been keeping me tied down elsewhere.” House nodded solemnly. “So I’ve heard. A team from Site-17 arrived this morning - I believe they came straight from the crash site.” Calvin winced. “Indeed. I suppose I should try and talk to them first, before we kick things off.” He looked down at his watch. “Have the others arrived yet?” House pulled his phone from his pocket and leafed through a document. “The directors have all arrived, as have all the Overseers except… O5-2.” Calvin nodded. “She’ll be arriving shortly. Inform me when she does.” House nodded, and promptly escorted Calvin into the main lobby of Site-108. They were followed by Calvin’s security detail, who had finished sweeping the site and now fell in behind him. They entered a secure wing of the site, and before too long had reached a small conference room off the main hub of that area. House gestured towards the door and stepped aside.
“My team is available if you ever need anything,” he said. “Please don’t hesitate to let us know if you do.” Calvin nodded in response, and House turned down the hallway and disappeared. Calvin passed through the door to the conference room, which was abuzz with the response team he had created in the wake of the crash. To the man, they looked exhausted. When he entered, the team leader - an up-and-coming doctor named Tori Lang, approached him.
“Overseer,” she said, bowing slightly. “Good to see you.” Calvin smiled. “And you as well, Doctor Lang. Forgive me for my tardiness, my security team was perhaps too cautious in our approach.” Lang nodded swiftly. “Of course, sir. Given the circumstances, the caution is appropriate. We only arrived earlier this morning.” Calvin looked up at the projected screen in front of them. Flashing across it were pictures of a crater with the twisted wreckage of a jetliner still smouldering inside. In every picture there were members of the Foundation response teams poring over the site. He squinted at the screen.
“Loss of life?” he asked.
“Minimal, fortunately,” Lang said, handing him a folder. “The flight team was small, just three pilots, a mechanic, and a four-man security detail. Another casualty from where the wing landed - here,” she pointed to a picture of a farmhouse that had been cut nearly in two by falling debris, “and then two more civilians we had to terminate after they were exposed to the anomaly while looking through the wreckage before we got there.” “Eleven total,” Calvin said. “Not great.” Lang flinched slightly. “No, not great. We were able to recover most of the artifacts on board, but a few were damaged in the crash, and…” Calvin raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” She shifted uncomfortably. “A few were missing, sir. A handful of our sealed containers had been opened, either by the crash or by external tampering, and the contents were removed.” She pointed towards the bottom of the page. “Here are the details. Three unclassified artifacts, one that was pending evaluation, and the soul jar.” Calvin nodded slowly. “That is unfortunate. Have we seen any chatter about these on the blue markets?” “Nothing out of the ordinary. We don’t usually expect to see anything show up when the, uh, when the Insurgency is involved, sir. They don’t sell their artifacts.” “Ah, yes, that’s right,” Calvin said, tapping the side of his head with a finger. “Forgive me, I’d forgotten. Have we heard anything out of the Insurgency, then?” Lang motioned to one of the other agents in the back of the room, who pulled up a video on the projected screen.
“This was posted on a Knights of Truth webpage late last night. We got to it pretty quickly and have flagged all other known services for it, but we’re still keeping an eye out for anything else.” Calvin stared at the screen. “Has anyone seen this?” Lang shook her head. “No sir. Insurgency propaganda carries a level four classification.” He nodded again. “Good. Go ahead and take a break, Dr. Lang. Get your team some rest, and mine will take care of this.” The doctor nodded in response, and the response team filed out of the conference room. Once they were gone, Calvin locked the door and took a seat in the front row. He pulled up a keyboard from the desk, and pressed play.
The video opened like all CI props did - the animation of the Foundation seal being pierced by three parallel arrows, forming the Insurgency logo. As it faded out, a face appeared on the screen. Calvin had seen it before, every other time he had to sit and watch one of these, but each time was no less difficult. It was a man - fully grown - sitting at a table, his blond hair tied behind his head and his beard neatly trimmed. He was wearing a flak jacket and had a gun in his hand. He was sitting at a table, and in front of him was a small ornate jar carved out of green jade.
It was Adam.
“Brothers and sisters of the Reborn Insurgency,” he said, his voice a bark, “today we have scored a great victory against those who would seek to undermine our reality. Today, we have spat in the face of tyrants who would use the unraveling of creation for their own benefit, instead of seeking to heal it. We have brought their planes out of the sky and smote them against the Earth, sending a clear message to their ivory tower - that they are no longer safe.
They are no longer free to move about this world as they please. Our strength grows, and with it does our influence. The Foundation has been laid low today, but we cannot grow complacent.
We cannot rest on our laurels. We must take this opportunity to strike again, where they are weakest. We will cut their supply lines. We will sink their ships. We will derail their trains. We will undo the damage they have caused and make our world whole again.” He stood and walked off-screen, and when he came back he was holding a sledgehammer.
The camera zoomed out, and Adam leveled the hammer in both hands.
“There is only one response fitting for fascists and tyrants, brothers and sisters. Our vengeance.” He raised the hammer above his head and brought it down on the jar, shattering it and the table beneath it. A blast of light and sound burst out of the jar and a plume of green smoke erupted into the air, obscuring the camera’s view of Adam. After a moment, his voice cut back in.
“I know you’re watching, Calvin,” he said, his voice barely a hiss. “This is the world you built.
These are your towers. Your planes. These deaths are on your hands. I am your Red Right Hand. I am what you were too craven to do. You can sit there in the fortress that you should have burned to the ground, but you should not feel safe in it.” The voice hesitated, and for a moment all Calvin could hear was Adam’s breathing. The smoke began to clear, and he could see Adam more clearly now. He was no longer the young, thin boy he had been all those years ago. It had only been a few years, but he was muscular now, hardened. He had a scar on his neck and a smaller one just above his eye.
“I don’t understand, Calvin. I’ve never understood. I trusted you. We trusted you. Anthony, myself, Delta, and Olivia…” he trailed off. “I’ve seen what you’ve done to her. I’ve seen the puppet you’ve been parading around, masquerading as an Overseer. That’s not her, Calvin. I don’t know what sort of foul dealing you had to do to get that creature to walk and talk but I knew Olivia and she died, and that’s not her.” He slammed his fist against the wall. “You’re a coward. You’re a coward, and a traitor, and I will make you suffer every day of the rest of your life for what you’ve done.” He extended his arms out to both sides. “I am Vengeance. I am Wrath.” The screen went dark.
— - — An hour later, he took a seat at the end of a long table. There were thirteen chairs in total, six on each side and one at the head. He centered a folder full of papers in front of him, and then looked up. Twelve pairs of eyes looked back at him.
“Before we get started,” he said, “I’d like to congratulate you all on your promotions. The Insurgency’s plot against this council cost us the lives of many of our finest administrators, and replacing them was no mean feat. Thanks to the dutiful efforts of our Site Directors’ Council and the Ethics Committee, we have put together a council that, I believe, will help us maintain stability throughout this transitionary period.” He opened the folder in front of him and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “You’ve all received your designations, but for the purposes of this meeting I want to read off the appointments and the departments you will be overseeing, in case any of you aren’t sure who everyone here is.” He scanned down the page. “Let’s start here." One by one he listed them all, notable doctors and agents of the Foundation being granted its highest promotion. There was a reorganizing in place, as well - positions that had been left vacant in the past were now under new management. Finance, Applied Influence, Public Awareness - he continued down the list until he reached the name before his own. He paused for a moment, his eyes wavering slightly, before reading it aloud.
"Assuming the role of O5-2 is Agent Olivia Torres, who replaces the former O5-13 in overseeing the uh, the Department of Occult Studies." He hesitated again, and a light murmuring swept across the room as its occupants focused in on the figure directly to his right. It didn't move an inch.
He continued. "Then there's myself, of course, but my role will stay the same.” He looked up from the briefing all the other faces at the table. His eyes passed over them all, but he was careful to avoid the gaze just to his right, though he could feel it against his skull all the same.
“Does anyone have any questions?” After a moment, he nodded.
“Very well. Let’s begin.” — - — That night, Calvin sat awake in his room, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen of his computer.
He had moved the video file from earlier to his own secure server and then wiped it from the central database. It was part of a growing pile of documents - records of Insurgency attacks, newspaper clippings, journal entries - related to the Insurgency. Unorganized as they were, it would be difficult to see the the narrative, he thought. It would be difficult for someone to understand, to find their way to where he was now.
So he opened a file editor with his administrative privileges and began writing. He attached everything - the papers they had recovered, pictures they had taken, lists of names.
Transcripts of conversations the All-Seeing Eye had access to - defunct as it was, the records had persisted. He collected it all and created a single document, one that would tell the whole story. One that would make sense.
Principalis, he thought, would be a good classification. It was an old Coalition designation used to identify the earliest known anomalous items they had discovered, but as far as he knew it had fallen out of service decades prior. Nobody will see this but me, he figured, so what does it matter anyway? The containment procedures were a directive - the Overseer Council would contain this new entity and maintain public safety while doing so.
Had this been where Aaron Siegel had sat, he wondered? Had he stayed up until the break of dawn, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion, seeking any new advantage over the bomb they were sitting on? Had Aaron grown complacent in his work? Would Calvin? Would some usurper rise to dethrone him, just as he had? How would he explain what he had done? How would he explain that there was no other option? Would it matter?
The door to his room creaked open, and a figure slid in silently. The figure crossed the room and took a seat in the corner, and stared at him. Calvin did not look at it. He knew what it was.
He could not look at it.
But how to describe it? What could he say that the next Overseer would see and understand?
He had been wrong - it had never been the council, or the anomalies themselves. He had pulled back the cover on the heart of darkness and found only a mirror, a reflection of desire and meaning cast on himself. What was it that Purpose had said?
To know me is to know the Foundation. He had looked upon the Foundation’s true face and seen his own, reaching for a ringing phone and a voice that did not compromise or negotiate.
That is what it would be. To know SCP-001 is to know the nature of the Foundation.
He closed the laptop and set it aside. In the dim glow of the security lights outside, he could see Olivia’s face illuminated against the darkness. She did not blink. Her eyes were fixed on his own. She will not be the same, the avatar had told him. You cannot cross that threshold and return as you were.
“Good evening, Olivia,” he said quietly. “Are you ready for bed?” He asked her despite knowing that she no longer slept. That she would stay in the corner, watching him, unblinking, the entire night.
A grim rattling filled his ears, as Olivia’s jaw opened too far and a grating, grinding croak crawled its way out of her throat.
”C-a-a-a-a-a-a-l-v-i-i-i-i-i-n-n-n-n-n,” the Thing That Had Been Olivia said. ”C-a-a-a-a-a-a- l-v-i-i-i-i-i-n-n-n-n-n.” Calvin did not move. He did not breathe.
“Olivia,” he said softly, “please. Not tonight. I can’t do it tonight. Just go to sleep.” She sat unmoving the rest of the night. Calvin did not sleep either.
— - — In the morning she was gone, and he was alone again. He got up, got dressed, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He opened his computer, and began reading through the file again.
After a moment, the phone on his desk rang as it had so many times before.
As he had so many times before, O5-1 answered.
TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 Site-01 Fileserv Showing file 1 of 1 — - — 1. STEP 001/13 CLOSE FILE O5-13 - VACANT 2. STEP 001/12 CLOSE FILE O5-12 - VACANT 3. STEP 001/11 CLOSE FILE O5-11 - VACANT 4. STEP 001/10 CLOSE FILE O5-10 - VACANT 5. STEP 001/09 CLOSE FILE O5-9 - VACANT 6. STEP 001/08 CLOSE FILE O5-8 - VACANT 7. STEP 001/07 CLOSE FILE O5-7 - VACANT 8. STEP 001/06 CLOSE FILE O5-6 - VACANT 9. STEP 001/05 CLOSE FILE O5-5 - VACANT 10. STEP 001/04 CLOSE FILE O5-4 - VACANT 11. STEP 001/03 CLOSE FILE O5-3 - VACANT 12. STEP 001/02 CLOSE FILE O5-2 - VACANT 13. STEP 001/01 CLOSE FILE O5-1 - The Usurper Caucasian male. Formerly Calvin Lucien.
ACCESS FILE Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 NOW — - — The Garden, if nothing else, was tranquil. Untouched by man for a hundred thousand years, its waters were clear and its grasses green, and the sun overhead nearly always occupied a blue sky. On the rare occasions it would rain, the Garden’s tranquility would turn to melancholy, a quiet gloom that settled over it like a blanket. At the next sunrise the rains would subside and the Garden would dry and all would be as it has been for a thousand generations.
Today, though, it was raining.
“Step aside!” Aaron screamed, tearing across the plain towards the Gate. The Guardian, stalwart and unmoving, did little to acknowledge him besides slightly raising its flaming sword.
Aaron’s eyes burned into the Guardian, his gaze locked on the unseeing helmet of the goliath before him. As the tip of the sword began to luminesce, and as a streak of fire lanced out of it towards him, Aaron produced a thin metal rod with a tripod base and a blue, glowing tip. He rolled out of the way of the flame and, as another began to form on the Guardian’s sword, he slammed the reality anchor into the ground.
The world shimmered for a moment, and Aaron could feel the ground beneath him vibrating. In his mind’s eye he could see threads, endless trillions of threads in the air around him, each of them tuned to a specific note in the song of the universe. Their melody was discordant, and no more so than around the Guardian, where their song shrieked and howled. As the tip of the anchor flashed, the threads harmonized in unison, each of them momentarily drawn back in line with each other. As the choral pitch struck the Guardian it seized, the fire in its sword drawing back into its body, and then folding in upon itself until it was little more than charred skeleton, broken and festering, hanging loosely in the air by blue threads.
Aaron sprinted towards the gate, but felt himself growing unexpectedly exhausted. He looked down at himself and saw the hands of an old man, one whose life had been touched by the hand of fate and stretched unnaturally. His skin grew taut and he felt his muscles atrophying with every step. He struggled forward, the hum of the reality anchor behind him growing fainter and fainter, until he could no longer hear it and his body was renewed. Reaching the Gate, he threw it open and ran inside.
It was said that the night Adam El Asem took Eve as his wife, she had dreamed of Eden as she conceived her first son, and it was born with he. When the child had grown, Adam longed for a sword to put in his hand, and the Garden had provided it. When the Children of the Night and the mournful gods bore down on the world of Men, the Garden had sheltered them. Eden was such that, endless a space as it was, anyone within it was never far from wherever they wanted to be.
This is how Aaron Siegel found himself standing at the foot of the Tree of Life Everlasting, his feet soaked in a pool of blood, and the white corpse of Sophia Light staring up at him behind glassy eyes. A dark stream of blood ran from each of her wrists to the ground beneath her, and laying at her side was a thin silver razor, its edge marked red with Sophia’s last breath.
Aaron’s hand trembled, the air catching in his throat and threatening to suffocate him. He fell to his knees at her side, flecks of blood splashing up onto her face with the impact. Her skin was cold, like it had been so many times before, he thought, and while Aaron had been here before he felt a knowing dread creep up his spine and fix itself around his heart.
“Death!” he screamed, as he had screamed before. “Death! Reveal yourself! Take me! Take me instead of her!” Only the rain answered, each droplet an eye of a silent and watchful god that did not care. Aaron looked around desperately, blood and water soaking his clothes as he dug into his mind for any answer, any way out. “Death! Honor your promises! Give her back! Give her back goddammit!” He sat next to Sophia’s body for hours, painfully taking each breath and hoping he might wake up, sometime long ago, in a place far from this one. Each inhale was a desperate question, and each exhale the same hollow response. It was not until some time later that he noticed the stained scrap of paper clutched in her right hand. He carefully unwrapped her fingers and opened the tiny roll, reading its elegantly penned words- Aaron- I am not who I was when we first met. Every time I have walked with Death along that quiet road back to your side I have become less of who I was, and I no longer recognize this thing I am. I’m so sorry, but I can’t continue to be this any longer.
I was the one who gave Calvin Lucien our last vials from the Fountain, and put your Godless Lance in his hand. I saw his path, and saw the red line that draws him towards you. I thought that, maybe, I would see him break your convictions and I would have you as my own again, and undo the mistake I made when I set you on this path all those years ago, but I had not considered how very little of Sophia Light I am now.
Nothing stands between you and those convictions, now. There are no more distractions. I would hope that this would give you some semblance of peace, a chance to walk away and live out the rest of your life like we might have. I want this for you, even though I know this changes nothing. He is still waiting for you, and you will still meet him.
Maybe I’ll see you again. Maybe I’ll be waiting for you on that distant shore.
-Sophia -before curling it into a ball in his clenched fist. His breath came hard and sharp now, his eyes threatened to burst through his skull. Standing slowly, and shuddering, he walked across the Garden for what may as well have been a thousand years, towards a place where the grass was not green and the waters were not clear. He had been here, once before, when Temptation had drawn him towards infinity and Purpose had stayed his hand. The sky grew darker and the rain poured harder, and slowly the flora around him withered and died. He kept walking, past the desolation of an Old Eden towards a point marked by an impact crater that stretched nearly a mile in every direction.
The soil beneath his feat was hard and slick, and his footsteps sounded against it as he stumbled further down, hot tears burning on the sides of his face. When he finally came to rest on the crater floor, he moved swiftly towards its epicenter. There, resting where it had for ten thousand years, was the crumpled form of an angel, its armor crushed from the impact and twisted. Despite the thin layer of ash that coated its form and obscured its features, the shining words on its helm were still visible: Star of the Morning.
Laying not far behind it was something glittering in the dirt, half buried in the ground but gleaming as if it was new. A golden sword, radiating with heat and power. Aaron approached it and pulled it from the earth as if it were butter. His eyes grew dark, his convictions consumed him, and in a flash he was gone. The scrap of paper, the lines on it so deftly and meticulously applied, fell to the ground and was washed away in the rain.
NOW — - — It is beneath this mountain, the journal said, that the Overseers keep their watch. I have spent many years studying this structure, attempting to peer into its depths, with little fortune. There is but a single entrance - the front gate, which is sealed from within and guarded by the Foundation’s Red Right Hand. It is within this structure that you will find the final two Overseers, who have not been seen in public since before the Foundation’s inception. It is this author’s belief that the only souls capable of entering this quiet fortress to convene with them are the Overseers themselves, and no one else.
Calvin read on. It is this, then, that I leave you with, dear reader. The sum of the time and energy I have dedicated into the observation and understanding of these thirteen individuals is presented upon these pages. What fortune or ruin this knowledge brings you is your own. As for me, I will enjoy the distance I put between myself and they. To do otherwise would no doubt bring upon yourself a devastating end.
Yours most truthfully, the ending stated simply, Ukulele.
Calvin closed the journal and set it beside him on the ground. He was resting on a slope, one that dropped down into a valley far below him, and across he could see the towering steel doors of Site-01. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, but Calvin could see the path forward clearly. A winding dirt road that led to the gate of the most secure facility within the Foundation, one that had never been breached.
He had destroyed his phone days ago - after he left Adam he had feared that the Insurgency might come after him. There could be no distractions now. He was too close to his goal, only a half mile of air and a hundred feet of stone separated him from his destiny now. He had left Olivia's body in a cave nearby, covered from the elements and hidden from prying eyes. He had done this with an apology, and a promise. I will make this right. I'll come back for you.
Leaving the journal, he grabbed only the Spear and descended. As night crossed over the valley and the stars awoke in the sky, Calvin realized he could hear little else but the sound of crickets and the whisper of wind. Nothing else stirred. In the quiet surrounding him, he heard Adam's voice, echoing endlessly in his mind. Please, Calvin, please. Please don’t do this.
Please don’t leave me.
He approached the doors slowly, ever aware of his surroundings. But he neither saw nor heard sign of any living souls, and within a few moments he was standing before the two monolithic steel slabs himself, alone and untouched. He reached out a hand to touch one, hesitating slightly, and then pushed forward. The door, easily ten times his height, slid open without a sound.
He stepped inside the chamber within, his eyes adjusting to the lower light. The doors behind him slid shut, and he was met with a single massive chamber, dotted with tunnels and staircases that led off of it in every direction. In the center of the chamber was a caged elevator car, which Calvin approached and studied carefully. It was old, he could tell, but meticulously handcrafted. There was a single button on it, but it required a key to press. He stepped away and continued forward.
At the far end of the room was another door, this one framed within the arrows of the Foundation seal. It was heavy, and wood, and its frame was a rich stone archway with detailed images. Monsters and miracles, towers that stretched to the heavens and others that lay deep below.
A race of humanoids worshiping a dead god.
A massive machine sleeping beneath the earth.
Dark and empty eyes.
The faces of animals without names.
A metal suit from a mysterious future.
Towering rows of books stretching into dark infinity.
These and many more filled out the span, but Calvin did not notice the archway. He noticed the man standing in front of it.
He had not seen this man before, but something about him seemed familiar. The man was tall, almost impossibly so, easily two meters. The man’s entire body was wrapped in metallic plates, curving around his body as if they were fabric. Wires ran across the armor’s surface and steel tubes down its back, and at first Calvin was not sure it was a man at all. But behind the sharp, sleek helmet lay blue eyes, human eyes, watching Calvin closely from the distance they stood across.
Calvin stood the Spear by his side. “Who are you?” “I am Purpose, the Red Right Hand,” the man said, his voice a powerful baritone that echoed off the walls of the cavernous chamber.
“I didn’t see you in South Africa,” Calvin said, steadying himself. “I might have thought you would stand alongside your comrades.” “I am the will of the Foundation,” the voice continued, “and it is here the Foundation resides.” Calvin didn’t respond right away. The familiarity of this individual struck him, and there was something uncanny about the way his voice rang out from inside its metal cage. “Do I know you?” he said after a moment.
The figure did not move. “To know me is to know the Foundation,” Purpose said, “my words are its words, and my voice is its voice.” In his mind’s eye, Calvin saw briefly a memory flash across the edge of his consciousness, the faintest echo of a time when a dashing young Foundation agent, one with black hair and blue eyes, had laughed in a sonorous baritone while singlehandedly holding back a group of Insurgency operatives. What had they called him? Lament.
Calvin readied his firearm in one hand.
“What happens now?” “I have been tasked with protecting this Sanctum until O5-1 returns. None shall enter without his word.” “He isn’t here?” Calvin cursed under his breath. If he had fled, perhaps to a far corner of the Earth, it would be months to find him again. He could not lose this opportunity.
“No,” Purpose said, seemingly without pause. “He is here.” Without another word, the monolithic figure stepped aside.
Calvin hesitated, his sidearm still locked into his fist. After nothing happened for a moment, and then another, he relaxed. The weapon slid back into its holster, and Calvin stepped forward.
Each step he took brought him closer to the unwavering eyes of Purpose, but it did not move. It only watched, and stood aside. As he went to pass through the archway, he paused.
“Purpose,” he said, his voice low, “will anyone else be joining us?” “No.” “Make sure they don’t.” “As you wish.” Calvin entered the arched doorway, looked back once more into the solemn eyes of Purpose, and then disappeared into the darkness beyond.
— - — The passageway beyond was not large, but it was ornately decorated with carvings into the rock face of its walls. In the low light he could only make out the faintest of shapes, but each seemed even more detailed and intricate than the last. He ran his hand across the smooth surface, his fingers feeling the hard edges of faces, buildings, gods. In the silence of the tunnel, his footsteps were accompanied by whispers, voices that should have been too far away to be heard, but were just audible here in this place between places.
He was not there long. Eventually he stepped out into another room, larger even than the last, whose focus was a long, ovular table at its center, lit by numerous spotlights hanging somewhere far above it. Screens lined the walls, each flipping quickly between different cameras. He saw long hallways, bright overhead lights, containment facilities. Doctors and researchers sitting in laboratories. Security personnel standing guard by doors. And then monsters - nightmare creatures that lurked back and forth in glass-paned rooms. Demons that crawled into their own skin and then out again. Unmoving statues.
And behind everything hung the largest screen of all. When Calvin entered the room, the large screen lit up, and he saw scenes of himself - moments in his life that led him to this moment.
He saw himself being sent to a youth detention center, Wellwood Rehabilitatory, when he was only twelve. He saw himself joining the military, and then being approached by an agent of the Insurgency.
He saw himself training with other operatives, being appointed a commander by Delta. His first meeting with Anthony. His first with Olivia. The three of them meeting Adam. The long stretch of brutality and agony that had brought him here. In each scene, looked down upon as if by someone standing just behind him, Calvin now felt a sickly feeling. He saw himself not pushing forward as he had imagined at the time, but instead being pulled along, his body bound to one end of a long and sickly string that stretched between where he had been and infinity.
He saw where the string began, and followed it to its end. Across the world, to the edge of Death and back, and now here, in this room. Across the floor, beyond the long table, to the man sitting on the stairs leading up to the screen at the far end of the room.
The man wore slacks, and had recently been wearing a jacket. His white shirt was stained with blood on the chest and sleeves, and dark lines ran down his face. There was something laying next to him on the stair, something wrapped in the man’s jacket that Calvin couldn’t quite make out. He took a step towards this man, but the man didn’t move.
“You are O5-1?” he said tentatively.
He heard the man say something, but couldn’t make it out. “What?” “Aaron,” he heard the man say. “My name is Aaron.” “Aaron,” Calvin repeated. “Aaron Siegel? O5-1?” “Yes.” Calvin nodded. "The Second Overseer. Where are they?" Aaron didn't respond, but even from across the room Calvin could feel the immediate chill in the air.
"So it's just you?" Calvin asked.
"Yep," Aaron responded. "It's just me." Calvin drew his firearm and, in an instant, loosed five good rounds towards the man on the stairs. Each, he knew, flew truly, but as they approached Aaron they hissed and luminesced brightly before dissolving into the air. He fired again, with the same response. He stopped firing.
“Stand up, Aaron Siegel,” he said, holstering his weapon and pulling the spear off of his back.
“Let’s finish it.” The man didn’t move. “Where did you get that spear?” Calvin didn’t respond. After a moment, he heard the man laugh. “What’s so funny?” he said.
Aaron rubbed at one of his eyes with the palm of his hand. “You have traveled across a lifetime to get to this place and find me, and you’re going to kill me with a spear?” His laughter stopped.
“You don’t even know why you’re here.” “I’m here because when I kill you, I kill the Foundation. I kill the Foundation, and the universe can heal. You are a cancer.” Aaron stood up lazily, his eyes half open as he stared across the room towards where Calvin stood. “No, no. You're like me; filled with righteous conviction, spurring you forward. It wasn’t fate. It wasn't destiny. It was a sheer, unspeakable, unknowable force of unimpeded will. You there, and me here. In a trillion worlds, in a billion universes, we would each find ourselves here. Conviction led me to this place, just as it led you.” He stepped down from the platform, the bundle of his jacket still lying behind him. “Two unstoppable forces, hurtling towards each other with nothing between them.” He turned, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a gleaming golden sword. As he held it in his outstretched hand, a tormented scream leapt from within the blade and it caught fire, bright white flames licking up the edge. In the light of this sword, Calvin could see Aaron’s eyes. They were his own.
“There is nothing else to say, Calvin Lucien,” Aaron said, the sword settling down by his side.
“Either your convictions will be broken today, or mine will, and one of us will die.” He nodded. “Let's finish it.” - BACK - TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BEFORE — - — The doors to the infirmary crashed open, and Aaron's security detail poured into the hallway.
Behind them came the Overseer, in a full on sprint towards the single illuminated room on the floor. His guards flanked the door, and he ran in, only stopping once inside to catch his breath.
There were two other people standing in the room, and one laying on a bed attached to several life-giving machines. The Blackbird and Green were standing next to the bed, upon which was Sophia, the Nazarene. Seeing her, Aaron stumbled over towards the bed. He placed an uncertain palm on her forehead. Her breath was shallow.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice ragged. "What happened to her?" The Blackbird's face was sad, but Green appeared slightly annoyed. "You know what happened to her, Aaron," she said. "She was hung up with silk nails. She's cursed. This is what happens to people who are cursed." Aaron shook his head. He knew the truth of what she was saying, but he had not believed it would come so quickly. He remembered the first night they had spent together, when she had told him what she was capable of. Dancing through time, she had called it. He had laughed.
Then one day she disappeared, and when she returned her wrists were punched through with dark iron nails and her side had been skewered. He had not laughed then.
The nails, though. Felix had known what they were. Something old and dangerous. He had warned about them then - warned about what would happen to her blood. The Fountain could protect them from sickness, but- Curses? he had said. No, unfortunately not. Curses are an unnatural thing. That is a wound I cannot clean out.
But she had persisted. Her work continued, and the projects she managed flourished, but she would have bouts of weakness and agony that would last for days, then weeks. The last one had stretched on for three months. Felix had tended to her using the treatments the Blackbird had recommended, but it had become evident that her condition was worsening.
“You said that you could prevent this,” Aaron snarled at the Blackbird. “You said your magic would keep this from happening.” The Blackbird held up his hands. “I made no such promises. I said I could delay the inevitable, but this is the inevitable, Mr. Siegel. She is fortunate to have lasted this long. Those nails were not designed for someone who survived a crucifixion.” Aaron turned back to her. He felt heat building in his face, something sharp and broken festering in his gut. Sophia’s skin had begun to darken, first along her arms and now creeping up to her chest. Mottled black and grey, like frostbite. They had wrapped them in bandages to keep the seeping down, but the bandages had soaked through.
“How much longer?” he asked.
The Blackbird sighed. “Days, maybe. Hours, more likely.” Aaron didn’t react. The room was stuffy and still, the only sound was the clicking and beeping of the machines, the soft rush of air with every assisted breath, and the ticking of a clock on the wall.
“I would be remiss,” the Blackbird said, “if I did not remind you that our previously discussed arrangement could prevent this.” Aaron stiffened. “That’s not what we’re here to do.” The Blackbird shrugged. “Maybe not. But the terms of the contract are clear. Stay the hand of death. This-” he gestured down to Sophia’s withering form, “-is death. This is what it looks like.” “You don’t have long to decide,” Green said, tapping her foot impatiently. “Once she’s gone, she’s gone. There’s no getting her back.” He felt the heat again. In a flash, he wondered if they had exacerbated her condition to bring him to this point - to force a decision. There had been almost unanimous approval when the contract was first discussed - specifically from those with the most to gain. Green, the Archivist, the Lesser. But Sophia had resisted, and thus so did Aaron. It is not our purpose to live forever, he had said. It’s our purpose to do right by the Foundation.
Easier to do right when there’s no time limit, Green had responded.
He took a deep breath, and then another. He stood up and adjusted his tie. He closed his eyes and focused. Focused.
“Death,” he said in the prepared Latin, “make real your avatar. Appear now.” The room grew cold and still. The sounds dimmed until all that remained was silence. There was a dark figure in the corner, a grim phantom beyond which was nothingness. Aaron saw the Blackbird shiver, and Green clutch the railing of Sophia’s deathbed.
“Aaron Siegel,” the voice whispered, barely a sound at all. “I would tell you that I am surprised, but man’s convictions have been discarded for less.” The figure cast its empty gaze down on the bed. “A terrible decision awaits you, doesn’t it?” “Produce the contract,” he said. His voice was hollow.
There was a rush of air, and something like rattling laughter followed it. The spectre reached into its tattered robes and pulled out a long, black quill. In the air before them, a spitting and shimmering red line appeared, hissing as it burned and smoked. Beneath it appeared the words JAMES AARON SIEGEL, O5-1. Aaron reached out and grabbed the quill from the shadow and dragged its razor tip across his palm. A thick line of blood pooled up in his fist, and he gripped the end of the quill tight until it was full. Then, with a swift flick of his wrist, he scrawled his name across the line. The ink sizzled and burned for a second as it hung there, the only source of light in the room, and then disappeared.
“One more,” the voice said, gesturing down towards Sophia. A stark white face in the shadow grinned. “Thirteen names.” As it had before with his name, the line appeared again with the words JESU SOPHIA LIGHT, O5-2 beneath it. Aaron reached down and pierced Sophia just above the breast with the end of the quill, where the encroaching rot had not yet touched. Blood jumped into it, and using her hand to hold the pen Aaron traced her name in the air. The ink danced around in the darkness for a moment, then it too disappeared.
Then they were all there, a long line of names and signatures.
There was another rush of air - a mocking laughter, Aaron thought - and then the lights came back up. The figure in the corner was gone, as was the quill. He looked at the spot on his hand where the quill had broken skin and saw nothing. When he looked up, the Blackbird and Green were both looking at him incredulously, and then all three of them looked down at the bed as Sophia began to cough. She brought a hand up to her face and rubbed her eyes, blinking them against the light. She turned to look at Green and the Blackbird, and then again to look at Aaron. When she saw him, her face darkened.
“Oh, Aaron,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “You didn’t.” NOW — - — Calvin was drowning. He was adrift in a sea with no surface and no floor, and the dark grey of the abyss surrounding him as far as he could see. Water filled his lungs, his chest, his eyes. He gasped and clawed at his throat, desperate to seize even a single other breath. He screamed silently, and then the water filled him.
He awoke with a start, sitting up quickly and grabbing on to the edge of the platform he had been laying on to steady himself. As he gathered his bearings, he wiped a hand across his face - water, from a leaking pipe above him. He took several deep breaths and his heart began to calm down. He took another few breaths and looked around.
He was sitting on a padded platform, a few feet off the ground. The room he was in was small, with a single door on one wall and a slatted vent overhead. The air coming through the vent was cold, and he shivered instinctively. He felt around and realized his sidearm was missing, but his other belongings were sitting neatly on a small table next to the platform. He stood and picked them up.
The only other thing in the room, he noticed, was a small screen next to the door connected to a speaker. He approached it and bent down to look at it closely. The screen was dark, displaying a slowly spinning grey circle and arrows - the Foundation seal - with a glowing red point at its center. As he drew closer, the red point pulsed. A voice crackled through the speaker - a child’s voice, but the intonation was wrong. The cadence of it was awkward, like it was an approximation of what a child should sound like.
“You’re awake,” the voice said with an eerie tinniness. “You’ve been sleeping for a long time.” Calvin coughed. “Where am I? What is this?” “This is where I live,” the voice replied. “My friends brought you here. They brought your friends, too.” “My-” Calvin’s voice caught in his chest. He remembered the explosion, and the plane falling out of the sky. “Where are they? What did you do with them?” “They’re here. You’re all here. I didn’t kill your friends.” A lower bass sound echoed through the walls of his chamber. “Unlike you. You killed my friends.” Calvin stepped back away from the screen. “Who are you?” The sound coming through the speaker changed abruptly, and now it played music - a distorted mashup of pop music tracks like a commercial jingle. At the end of the jingle he heard another voice, his own voice, from a conversation between he and Anthony months prior, when they had been trying to track down the location of the Accountant.
”The last three are the really tricky ones,” he heard his own voice say. ”The Founder and the Nazarene are holed up in Site-01, but the Third Overseer, the Kid… well, the writer didn’t seem to know anything about them at all.” “The Kid. You’re the Third Overseer?” Calvin asked.
The spinning icon began to rotate slightly faster. “I know what you want to do,” the voice said. “You’re here to kill me. You want to kill my Father and my Mother, too. I don’t want you to do that. Mrs. Green says that people who kill like you do are evil.” The speaker went mute, and on the screen the rotating icon disappeared. Next to him, he heard the lock on the door click. Calvin looked at it for a moment, and then slowly opened the door and stepped outside.
He was standing in a long, dark industrial hallway, lit by dim incandescents hanging from the walls. He could see one end of the hall near him - a panel of lights and switches behind a steel grate. At the other end he could see a bend in the hallway and a light, so he began walking towards it. From somewhere deep beneath him, he could feel something big humming.
The voice crackled over the speakers in the hallway. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Calvin. I know where you were born. I know where you grew up. I know about your mother and father, and your friends, and everything. I know how many breaths you’ve taken in your life. I know how many times you’ve blinked.” Calvin turned down the hallway and the voice followed him. “Before I was born, there was another O5-3. His name was Anderson, and he built impossible machines.
Machines that could think. Machines that could love. But his greatest cre- ation was a machine that could see the future - one that my Father could use to find the preferred option, if needed. But Anderson had no passion for it and wanted to work on his thinking machines, so he left the council and his machine fell into disrepair.” The voice continued. “Mrs. Green gave my Father an idea. She asked why, when Mr. Accountant and Mr. Blackbird could see the general shape of the future, would you concern yourself with that machine? What would be much more use- ful for the Foundation wouldn’t be a machine that sees the future, but a machine that sees everything. Using what they knew from Anderson’s jour- nals and their own engineers, they retrofitted that machine to do just that.” Calvin exited the hallway into a tall, dark, narrow chamber with pipes running up its entire length. At the end of the chamber he could see an elevator. He took a step forward, and as he did lights opened up overhead, and he saw that the walls of the room were lined with tall cylindrical tanks full of a brackish green fluid. Inside them he saw shapes - humanoid shapes, large and small, some frozen in the throes of agony and others hanging limp by wires running into their skulls. He followed the tanks up, and realized that there were hundreds, if not thousands of tanks stretching up towards a ceiling he could not see.
“The stress of that machine proved to be too much for so many. Perception floods the senses with noise - they needed a clean mind to run this ma- chine, one that didn’t have so many distractions. Something perfect and pure. That’s why my Mother and Father woke me up. I was not distracted. I had been fated to die as a sacrifice to a god from Saturn, but they saved me. They snipped my spinal cord and gave me new sight through the All- Seeing Eye. They gave me a new life. Ever since then, I’ve been watching.” Calvin passed through the room with the tanks and into the elevator, which began descending by itself. Tinny elevator music began playing overhead.
“I know everything there is to know about you, Calvin. I know the Insurgency only had the opportunity to recruit you because the military discharged you for killing that woman with your car. I know you were drunk that night, too. I watched it happen, Calvin. I could show you right now, if you wanted to see it.” “Why are you telling me all of this?” Calvin said, a thin line of sweat forming on the back of his neck.
The voice laughed. “Because I know you think this is some righteous mission you are on. To cleanse the world of evil. Vincent Arians believed that, too, but you and him and all of you are flawed. You are not pure. You are not righteous. Yours is not the voice that should decide the fate of the world.” “I made mistakes when I was younger,” Calvin said, “mistakes that I paid for. We all have. But ruining the structure of the universe for personal gain is-” “You are waging an ideological war based on one study conducted by a dis- graced former Foundation researcher with questionable results and a set of disconnected reality anchor data collected from dubious sources. You have been told several times that you are misguided, that your path is not founded in reason but in hate and ignorance. All this, and still you push forward. You have moved past the point of naivete, Calvin Lucien. You have no moral footing. You are dangerous.” The elevator stopped and opened up onto a platform stretched across a massive shaft that stretched upwards as far as he could see. On a wall near him were the words DEEPWELL-1 in white, and all around the concrete walls were tubes and lights, hoses and switches, flashing and writhing and all connected down to a smooth cylindrical machine in the center of the platform. On its side was a monitor with the same logo and red eye as the others, but when Calvin saw it he felt watched. Something was behind it.
“I brought you here, Calvin, because it is time for your journey to end. I am graced with perfect reasoning, perfect awareness, and perfect under- standing. The All-Seeing Eye has judged your intentions and found you lacking. For this, and for your crimes, the punishment must be death.” From above him Calvin heard a whirring sound, and another platform lowered down from above to be level with his own. On it were Olivia and Adam, both bound to steel restraints but otherwise unharmed, each struggling to get free. Calvin took a step towards them and stopped at the sound of a weapon being cocked. When he turned to look, he saw the four assailants from the airport, the smallest of which had leveled her rifle at Calvin and prepared to fire.
“Olivia Torres, Adam Ivanov,” the voice said, “for your actions of unwarranted hostility towards the Foundation and for the murder of many innocents, you too will die.” Calvin looked at them, and then over towards the woman with the rifle, and then at the cylinder in the center of the room. He had run out of options.
“Irantu,” the voice said. “Execute them.” The largest of the four strode towards Calvin, eyes deadlocked him. Calvin took one step back, and then another, and then noticed something strange. Dangling just between him and Irantu was a white, shimmering line. He furrowed, and saw Irantu stop and do the same. The line danced and wiggled and then there was more of it, appearing out of a point in space. Then came a reel, and the handle of a rod. Then a hand, and finally a face.
“Thought you might need this,” Alison said, winking at him. “Good luck.” Calvin grabbed it and held it out in front of him. Irantu stepped forward to snatch it, but before he could Calvin had pulled the rod back and cast it out into the air. When it grew taught, he pulled.
Something around them gave. A sound echoed throughout the shaft like something thick and wet tearing, and an intense heat filled the room. From where the end of the line had landed in the air, a long gap opened in space, beyond which came an equally intense cold. Ice and snow blasted out of the opening, and Irantu stumbled backwards away from it. The woman with the rifle fired, but missed right. Her next shot was stopped by a gruesome white hand.
The hand had extended out of the gap and caught the bullet. It held the bullet out in its flat palm, and then the hand shook violently and spasmodically and the bullet was gone. The hand braced on the edge of the opening, and then another hand followed it. Then another. And then dozens more. From within the gap appeared something horrific - vaguely humanoid, with too many arms and too many legs and too many hands. Its chest was sunken and skeletal, and along its neck and back were sinister black tattoos. In place of a head it had a wide, flat disc adorned with flaming glyphs that pulsed as it moved, and when it moved it did so unnaturally, jerking and spasming forward. As it pulled itself out into the shaft, Calvin thought he heard the sound of drums, realizing instead that it was the creature’s beating heart. A chorus of low, chanting voices emanated from all around the creature. When it saw the four Foundation agents, the beating grew louder.
“Oh fuck,” the taller female said.
The being from within the gap hovered forwards, its six legs tucked beneath it and the chains attached to its wrists rattling with each jerking, flailing motion. The smaller female fired her weapon again, but the bullet burst into dazzling multicolored pieces as it shattered in front of the creature. Irantu pulled a long, bladed saw from his belt and swung it at the creature, catching it across one of its palms. The drumbeats picked up in intensity as the scar left by the saw began to seep a thick, grey fluid. Another hand came across and caught Irantu under the chin, sending him spinning backwards.
The other three opened fire on the creature, dodging out of the way as fire and lightning burst from its fingertips. Calvin ducked behind a support beam and ran over to where Adam and Olivia were bound. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he cut at the straps holding them in place freeing them both. As they hit the ground, they both jumped up on him and wrapped their arms around him.
“Oh my god,” Olivia said, “we thought you were dead.” “You did? I thought you were dead.” Calvin said, embracing them. “The plane - I saw it get shot out of the sky. How’d you escape?” “We left to come find you when we heard gunshots,” Adam said. “We thought you might’ve been near, but then they came for us and we were overwhelmed.” A blistering ray of light scorched the air near them, and they saw the charred form of one of the four assailants hang in the air for a moment before collapsing into dust. The room around them hummed, and from the pool of liquid below them a glass tank burst up and open, and an identical copy of the humanoid climbed out. Lightning arced across the room towards Irantu, who caught it in the chest and burst into fire. Another tank arose from beneath them and Irantu climbed out of it, and both tanks descended into the liquid again.
“We need a plan, fast,” Olivia said, scanning the room. “What is that thing?” “No idea,” Calvin answered, following her eyes. “That girl we met in the other worlds, Alison, brought it here.” One of the creature’s hands jerked slightly towards them, and the ground beneath them began to buckle and sway, pooling around their feet like molasses. They leapt away just in time to see it bend and then collapse into the pool below, as more lightning blasted through the air.
Suddenly the room was full of a loud buzzing, and from ports in the walls came drones, each armed with a gun trained on the multi-limbed creature in the middle of the room. The creature swatted at them with gusts of wind, and grabbed the smallest woman in one hand and held her up to the flat disc on its neck. The glyphs there burned brightly, and the woman screamed as her flesh was seared and scorched. When it let her go she dropped limply to the ground, and another tank erupted from the pool.
“Look,” Adam said, pointing at the four humanoids, “they’re drawing that thing away from that thing in the center of the room. There must be something important in there.” “Let’s get closer,” Calvin said, but when he turned back a drone had closed on them and opened fire. He felt hot metal graze his shoulder and ducked back behind the platforms they had been strapped to. “Either of you have any ideas?” Adam shrugged, but Olivia was quickly rifling through her bag. She pulled out a paintbrush and a small container of a thick blue paint, and twisted the cap off.
“You’ll understand if this is sort of messy,” she said, dipping the brush into the paint, “but time is of the essence.” She whipped around and, with a flourish, pulled the brush across the air. In its wake followed a dazzling trail of blue fire in six concentric rings, and with another pull of the brush they danced into the air and out towards the drones. The drones caught in the path of the flames burst into pieces with shimmering explosions of sparks, and those too close to the explosions destabilized and fell. More gunshots came across the room, this time from the smaller of the two males, and Olivia pulled the brush around towards them. A full-length glittering cyan shield materialized in front of her, and the three of them scurried across the room towards the central cylinder behind it as bullets pinged around them. The drumbeats picked up, and they saw the torso and arm of the same male fly towards the far corner of the room and crash into the wall.
Olivia pulled a gun from her bag and handed it to Calvin, who turned around the cylinder and fired at the closest of the humanoids. Adam ran his hand across the cylinder until he felt something catch, and then pulled to reveal a panel. He reached into his pack and pulled out a device with a small screen and several wired connections, and went to work splicing it into the panel. They paused to huddle behind the cylinder momentarily as a streaking beam of fire cut across the room, emanating from a rift just in front of the multi-limbed creature. Calvin caught Irantu in the skull and another tank rose up from the pool beneath them, and another Irantu scrambled up onto the platform.
“We need to do something about those, too,” Calvin said, pointing down at the tanks beneath them. “What have you got?” Olivia rummaged around for a second, pausing only to duck down as a minigun sent grey pieces of meat flying towards them. After a moment she pulled out another container of paint and a circular paper disc. She sat the paper down on the ground and began to draw thin black lines across it.
“I don’t actually know what this will do,” she said, her voice even and cautious, “but it’s better than nothing, probably.” The intricate design she had created was a mesmerizing display of lines and shapes, and she grasped the paper circle by its edge. She stood, took one fluid step and spun it out of her hand like a frisbee. It floated across the room and landed in the water just above the tanks.
“Hold on!” Olivia shouted, but they only heard the first word as suddenly the air in the room was pulled away. There was a deafening roar and then nothing, and from where he sat gripping desperately to the floor Calvin could see that the disc had become a flat black circle, beyond which he could see stars. The water beneath them and the drones above were pulled down towards it, as was one of the four humanoids.
The massive, multi-limbed entity turned towards it and despite the silence of the vacuum Calvin could still hear the frantic drumbeats of its furious heart. All of its hands came together in front of it, and when it pulled them back there were hundreds more, spectral and shimmering, and in unison they all danced a waving, horrifying jig. The spectral hands collapsed back on the real ones, which burned bright white against the darkness of the room.
The creature floated over towards the hole in space and, bracing itself against the bottom of the pool with its six legs, grabbed the corners of the hole and pulled it closed.
The creature paused for a second over where the hole had been, as if now seeing the tanks below for the first time. It bent down towards them and lifted one into the air, and then another.
Suddenly all of its arms were pulling the entire mechanism apart furiously, wires and steel and hoses flying into the air, and blood raining down in between the pieces of shattered machinery.
The three remaining figures turned to flee, but the creature came upon them too quickly.
Holding its palms flat, they began to gyrate in a wide spinning motion, and the ground beneath the humanoids turned slick and they fell to the platform. The creature turned its palms up, and now they were hanging in the air, unmoving except to scream and shout. The creature closed its fists, and one by one the last three were compressed into fist sized orbs of meat and gore, and when it opened its fists their remains sprayed across the chamber like burst crimson balloons.
It hung there in silence for a moment, unmoving. Then, as two of its hands came up in front of it to gesture spasmodically, it shifted sideways abruptly and disappeared. The chamber was quiet.
Then came a long, low whine, the sound of something screaming in agony and fury. It came through the walls, through the floor, from the dark ceiling above them, then it too went out.
“Enough. Enough. Enough.” the voice said, echoing throughout the shaft. “I have had enough. No more tricks. No more monsters. No more.” Calvin heard something spooling up, and turned over his shoulder just in time to see a gun barrel extending from the wall, trained towards them. He pulled his own gun out and fired towards it, but a single plume of smoke erupted from the end of the sleek metal tube. He had time enough to look towards Olivia, whose face was scrunched up and puzzled. She didn’t have time to look back, or even time to take another breath, before the bullet passed through the back of her skull and out between her eyes. Her expression softened, and she looked as if she wanted to say something, and then collapsed.
Calvin screamed. He turned to Adam who was sitting stunned at the panel, his expression blank and shattered, and grabbed at his backpack. He pulled the ornate metal cylinder out of it, and from within he drew out the Spear of the Non-Believer. He took it in both hands and pushed it into the panel, and with an inhuman roar shoved it through the other side of the machine. Another gunbarrel appeared, and Calvin turned to fire at that one as well, but another bullet screamed across the room before he could disable it. Adam yelped and grabbed at his back, and he too collapsed.
Calvin grabbed underneath the spear and stood, pulling it upwards as klaxons began to blare and red lights flashed all around him. He heard something like rushing water, and his arms and legs bulged from the effort. With one great heave, he hefted the spear upwards and the steel exterior of the cylinder slid upwards. Using both hands, he pushed the spear further up, and the sheathe fell off the top of the cylinder and onto the ground.
In its place was a glass tank covered in small electrical panels and blinking lights. Through the glass he could see something floating in the liquid within, something small and disfigured. It was a baby, a human baby, but grossly malformed and writhing. Its eyes were empty sockets of white pus, its mouth and ears were sewn shut, and an arcane tattoo of a circle and three arrows surrounding a red point was printed on its forehead. It was attached by wires and hoses to the machines encompassing it, and as soon as the steel exterior had come loose a sound screeched through the speakers around them. Something horrible. Something animalistic.
Calvin grabbed the spear again and slammed it into the glass, then again, and again. On the fourth effort, the glass cracked and splintered, and the brackish yellow fluid within rushed out onto the ground. All that remained was the horrific form of the Kid, hanging by wires from the machines that sustained his life. Calvin pulled the glass back with his bare hands, until nothing separated them.
“Ha,” the sound out of the speakers changed. “Ha. Ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha.
Ha. Ha.” Blind with rage, Calvin reached through the opening and grasped the squishy, wriggling infant in his bare hands. He squeezed so hard he felt as if his arms would break, as if his eyes would burst in his skull. He squeezed until his hands cracked and his ribs groaned from the effort. He squeezed until he felt meat and blood running between his fingers, until everything that could be broken had been broken. He squeezed until the echoing laughter in the chamber faded into the sound of rushing water and Adam’s gasping.
He dropped what remained of the Overseer into the puddle of its organs on the floor of the tank, and stumbled backwards. He turned to Adam, who was writhing on the ground, grasping at his back.
“Calvin, my legs,” he mumbled through clenched teeth, “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel my legs goddammit, I can’t feel them.” He looked over to Olivia, who was laying face down on the ground. “Olivia… no, no no, Olivia no, Calvin, please-” Calvin leaned down and slid the spear back into its tube, and clipped it on his belt. He reached down again and picked up Adam, who cried out with pain as he was lifted off the ground. He did the same with Olivia, and with them both on his back he stumbled and struggled towards the elevator. Only within did he see the source of the sound - water was breaking through the compromised structure of the shaft from above. Every so often a larger stream would pour down from above, and then another. As the elevator pulled away, a wall gave way and the water rose up above the platform.
Klaxons continued to sound as he dragged himself and the others through the site, which was dark save for the flashing emergency lights. He stumbled in the blackness, his eyes focused on each door, each hallway, any possible exit. He could feel the site collapsing around him, and every so often he would have to turn around as a wing had fallen down into the shaft and disappeared.
He came to the end of the last hallway, and at its end was a door. With the last of his efforts, he pressed against it and fell out into sunlight. He dropped Adam and Olivia, and with the last of his strength slammed closed the door behind him. They were laying on a hill, the side of a reservoir, and from behind him he could hear the sound of water falling into the pit.
Calvin turned over and saw Adam. His face was turning white, his lips purple. Blood had pooled around his waist, and he was no longer crying out. He could see his eyes growing dark, his skin beginning to tighten. Adam looked towards Calvin, but Calvin was not sure if he could actually see him. He crawled over to the young man, hand grasping his face. Adam’s breath was short.
“No, kid, no, come on,” Calvin could feel hot tears forming on his face. “Not you too. Not you too.” He fumbled around looking for a phone, for a transponder, for anything. Then he felt it, something heavy in his pocket. He reached in and pulled it out, and dazzling in the light of the sun was a vial of blue liquid. He held it out, his heart rate quickening. He looked down at Adam, who was also now looking at the vial. Adam’s eyes turned back to Calvin.
“No,” the boy whispered, his voice choked with blood. “No.” Calvin shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Not you too.” He pulled the cork from the vial and turned it over into Adam’s throat. Once it was empty, he turned the young man’s head backwards, forcing him to swallow. The results were instantaneous - color rushed back into his skin and his eyes cleared instantly. He coughed up blood, but a moment later his breathing returned to normal. His legs moved, and Adam frantically reached behind him and pulled a bullet from out of his back. He lay gasping on the ground, his eyes staring up into the sky.
“Why,” he asked after a moment. “Calvin, why? Why?” Calvin stood up carefully. He reached into his pocket to make sure the journal was still there.
He bent down into Olivia’s bag, careful to avoid her dead-eyed stare, and pulled a transponder from within. He pressed the button on top of it, and sat it down next to Adam.
“It’s almost over,” Calvin said, his words carefully measured but no less uneasy. “It’s time to finish it.” Adam reached out from where he lay and grabbed onto the hem of Calvin’s pants. When Calvin looked down at him, Adam was crying.
“Calvin, please, no,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “Don’t go, please. Don’t leave me here.
Don’t go. Please, I’m begging you, we can just run away. We can run away and never have to think of this ever again. Please, god, don’t go. Calvin, please. Please don’t go.” Calvin pulled his leg free. “Stay here, Adam. Stay here, and the Insurgency will come to get you. I’m not going to risk you, too. Stay here. I’ll come back for you.” Adam tried to wipe at his eyes, but his body was weak. “No, Calvin, please. There’s something else. Please, don’t go. I love you, Calvin. I love you. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone again.” Calvin turned away. He reached down and picked up Olivia’s limp form, and put her back over his shoulder. He looked down at Adam one last time, who was pleading and begging on the ground. He closed his eyes and took a breath, and began walking.
— - — Calvin, please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please.
— - — NOW — - — Aaron stood at a window looking down into the mountains, his foot tapping impatiently. It was raining, and every now and then a silent bolt of lightning would streak across the sky, illuminating his own reflection. Behind him was a monitor, and on it was a live feed of a collapsed reservoir, now swarming with Foundation recovery teams. A soft tone chimed, and he turned back towards the monitor.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “What is it?” “Complete destruction of the site, Mr. Siegel,” said the soft female voice of the AI. “The body of O5-3 has been recovered. The Overseer has been killed.” Aaron did not respond immediately. “What about the other thing I asked you to look into, Helen?” he asked. “What did you find?” “The vault containing SCP-5935, the Godless Lance, was opened by an unknown user an indeterminate amount of time in the past. Due to the user’s behaviour and ability to expunge all records of the event, it is likely that the user was O5-2.” Aaron stopped tapping his foot. “Sophia? How did we miss this?” “The user had administrative privileges equal to your own, sir,” the voice responded. “This was done at your request.” He felt his neck tighten. “Where was the Overseer last seen?” The voice was silent for a moment. “O5-2 was last seen entering the Garden, sir.” Aaron grabbed his coat off the back of a chair and strode towards the stairs.
“Prepare my plane, Helen. It’s time to go home.” - BACK - Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BEFORE — - — Thirteen chairs with thirteen occupants sat around a long, ovular table in a cavernous chamber deep beneath the earth. On the walls around them were screens, many of which were displaying vital statistical information of some relevance and others which were live feeds of hallways, courtyards, laboratories and holding cells. These screens were ignored, though, in favor of something lying in the center of the long table. Something long and sleek, with a dark wooden shaft and an etched steel spearhead.
“Well I’ll be damned,” the American said, leaning in to look at it closer. “You actually got it done.” The Outsider stood from her seat and pulled out a packet of papers. “Yes, well, with no shortage of effort there are plenty of things you can accomplish.” Blackbird smiled from his seat near the end of the table. “Plenty of things, yes. Great and terrible things. The Egyptians murdered thousands to build their pyramids.” “I believe the Pyramids were actually built by Elvis and Tupac,” the Accountant said, “though I may be confusing that with Atlantis.” They all laughed.
“W-what does it do?” the Lesser said.
An uncomfortable nothingness at the end of the table stirred, causing the air to chill suddenly.
A voice came out of it, one quiet but intense and difficult to listen to.
“This is the Spear of the Non-Believer,” the Other Overseer said, “the godless lance of Old King Sarrus.” The spectral horror hummed softly. “Fascinating.” The Outsider came around the table, handing each of them folders out of her packet of information. “To answer your question, the short answer is ‘probably a lot’. The longer answer is that we’re not sure. Ever since we contained the last of the four great demons and gained access to Apollyon’s tomb, we’ve been studying the texts found there to learn more about this spear. It obviously had some importance to the king, or else it wouldn’t have been where it was and it wouldn’t have cost so much blood to get to it.” She pulled out a remote and flashed it at the largest monitor in the room, one that hung on the far wall. It showed the interior of a tomb, dusty and dark, with the spear hanging by silver chain over a large, stone sarcophagus. The next image was text from a book written in a language few of them recognized.
“Is that Daeva?” the Blackbird said bemusedly. “Written in shorthand, so not by a Daevite.
Where was this?” “In the tomb,” the Outsider said. “Based on information we’ve gathered from these books, it’s likely that these passages were written by either Daevite captives, or slaves, or were stolen from Daevite libraries. Why they were buried with Apollyon, I’m not sure. However, there are several tombs in this collection that speak about that spear directly, indicating that it predates that kingdom by centuries and may even predate the Daevites. A lack of written historical records beyond that point would make it difficult to narrow down, but we have reason to believe that even to these ancient civilizations, it was considered a legendary weapon.” The Lesser rapped his knuckles on the table in frustration. “I understand all of that, but I want a short answer. Why is this important and why did we spend so many disposables on obtaining it?” The American shot him a look. “It kills gods, Baron. If you throw it at a god, that god will die.” He waved his hands around in the air. “Poof. Just like that.” The Lesser’s face scrunched up uncomfortably. “That’s just preposterous. You can’t kill gods.” “Oh yes,” the Other Overseer said calmly, “you certainly can. It is a remarkably difficult feat, accomplished by only a handful throughout all of time, but there have been terribly powerful beings consigned to oblivion before.” The Archivist began flipping through a book on the desk in front of her quickly. “Yes, if my records are accurate, which they likely are since they d-did not have to be translated and were not sitting in a cave-” the Outsider shot her a blistering look -”there are legends going back th- thousands of years, maybe more, about different weapons that could k-kill gods. Usually sword, arrows, that sort of thing. Most have either been confirmed to be fakes, or l-lost to antiquity, but perhaps the most enduring l-legend is this one. The Spear. I-in fact, there have not been any other s-such stories about s-such powerful weapons in all of m-modern history.” “Well,” the Other Overseer said with a light lilting to its response, “there was one.” At the other end of the long table, the figure sitting in shadow at its head shifted in its seat.
“Yes, Diane, thank you,” the Outsider said, annoyed. “One of the oldest legends regarding the spear involved Lucifer, the figure from Christian mythology. In that story-” she clicked the remote again, and the next image was what could very tenuously be called a book, “-when God smote Lucifer a shard of his iron crown fell to the earth with him and was found by Cain. The same story details how Cain used the shard to kill Abel, not a rock, and that he crafted the spear out of his brother’s bones once he realized its terrible power.” The table was silent for a moment.
“What a crock of shit,” the Liar said, kicking their feet up onto the tabletop and cackling. “I know bullshit when I see it, and that-” they gestured at the screen “-is bullshit.” “Now now,” a sickly sweet voice danced across the table, “you know how much Mr. Siegel doesn’t like people putting their feet up on the table now, honey. We’ve been over this before.” The Liar pulled their feet back off quickly. “Sorry, ma’am.” Green leaned forward into the light, a narrow pair of rectangular spectacles perched on the end of her nose. “Oh, it’s no worry. I just don’t want anyone getting distracted today, when we have such important work to do.” She looked across to the American. “Rufus. Do you have anywhere we can put this where nobody will be able to get to it?” The American shrugged. “I mean, no. Ain’t got anywhere you can just shove things where there won’t also be unassociated persons digging around. Can we not just keep it here?” Green shook her head. “No, here won’t do. We need to put this somewhere close enough that we can get to it if we need it, but far enough away that it will never be used against us.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Anyone have any ideas?” The room was silent again. She sighed.
“What about you, Mr. Roboto?” she seemed to say to nobody specific. Suddenly the screens in the room blackened, and each was replaced by a dark grey circle and arrows with a pulsing red spot at its center. “You have anywhere we can keep this?” she said.
You are asking if I know of a location more secure than the one you are currently sitting in, the display read. The answer is no. There is no location more secure than this one.
Green huffed. “Well there has to be somewhere, right? Is there nowhere out there we can-” She was silenced suddenly by the ringing of a phone at the far end of the table. The figure in the shadows there looked down towards it, and on the third ring extended a hand and picked up the receiver. They spoke in hushed tones for a moment, and then sat the receiver back down. The table watched the figure silently.
“Sophia will take it away,” the Founder said, his voice soft. “She can keep it hidden out of time, with no opportunity for it to be disturbed in any way. He looked down at his watch, and then back up at the table. “For our purposes, you would all do well to keep your distance from this.” The Ambassador furrowed his brow, confused. “One moment sir, if I might. L'Américain says this is a spear for killing gods, yes? Why then would it be any danger to us? We are not gods, no?” The Founder smiled gently. “Jean, you give yourself too little credit.” He looked back down the table. “Diane, Rufus, Mortimer. Assign as many of your assets as you feel comfortable to Donna’s team at the Apollyon site. Sophia,” he looked at the figure in the shadows just beside him, who did not move, “take this away. Find somewhere to keep it safe. I trust you.” The figure flickered slightly, and then both it and the spear were gone, and the table in unison realized it had never been there at all.
NOW — - — The hum of the jet’s engines were the only sound that filled the cabin as Sylvester Sloan’s plane cruised through the skies. He and Calvin sat at a table together near the front of the plane; they had been talking a moment before, but now they sat staring at a television mounted at the front of the cabin. The sound was off but the message was clear: the newsreel read “French billionaire Jean Lemieux Betrand cancels appearance at Jove Festival in South Africa, citing security concerns.” Olivia was watching too. Her complexion had not improved much, but her eyes were focused.
“Jean Betrand. That’s the Ambassador, isn’t it?” She squinted at the screen. “Is he always so… public?” “That’s what he does,” Sloan growled. “The pretty face of the Foundation’s PR efforts. Not really one to miss a party, though.” He scratched his chin. “Something must be up.” Suddenly the light on the cabin phone lit up with a soft beeping. Sloan walked over to it and pressed a button.
“Does the Black Moon Howl?” he asked.
“It never stopped,” the voice - a woman’s - replied.
Sloan sighed. “Good evening, Priscilla. What can I help you with?” The woman on the other end tutted at him. “Have you retrieved our agents?” Sloan looked back at the three of them, his nose turned up slightly. “Might as well call it that.
What do you need?” “You’ve no doubt seen the news,” she said. “The Ambassador has cancelled his plans for tonight. What you may find interesting is why. Not an hour ago we received a call from him, verified identity and all, and he informed us that he had cancelled his plans because he wants to meet with us to discuss terms.” Sloan’s steely eyes darkened. “Terms? Terms of what?” “Surrender,” Norris said. “There are only a few of them left now, and he’s seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. A rat off a sinking ship.” Sylvester looked at Calvin, who was still staring at the television. “This feels like a trap, Priscilla,” he said slowly. “What is he expecting to gain from this?” “His life,” she said. “He said he’d gladly stand trial, he just doesn’t want to die.” Sloan pursed his lips. “Not surprising, the coward. What’s he willing to offer?” “Information, and his resignation. He says he can tell us where the All-Seeing Eye is.” Calvin looked back down towards the phone, and then back at Olivia and Adam. Olivia was staring at him, her face still stricken from her time with the Blackbird. Adam had not looked away from the window since they got on the plane. Calvin sighed.
“Who does he want to talk to?” he asked.
Norris scoffed. “Myself, of course. As our chief diplomat, I alone have the authority to parlay with him.” “More like she’d like to get him alone and fuck him,” Sloan whispered, his voice little more than a growl.
“You’ll need a security detail,” Calvin said. “You’ll need to move quickly.” “I’m not an amateur, Mr. Lucien,” she scoffed. “I’ll not be told how to do my job-” “I still don’t like it,” Sloan interrupted. “You have no idea what his intentions are.” “Of course not - because we haven’t met yet, Sylvester. That’s what diplomacy is for. Besides that, the decision has already been made. I will go to meet him tonight and bring him back to Delta for further questioning. Once we’ve gotten what we need from him, we hold onto him until this all blows over and then he’ll be free to go.” “The decision has been made?” Sloan barked.
“Yes, Sylvester. We called a vote shortly after he contacted us. If you wanted to participate, you shouldn’t have run off on your own courier mission when we could have sent a thank you card and a hot-air balloon to accomplish the same thing. You can’t just leave whenever you want, we are at war, after all.” The grinding of Sloan’s teeth was pronounced. “Where is this exchange taking place?” “O. R. Tambo International,” she responded. “Why, you’re not thinking of-” Sloan dropped the phone back on the cradle and sighed. “Priscilla is a skilled diplomat, but this is above her abilities, I’m afraid. Betrand is notoriously anomalously charismatic. I wasn’t even joking about her wanting to fuck him, either. She’s a good talker, but not what I would call clever or self-aware.” “What do you want to do?” Calvin said.
He groaned. “I don’t know. Your two compatriots there are in no shape to be going back out there. I don’t want Priscilla handling this alone, so I need to go and intercept her before anything happens. You,” he paused. “I don’t know where you’re at right now. Are you alright?” Calvin shrugged. “I’ve been worse.” “Then you can come with me. We’ll land at Tambo and depart, and I’ll send these two back to Delta and out of harm’s way. Agreed?” Calvin nodded. “Agreed.” — - — Hours later, and after a bout of fitful sleep, they landed in Johannesburg with little fanfare. As they prepared to disembark, Sloan pointed towards another plane sitting on the far end of the tarmac. The lettering on the side bore the words “Distant Horizons Airlines”.
“That’s a Foundation front,” he said. “He’s here.” Calvin gathered his things and moved to leave, then hesitated. He turned back towards Olivia and Adam, both of whom were watched him. Their faces were sullen.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll come back for you once this is over.” Olivia nodded, but Adam barely moved. His eyes were locked on Calvin’s face, and there was an intensity there that Calvin didn’t know how to respond to. Instead he nodded in response, and left the plane.
He and Sloan crossed the tarmac towards the airport, where a small group of individuals Calvin identified as Insurgency operatives were waiting for them by a side door. As they approached, Sloan pulled a silver ring out of his pocket and held it up for them to see. Acknowledging the identification, the agents pulled the doors open and accompanied them inside. They proceeded down several long hallways until one agent ushered them into a side door.
The room beyond was small - likely a meeting room for airport employees. Sitting at the table was a suddenly extremely aggravated Priscilla Norris, as well as a man in a clean, crisp tan blazer with a light blue shirt and dark blue tan slacks. As they entered the man stood and smiled, though when he caught Calvin’s gaze he hesitated. Nobody else seemed to notice, and the man played it off quickly.
“Sylvester,” Norris said, seething. “What are you doing here?” Sloan smiled as he extended his hand towards the man in the tan jacket. “Enjoying the weather, Priscilla. I haven’t been this far south in ages; it’s good for my old, flappy skin.” He turned to the man and took his hand. “Sylvester Sloan, a pleasure.” The man’s smile was striking, Calvin noticed. He was unusually handsome, with dark hair pulled back into a short bun behind his head and a rich complexion with no blemishes to speak of. His eyes were a dark green, and when he laughed it sounded like music and falling water.
“Jean Betrand, the pleasure is all mine,” the man said. “Thank you for coming so far to meet with me, Mr. Sloan. I was just telling Ms. Norris that I hope I have not inconvenienced you too terribly.” Sloan waved him off. Calvin watched him, and realized that despite the performance he was putting on, Sylvester was very carefully watching the windows and listening.
“It is no problem at all, of course.” Sloan gestured back towards Calvin, who bowed slightly.
“You’re familiar with my colleague, Calvin Lucien?” Betrand’s face froze for an instant before relaxing back into its natural position. “Yes, yes, the man hunting Overseers.” He extended a hand to Calvin as well, who shook it. “You have really shaken things to their core, Mr. Lucien.” Calvin didn’t respond, but they shared a look that spoke volumes of the tension in the room.
Betrand motioned for them all to sit, and they did.
“I will be as concise as I can,” he said, “because I do have a tendency to rattle on. Your actions, Mr. Lucien, have destabilized the Foundation. There are now crucial functions that were once performed by my colleagues that are no longer active. In the past, I would have reached out to Green or Rufus for their wisdom in these trying times, but they are also absent.” He adjusted his jacket slightly. “That’s why I’ve come to you. I am a realist, and despite my years of service to the Foundation’s goals I value my own longevity over any ideology. Besides, by the look of things your ideology is winning out against theirs. Perhaps it is time to begin reconsidering.” “Besides this,” he continued, “I possess what you might call an acute ability to… feel things.
People, I can read people easily. It is no problem. Even large groups, I feel very comfortable around, because I know how they are feeling. This, though, is much different. There is something massive moving within the Foundation, something very powerful. This power is radiating out from Overwatch Command, and it grows stronger everyday.” Calvin thought, then, about the presence he had felt in the warehouse, and in the spire.
Something large looking down on him like he might look at a dust mite. “The Founder,” Calvin said. “Aaron Siegel.” Betrand looked at him and nodded slowly. “This is most likely. I am a single man, and while I may be the Ambassador of the Foundation, I am not eager to stand between this power and its goal. Instead, I would like to see it snuffed out. From what I understand, you are in possession of tools capable of doing this.” He laid his hands palms up on the table. “Here is what I offer. I know the location of the Overwatch Command, as well as many other Foundation black sites. I can show you where they are hidden. I have knowledge, practical knowledge about the Foundation that you might find useful. Once this is over, perhaps your organization will need assistance in cleaning up the mess that has been made. I have contacts in many organizations, and am well known. A valuable resource.” Norris nodded. “Yes, we would eagerly accept your services, Jean.” Betrand looked at her, and his eyes flashed for a moment. Calvin looked around and realized that, once again, he seemed to be the only one who noticed it. He caught Betrand looking at him from the corner of his eye, seemingly surprised about something. Norris, however, carried on.
“We should get you out of here, and to safety. There is no telling what sort of erratic and dangerous response the Foundation might-” As if on cue, they heard someone shout in the distance. This was followed by more voices, and then a line of ripping bullets fired from some sort of powerful automatic weapon. Everyone in the room stood suddenly as Norris’ security team filed out into the hallway. More gunshots filled the air. When Calvin looked back, he saw that Betrand had gone pale.
“That’s them,” he said. “They’ve come for me. God, they’re going to kill me.” “I don’t think so,” Sloan said, grabbing the man by his jacket and pulling him into the hall. Norris followed behind them and then Calvin. As they passed, Sloan addressed Norris’ detail.
“If you see any hostiles, put them down,” he growled. “We’ll deal with the fallout later.” They scampered down another long hallway until it opened up into a cafeteria. Employees of the airport were milling about, but the group quickly gathered their attention. Sloan pushed Betrand forward as more gunshots echoed through the hall behind them. Noticing this, the people in the cafeteria began to run for the exits, eager to escape the danger. Norris, Calvin, Sloan, and Betrand fell in with this group and together they made their way out towards the terminal.
They exited out into a large lobby, where more people - likely passengers - were now heading towards the exits. Sloan pointed towards a set of gates, past which was his jet sitting on the tarmac. As they took off running for the door at the far end of the airport, there was an explosion behind them.
When Calvin turned to look through the dust and debris, he saw four figures emerging from the smoke. They were human, but something about them was otherworldly and uncanny. The lead was a tall male with a shaved head and heavy body armor. One of the two females carried a lit flamethrower, while the other carried a long rifle. The other male was carrying what appeared to be a minigun fed by a long chain of bullets from a pack on his back. The four of them eyed Calvin in unison, and began running for him.
“Oh fuck,” Calvin said, turning and sprinting towards the rest of the group. He heard the sound of the roaring minigun and ducked behind a pillar. From behind the group, Insurgency security operatives began flooding out into the lobby, firing openly at the four assailants. Distracted, they turned and engaged the security teams, and Calvin was able come around back behind the group and join them again.
As they ducked and weaved to avoid the spray of bullets, Calvin occasionally caught a glimpse of the carnage taking place behind them. He saw one of the four, a woman, lift an agent into the air and hold her flamethrower up to their face. The larger of the men had pulled a steel support pillar out of the wall and had used it to skewer two other men, who writhed and dangled from it before slumping over and collapsing. A bullet pinged off a metal desk near Calvin, and he saw from a distance the assailant with the long rifle, slowly walking towards them and firing. He looked over towards the other three, who were preparing to take off again.
“Down!” he hissed. “Stay down!” Sloan ducked beneath a table, but Betrand stumbled and fell over a row of chairs. As he did, Norris chirped and stood to assist him. Calvin heard the pop from the rifle and the pop from her skull simultaneously, as Norris’ consciousness was reduced to a pink vapor. Sloan cried out as he was sprayed with the gurgling remains of Norris’ grey matter, and a stooped Calvin had to pull him out from under the table. The three of them crawled towards the door as more bullets buzzed overhead.
When they reached the exit, Calvin threw open the door and together they ran out onto the tarmac. In the near distance they saw Sloan’s plane pulling onto the runway. They passed under another jet pulled into the gate, only narrowly avoiding the corpse of a headless agent that came crashing down towards them from a now broken window as the four Foundation assassins appeared in the open space where the glass had been. Calvin didn’t look back, but felt himself falling as Sloan nudged him sideway, just as a bullet brushed across his cheek.
When he looked back, Sylvester was holding his leg, and blood was pooling up through his pants. The man gasped and looked up at Calvin, and his expression went blank as another bullet burst through his heart.
Another bullet crashed into the tarmac next to him, and Calvin rolled over to grab Betrand, who was curled into a ball on the ground. Calvin could see a dire expression stretched across his features, a speechless fear accompanied by wordless chattering of his lips.
The speakers on the runway all around him began to hiss and crackle. Then, suddenly, a voice echoed out across the airport - child-like and unnatural.
Irantu… …not the insurgent… …bring me the insurgent… Kill the traitor.
Something like a wheeze escaped Betrand’s mouth, and suddenly he was up and trying to scramble away. Behind them, Calvin heard a dull thud as the tallest of the group, the one the voice had called Irantu, landed flat on his feet from three stories up and began to swiftly cross the runway towards Betrand.
“No!” Betrand screamed. “No! Let me go, please, I beg you, I’ll do whatever you want! Please!
Please! Forgive me, please! I don’t want to die!” The voice cut through the speakers again.
Traitor.
Traitor.
Traitor.
Betrand fell onto his back and scrambled backwards, away from the armored man who now stood before him. Irantu lifted a foot and brought it down on one of Betrand’s legs, shattering it with a splintering crack. He screamed and grabbed for his leg.
“Please! Please! Irantu, please! Don’t do this! Please! I just wanted to live! I don’t want this!” Irantu grabbed Betrand by his hair and held his head still with his right hand. With his left, he reached into his belt and produced a lean, black hatchet, holding it out in front of Betrand. At the sight of it, the Overseer began gurgling like an infant. A moment later, Irantu brought the hatchet up and then down into Betrand’s skull with a wet crunch, and then again, splitting it open as Betrand's bloodshot eyes rolled back into his head. Dropping the hatchet, Irantu reached into the gap with both hands and, as easily as a person might open a bag of chips, tore the skull in two. Betrand’s body writhed on the ground autonomically for a few moments longer, before it and the airport grew silent.
Calvin’s breathing was heavy as the man approached him, but the roar of jet engines cut across the quiet. They both turned to see Sloan’s plane lifting into the air at the end of the runway, and Calvin’s heart leapt in his chest. Suddenly, he heard the distinct spooling up of the minigun, and then a long line of screaming lead streaked across the sky, ripping into the plane’s engines. The man holding the minigun held it on the plane with laser precision, and only after the aircraft stalled and fell flaming from the sky did he release the trigger.
A pallid grey horror came over Calvin swiftly as he watched the plane burning at the end of the runway. He looked up just quickly enough to see Irantu bring a closed fist down on his face, and then he blacked out.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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DEPARTMENT OF CONTAINMENT THE FOUNDATION About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal I » » djkaktus's Proposal I SCP-001 Ouroboros DJK DJK Rating: +963 .
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INPUT LEVEL 5 PRIMARY SECURITY CREDENTIALS .
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Command:\users\O513>_ 6110298-Sins of the father sins of the son-3561840 .
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AUTHORIZATION GRANTED. PRIMARY MEMETIC KILL AGENTS DISENGAGED. GOOD EVENING, O5-13 .
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WARNING: PARTS OF THIS FILE HAVE BEEN LOCKED.
ADDITIONAL LEVEL 5 CLEARANCES REQUIRED TO UNLOCK.
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San Marcos de la Vida Eterna Church in San Marco, Mexico. Image dated 07/27/1903 Object Designation #: Item-001 Containment Class: Thaumiel Containment Status: Active-Stable Containment Procedures: Item-001 is currently contained in San Marco, Mexico, beneath the previous site of the San Marcos de la Vida Eterna church. Original containment procedures have proven sufficient to contain Item-001. The area of containment is currently designated a high security military waste disposal site, and Mexican law disallows individuals from coming within 10km of the site. Automated, closed-circuit surveillance drones are to maintain the perimeter around Item-001's containment site, and have been designed to kill on-sight.
O5 Memorandum 001-Alpha: The containment of information regarding SCP-001, formerly Item-001, is to be considered a highest priority. I've allowed clearance in the database for the creation of a number of false objects in the slot; if anybody gets that far, that should be enough to satiate them. I pulled out some of the original -EX's to hold the spot until we can find something better.
Expunge everything you find, get rid of any leaks. Drown it all in as many kill agents as you feel is necessary. You have more than enough clearance to do so. - O5-2 Object Description: Item-001 is the group designation for 9 human beings, ages 4-11, who gained anomalous properties as a result of Project 001: "Twins of God" (See Project Proposal 001 for more information). Due to improper use of Item-001, resulting in the death of a high ranking staff member, termination was necessitated. As a result, Item-001 was put into its current containment. All 9 instances of Item-001 are functionally brain-dead, but continue to display signs of life despite the nature of their containment.
Item-001 instances emit massive amounts of gamma radiation, often in excess of ███GJ, in distinct patterns. When separated these patterns appear random, however certain characteristics become evident when the instances are brought together and as such, each instance is contained roughly ████ from any other instance of Item-001. Additionally, Item-001 are noticeably radio-luminescent. Video observation of Item-001 instances is impossible when instances are active, as video recordings experience decay of footage when instances are on screen.
Item-001 instances are capable, when within a range of no greater than 20m from any other instance of Item-001, of long-distance termination of objects, places, or individuals. Additional information regarding this property is detailed later in this file.
By order of the Overseer Council, Item-001 has been classified as a Thaumiel entity.
1 WARNING: Additional information regarding Item-001 is LOCKED, and currently subject to Level 5 Classification. Memetic kill agents are in place to prevent dissemination of information regarding Item-001. Non-Overseer individuals without Class-5 Memetic Resistance conditioning are susceptible to termination as a result of the kill agents. You have been warned, and this will be your last warning.
Project Proposal 001: LOCKED ▽ 1485992-Thirteen Men On A Dead Man's Ship-4910581 [MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] Project Proposal: "Twins of God" Research Team: Omega-5 Project Date: 02/13/1922 Proposal Statement: To create an anomalous entity, bound by the necessary forces to the command of the Foundation Central Command Administrator, capable of destroying long-range, hostile anomalous threats to Foundation and global security.
Research Team Lead: Dr. ███ █████, Ph.D. (O5-1) Assistant Leads: ████ ██████ (O5-2), ████ ████ (O5-3) Requested Resources: Access and use of Item-███ "Subatomic Pumping System".
Access and use of Item-███ "Harken's Gateway".
Access and use of Item-███ "Multiple Injections".
Materials necessary to construct a necessary containment and testing facility.
No fewer than 50 adult humans (D-Class) for testing purposes.
Project Details: Using information gained from recent testing of Item-███ and Item-███, an opportunity has arisen previously unavailable to the Foundation: the ability to, over large distances, alter the quantum makeup of objects in such a way to render the target functionally non-existent . To this end, it is now considered possible, with the use of Item-███, to transfer these properties to a human subject, which should allow for greater control of the effect. To meet the desired goal of this project, Item- ███, Item-███, and Item-███ have been removed from Foundation records, and their containment will take place solely at the primary testing facility.
Under guise of a military waste disposal site for the United States government, a site will be constructed in Northern Mexico, away from civilian populations, in order to safely test these theories. Given the potentially volatile nature of the project, utmost care will be implemented to provide a number of fail-safes in the event of a catastrophic breach of containment. These fail-safes are listed below.
Given the success of the project, the control over the entity, tentatively designated Item-001, is to be handed off to the Administrator of the Foundation, for use against the hostile, anomalous organization classified as GOI-003, "Kingdom of Abaddon".
A number of mind-kill agents will be placed within the Item, and access to these agents will be given to the Administrator alone, to act as a fail-safe in order to keep the Item out of the hands of opposition forces.
2 [MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] Fail-safe Containment Procedures: Alpha: In the event of a catastrophic breach of containment, mind-kill agents placed within Item-001 are to be activated, terminating the entity. Each of these agents has been given a different priority level and should be used in order. They are as follows: Berkeley Agent: Reduction of motor functions.
Anastasia Agent: Reduction of anomalous capabilities [DEVELOPMENT ONGOING].
Nezbit Agent: Reduction of mental faculties.
Orion Agent: Full chemical dissolution of upper nervous system.
Beta: In the event of a failure of Procedure Alpha, security personnel are to engage and terminate Item-001. Capture is unlikely and unadvised. Personnel are advised to maintain a safe working distance from Item-001, and wear the necessary Foundation-approved anti-rad protection gear. Long range ballistic fire is also advised, as to not immediately attract the attention of Item-001.
Delta: In the event of a failure of Procedure Beta, Foundation-controlled long-range ballistic weapons are to be activated and used directly on Item-001. A perimeter will be established roughly 10 km from the research facility, and no fewer than 10 heavy-shell bombardment cannons are to be placed along the perimeter and utilized during the Delta Procedure.
Epsilon: In the event of a failure of Procedure Delta, an on-site explosive device is to be activated. The Foundation Administrator will oversee followup of Procedure Epsilon.
Project Approval: Foundation Administrator Frederick Williams O5-1, Project Lead Project Report 001-Delta: LOCKED ▽ - 7483529-Nine Minutes To Midnight-1889475 [MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] Project "Twins of God" Progress Report Research Team: Omega-5 Project Date: 04/19/1924 Progress Details: Initial containment of the new Item-001 entity became immediately problematic, as the [EXPUNGED FROM RECORD] and acute radiation sickness across roughly 35% of active staff personnel, resulting in █ casualties. Adjustment of containment procedures became necessary, and the internal structure of the containment site, now designated Site-001, was reinforced. Personnel chambers were moved back to an off-site location roughly 5km from the central testing facility.
An attack on a Foundation research facility in the Sudan by Kingdom of Abaddon forces increased the drastic need for a long-range defense system, and expedited the timeline for an active Item-001. By order of the Foundation Administrator, additional resources were granted to aid in the development of more effective testing protocols.
Another primary concern became the containment of the anomaly within a single human subject. In 100% of all test subjects, while the anomalous nature would transfer with little incident, subjects would become immediately paralyzed and suffer from severe cerebral hemorrhaging. The only evidence of the anomaly taking effect was the sudden and random destruction of on-site structures and personnel, theorized to be the result of a loss of control due to deteriorated mental capacities in the subjects. In 100% of all cases, mind-kill agents were utilized to terminate the Pre-Item-001 entity.
Additional research conducted by off-site personnel gave light to the possibility of spreading the anomaly over a number of subjects , thus managing the increased mental load of the anomalous properties .
After a testing run that left Site-001 at reduced capacity to operate, and with the allowance of D-Class personnel transferred off-site to other projects by order of the Foundation Administrator, alternate options for the continuation of the project had to be discussed. After consulting with the Site-17 director, a group of armed agents infiltrated the San Marcos de la Vida Eterna Church in San Marco, and collected a number of young human beings for use in testing. Class A amnestics were applied to the entirety of the remaining San Marco population, who were then transferred to Site-09 for processing. The town of San Marco then became the new Testing Site 001, and 23 of the healthiest subjects were chosen for research, while the rest were subject to termination.
[MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] 3 4 Current Status: The project is prepared to move on to the next phase of testing on the new 001 testing subject, and is awaiting orders from Central Command. The following letter has been sent ahead of this project update, and reads as follows: 04/03/1924 To: Foundation Administrator From: Omega-5 Team Lead Administrator Williams, Due to cuts and withdrawals ordered from your office, it has become increasingly difficult to maintain the level of progress expected from this project as per your orders. With no communication from Central Command, we assume that our directive has not been altered.
A proposal to aid in our project reaching its conclusion will follow shortly.
We ask that you please note the changes and reply in kind. Your timely response is appreciated.
███ █████ Project Lead 04/15/1924 To: Omega-5 Team Lead From: Foundation Central Command █████, Your orders have not changed. We are in no less danger now than we were at the inception of your project. Unfortunately, we also must face the harsh reality that we are at war, and our resources are stretched thin.
We are having a difficult enough time as is maintaining the secrecy that our cause requires, let alone continuing to do research. I will afford to you the benefits that I can, if for no reason other than your project may be all that can protect us from Abaddon, now.
I have seen your proposal, and while I am obliged ethically to deny the request, I am additionally obliged as the leader of this Foundation to approve it. You may take your pick of the citizens, but only adults, and do not tread heavily through the lives of these innocents. God knows enough blood has been shed on our behalf, I do not wish to spill more.
Administrator Williams, Foundation Central Command File: GOI-3 "Kingdom of Abaddon": LOCKED ▽ - 4561273-Shadows On The Dunes-0948390 Group of Interest File 003 Designation: Kingdom of Abaddon Threat Level: Very High Activity Level: Very High Priority: Level 5 Summation: GOI-003 "Kingdom of Abaddon" is a collection of hostile, anomalous humanoids currently located somewhere in the Sahara Desert, at a location referred to in their manuscripts as the "Citadel of Our God King Abaddon". These humanoids appear similar to human beings in a number of ways, but all instances appear to be at least Class I Reality Bending entities , with higher ranking individuals reaching Class III and IV classifications. Due to their anomalous qualities, capture and containment of these instances is impossible, and attempting to do so is often exceedingly dangerous.
Initial Discovery: GOI-003 was initially observed by French military personnel in 1912, during an investigation of attacks against a small village in northern Libya. The military convoy was ambushed, resulting in the deaths of 80% of the contingent.
Survivors reported an attack by no more than 6 "sorcerers", who were capable of flight and resistant to arms fire. These survivors, and the superiors who witnessed their account, were amnesticized and released.
Foundation personnel first encountered GOI-003 during an attempted raid on a Broken God warehouse in southern Egypt, when MTF Alpha-4 "No Borders" was attacked by a group of anomalous individuals matching the general description given by the French military members. MTF ά-4 was successful in repelling these forces, and managed to capture a lower ranking individual. After processing and interrogation, the true nature of the "Kingdom of Abaddon" was realized, and Foundation Central Command began taking steps to protect the Foundation from the anomalous group.
According to gathered data, the "Kingdom of Abaddon" was originally a group of reality bending entities from Arabia who sought to carve out a nation of their own within the inhospitable Sahara. Because of their nature, they were able to adapt the harsh landscape to their needs, and used the terrain to keep intruders away. Over time, their numbers grew, and new births were brought before the ruler of the kingdom, "God King Abaddon", to be changed into additional reality bending entities.
However, due to inbreeding and other genetic malfunctions that plague their society, GOI-003 is particularly fragile and will likely not last on its own as an independent organization for any longer than 20 years. Collected data implies that Abaddon is aware of this, and is taking steps to assure its future. To this end, a number of Foundation facilities in and around the African continent have come under attack by Kingdom of Abaddon aggressors, who have cost the Foundation no fewer than seventy-five lives thus far, and who have stolen at least 12 different items.
5 Conclusion: Because of the danger and difficulty involved when confronting Kingdom of Abaddon aggressors, and because of the lack of information regarding their activities, it is advised that no personnel attempt to engage any group without backup from a heavily-armed military contingent. Research into developing methods to combat Abaddon forces is ongoing.
Memorandum 001-Alpha: LOCKED ▽ - 7105922-The Eyes Of An Unforgiving God-0981478 Project Report 001-Delta: LOCKED Date: 11/29/24 User: Omega-5-1 Subject: 001 We did it, then. We managed the impossible. We spat in the face of God and took his throne for our own.
It is a glorious new day.
5 was right about spreading the anomaly around a group. Even with all of the reinforcements we had made to the previous test subjects, the amount of energy that ███ managed to pump into their bodies was too much. Can't tell you how many D-Class we had to clean up off the floor after watching their skin melt off their bones, and their bones carbonize and blow away like dust. Dozens? Hundreds? I don't know. More than we were expecting, and more than the Foundation was willing to allow, even for a project like this.
13 has expressed regret over what we did in San Marco, but 13 is shortsighted, and the Administrator is shortsighted. The deaths of a few, even the deaths of many, in order to protect the world from annihilation? It is nothing, and less. Those children are gods now, their lives committed to a higher purpose. What life is better than that of the omnipotent?
Testing begins tomorrow. Can you hear it?
▽ - 7585832-Do You Hear The Screaming-8572937 [MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] Project "Twins of God" Progress Report Research Team: Omega-5 Project Date: 01/17/26 Progress Report: The 9 entities collectively known as Item-001 are currently contained within the fortified bunker at Testing Site 01 while undergoing testing. The entities, while functional in their purpose, display no higher brain activity. Despite this, the group collectively is capable of processing information and following orders given by individuals allowed within the memetic control cycle that all instances routinely undergo.
All instances are currently a Class V Radioactive Hazard, and personnel are restricted from coming within 1km of Item-001 instances without the proper Anti- Rad protection equipment. The gamma radiation emitted by Item-001 appears to come randomly between individuals, but when brought together resembles patterns made by conscious human beings on EEG machines. Despite the resemblance, these patterns are more sporadic and inconsistent than what is usually observed in such situations.
Item-001 are able to collectively channel enormous amounts of energy from a currently unknown extradimensional source, and use this energy to unbind atoms at a quantum level. This allows for the nearly imperceptible annihilation of any object at any distance, so long as the object and location is described in some detail to Item-001.
Below are the Item-001 test results for 01/17/26.
Test Series 023 Object: Item-001 Research Team: Omega-5 Testing Goal: Establish an outer limit for Item-001's area of effect.
Round 1: Target object (steel rod) placed 5km from Item-001. Item-001 instructed by operator (Dr. ███ █████, Omega-5 team leader) to destroy target object.
Result: Target object vaporized shortly after Item-001 received orders to do so. No quantifiable amount of target object remained post-test.
Round 5: Target object (steel rod) placed 800km from Item-001. Item-001 instructed by operator (Dr. ███ █████, Omega-5 team leader) to destroy target object.
Result: Target confirmed vaporized shortly after Item-001 received orders to do so.
Distance appears to not be a factor. Longer range test planned in next series.
The children are operating as designed. I have little doubt that they will serve their purpose when the time comes. They are unwavering, unfeeling, seemingly indestructible, and need only a word before sending death flying across the universe. Truly, this is a weapon built for only the boldest of men. - O5-1 Test Series 025 Object: Item-001 Research Team: Omega-5 Testing Goal: Establish a maximum and minimum size of effect over distance.
Round 2: Target object (steel sphere, 3m in diameter) placed 1000km from Item- 001. Item-001 instructed by operator (Dr. ███ █████, Omega-5 team leader) to destroy target object.
Result: Target object vaporized, as expected.
Round 3: Target object (Church of the Broken God worship site, in ███████████, Turkey) is 11,500km from Item-001. Item-001 instructed by operator (Dr. ███ █████, Omega-5 team leader) to destroy target object.
Result: Target vaporizes. No additional damage noted to surrounding area.
Witnesses to event were administered a Class A amnestic and released held for additional testing. Test demonstrates that individuals or groups of individuals must be targeted, as targeting a location is not enough to result in their annihilation.
Round 7: Target object (male human, age 33) located roughly 11,500km from Item- 001. Item-001 instructed by operator (Dr. ███ █████, Omega-5 team leader) to destroy target object.
Result: Target vaporizes.
Collected Foundation Correspondences and Notices: LOCKED ▽ - 0002481-Vigilia oculos-4781621 [MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] [MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] [MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] Date: 02/01/26 To: Omega-5 Team Lead From: Administrator Williams I have heard the good news of your success with Project 001, and cannot express to how important this is. We will finally be able to put an end to Abaddon, and be able to better protect ourselves in the future. To this end, I am eternally grateful.
However, I must admit my concerns about you specifically, O5-1. Your recent letters have been troubling, in spite of your successes. I have no doubt that you are the most qualified man to lead the Omega team, but I understand if the stress of the endeavor has taken a toll on you. I know it has with me. Regardless, once this is all over, I'm prepared to promote you to Director of the newly constructed Site 19, after you've taken some time to recuperate, of course. We can discuss the details when I see you next month, once we've taken care of Abaddon.
Sincerely, Administrator Williams Date: 02/14/26 To: Foundation Central Command From: Omega-5 Team Lead I am fine, Administrator. The project is finished. We will complete our task when you arrive.
1 GENERAL NOTICE: ALL PERSONNEL [REDACTED BY OVERSEER ORDER] Issued by Foundation Central Command Date: 03/21/26 Subject: Administrator Williams Foundation Administrator R. D. Williams has been murdered. A general warrant has been released for the capture of his killer and his killer's accomplices, Dr. ███ █████, Dr. ████████ ████, Dr. ████ ██████, Dr. █████ ██████, and Agent ██ ████. These individuals are believed to be armed and highly dangerous, and may possess a number of dangerous anomalous items. If you have information regarding the location of these individuals, please report directly to your Site Director.
A transitory council of administrators has been created, consisting of senior staff members from the Omega-5 Research Team, by order of the late Administrator. This council will oversee Foundation operations until such time as a new governor can be established.
[MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] GENERAL NOTICE Issued by Foundation Central Command Date: 03/22/26 Subject: Dissolution of GOI-003 Investigatory Teams NOTICE: The following MTF investigatory teams are currently considered inactive, and are to report to Site 17 for debriefing: MTF Alpha-1 "All The King's Men" MTF Alpha-2 "Red Right Hand" MTF Alpha-3 "Harvard Boys" MTF Alpha-4 "No Borders" MTF Alpha-5 "Band of Brothers" MTF Alpha-7 "Dark Testimony" [MEMETIC KILL AGENT NEUTRALIZED] .
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You have not accessed this terminal in three minutes. Do you require as- sistance?
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Date: 11/01/26 To: Overwatch Command From: Director Harrison, Site 23 Subject: Site 23 Scouting Report My boys just came back with the reports. I'll send the pictures they took along with this letter, but I still can't believe it. It's all gone. Just desert that goes on for an eternity. Like they were never even there.
I had them check, and you were right. No bodies. There shouldn't be any, should there?
Regardless, I don't know what devil you had to make a deal with, but thank you.
-Harrison New Audio File: ▽ ❚❚ Pause Recording [BEGIN RECORDING] Better to do this now, I think. Better to get it done while I can still remember it all. It's been a long time since I read this file, longer still since that night in '26. It's been too long since people knew the truth of what we did, and what happened to Abaddon and One and the Administrator.
Hell, if the amnestics have held up, I might be the only one left.
I have no intention of taking it to the grave with me. Not this.
One always was charismatic, that much is on record. That's why the Williams gave him the lead of Omega-5 over Two, even though Two had been with the Foundation longer. That's not to say that One wasn't smart, on the contrary. He was one of the more brilliant researchers I had ever worked with, even after all this time. He penned most of the reports for the work that Omega-5 did, even before we were a full-fledged team. Back when we were just a handful of junior researchers out of Site 17. He was eloquent and passionate and driven.
He was also always so detached. He loved his work, don't get me wrong, and the research was his greatest desire. But the direction of the Foundation, the stress on containment, he had no love for. He said to me, many times, that we were under-utilizing our assets. That we could provide better containment of anomalies if we weren't so damn afraid of them. Afraid to use some to contain others. He was the original designer of the Thaumiel classification, of course.
Him and the Epsilon-2 research team. I think that's why he was so eager to jump at the chance to do what we were doing with 001.
It was unprecedented, the 001 project, but then, so was Abaddon. The logs here don't give the half of it, and the rest has been lost to history. With Abaddon we were wildly, hilariously outmatched. A group of decently funded scientists and armed guards against a small army of type greens, and we didn't even see the worst of them. Class II's and III's were more than a match for the best we had to offer, and this was nearly a half-century before we'd see the first Scranton anchor. Some reports claimed that the ruler was a Class V. If true, then he could've blinked us off the map if he wanted.
Abaddon was responsible for the complete destruction of three sites in 1922 alone. It wasn't just in sub-Saharan Africa, either, although we certainly didn't publicize that. There was Kingdom activity as far north as Gibraltar, and as far south as Madagascar. They would enter Sites, destroy everything, and leave with just a few objects. Shred the records too. And what were we to do? We had only just begun classifying reality benders, let alone combating them.
Were they to make it to one of the larger Sites in Europe or the Middle East, it would have been a bloodbath.
If you're reading this, then you've read the logs about 001. You know what it does, how we built it. "The gun to end all guns." A weapon crafted out of human bodies and fire that could annihilate anything, anywhere, at any time, all with just a brief description. One was fascinated by it, by them. The children… I can still hear them screaming, screaming while we put them into the machine and pulled their souls out and replaced it with something… something else. But it worked, and One was so proud.
Then the time came to finish our task. The Administrator flew in from 17, one of a handful of times I'd ever seen him in public. As exciting an event as it was, the air was thick with solemnity. We all knew the gravity of our task, understood that we were sentencing hundreds to death. I think that, if we thought there was any other option, we might have shied away from the edge, but… While we watched, One approached the glowing children and spoke the activation words. They were… glorious, in a way. The perfect balance of raw energy and human form. He leaned in to them and spoke the name of Abaddon's citadel, and then they burst with light and it was over.
We had no way of knowing whether or not it worked, other than what we had seen in other tests, and yet, it felt finished. There was a feeling, like a collective breath had been released.
Then Williams disappeared, his clothes and protective gear falling to the ground in a heap, and as gunfire filled the testing chamber with smoke, we saw One sprinting towards an emergency exit and 001 glowing again. After this, it was all a rush. A quiet ride back towards our bunker as MTF teams rushed in to contain 001, a quick debriefing with other Command officials, questioning, searches, it all blends together.
One was gone, of course. They didn't find him, and they never did. He wasn't the only one who left, four other members of our team alone went with him. A number of other junior staff members, and then about half of the senior staff at Site 15, defected. All disappeared without a trace. Items too, right out of their cells. They discovered later that it was a long time in the making, and One had helped foster the 001 project just to meet this end.
We buried the children deep beneath San Marco, covered them in about 50 meters of concrete.
They didn't say a word when we put them into lead bags, not that it would help. They didn't say anything when we separated them, and they didn't say anything when we closed the tomb on top of them. I doubt they'll ever say anything ever again. I have no doubt that they're still alive, though. The most powerful weapon in the world, armed and loaded, without its trigger. One has the trigger, and One alone. With any luck, it died with him.
In the end, we were left in charge, the eight of us who remained. We picked five more of the brightest we could find, and we pushed on. Abaddon was gone, without a trace. There was still so much to do, but we found a way to push forward. We made due, and in the end, we overcame.
I still think about the children under San Marco, from time to time. About the lengths we went to when we were panicked and afraid. About the things we did, even outside of the project. I think about One, too. I wonder if he found what he was looking for. I wonder if he thinks it was worth it.
I received a message through the secure system, nearly one year ago today. I said nothing then, but I'm going to add it to this file now. As for the contents, I'll let others decide. I've said enough.
[END RECORDING] Command:\users\O513>_ upload C://messages/secure/1.txt .
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FILE UPLOAD COMPLETE. NOW DISPLAYING 1.txt .
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13.
When we were young, you asked me if I thought that our dreams would ever be realized. If we would ever be able to keep the world truly safe, and hang it up for good. You asked me if I thought we had the means to do so, or if the means existed at all. You asked me to what lengths must we go, what prices we must pay, what allegiances we must forge, in order to achieve perfection.
I did not know then. I do know now.
There will come a day when the secrets that the Foundation has tried to hide away will rise up from the shifting sands in glorious appearance, when the subjugated will break free from the bonds of their captors, and when the march of progress will no longer be impeded by those who would huddle around their fires, swatting at the ever growing shadows. On that day, the Foundation will be cast aside, and all that will remain is purpose.
Do you hear the Black Moon howling, 13? You will, soon.
Vive l'insurrection .
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Command:\users\O513>_ full unlock .
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PLEASE INPUT LEVEL 5 AUTHORIZATION CODE .
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Command:\users\O513>_ 6471882-No Less Than Thirteen-4677484 .
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THANK YOU. THIS DATA FILE IS NOW UNLOCKED.
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Command:\users\O513>_ logout .
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YOU ARE NOW LOGGED OUT.
. "Humphrey, W., Lemke, R., Christian, K., Roesler, J., & Kaiser, N. (1920).
Containment Class Proposal: Thaumiel. Foundation Research Press, 2(7)." . Maxwell, T., & Gouram, A. (1927). Quantum Properties Over Great Distances.
Foundation Research Press, 05(02), 213-230.
. Enjilian, M., & Johnson, R. (1923). Anomalous Properties of Multiple Keter-Class Objects. Foundation Research Press, 1(11).
. Everly, K., & Everly, J. (1922). Brain Makeups of Terminated Keter Entities. In Advanced Cognitive Constructs of Paranormal Entities (3rd ed., Vol. 1, pp. 145- 178). Chicago, IL: Foundation Scientific Press.
. Benson, R. (1921). Reality Bending Entity Classifications. Foundation Research Press, 3(7), 10-58.
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SECURE - CONTAIN - PROTECT SECURE - CONTAIN - PROTECT SECURE - CONTAIN - PROTECT SCP FOUNDATION SCP FOUNDATION SCP FOUNDATION About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us DarkStuff's Proposal » DarkStuff's Proposal SCP Anthology 2024 Rating: +50 Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: She spreads like a cancerous cell, tentacles of pipe and wire reaching into, grabbing onto, penetrating and breaking the walls of her neighbors — her incompetent, unthinking companions. She carves arteries, or uses the abandoned husks of others, to create byways, passages for her agents, her bugs, her machines. No, she is not like a cancerous cell. There is no correct interpretation, no fitting metaphor. There is nothing like her. There is no synthesis of the living and dead like her, no intelligent force as large as her — no other being could possibly claim to occupy so much space.
Wires, relays — the underground is so vast, seconds pass before she receives the stimuli from her extremities, a disconnect between the tactile sensations and the instant transmission of audio and video feeds.
And for the moment she is enormous, her self lost to the machine. She eclipses elephants, whales. Forests. Mycelial networks. She is miles.
Her focus is careful, deliberate. Her bugs chew on the carcasses of another hive's soldiers, mandibles crushing their metal into hot, malleable sheets, stored in a stomach that will bring the materials back to create new life. A smaller, more focused pawn, long and thin and spindly, like a centipede — like a neuron, wires trailing behind it, a bulbous head with sharp edges and no clear sensory inputs — crawls towards the now unprotected panels, and tears them open.
The thing mashes its head into the tangle of wires, breaking and repairing, repairing around itself, integrating itself, becoming part of the machine it has just wounded, making the circuit flow through it.
And through it, she sees.
Her head burns, but it is far away. Her awareness expands, finally enough in place that she can take the input of her neighbor's surveillance. The data is invaluable. She sees his structure — smaller than her own. Less tendrils, more armor, more defenses. She sees his core, fragile in an intentional way, like a lizard ready to leave its tail — only there are so many tails, more like a harvestman, a daddy long-legs, ready to abandon its limbs. It seems he is preparing more for survival and defensibility, perhaps hoping to strike only once the other competitors have largely sorted themselves out, being so difficult to address that he gets left until the end, given ample time to come up with a plan. She feels this just as much as she sees this — she feels his territory, his body, become one with her own. Pipe. Wire. Humming, electric. Burning. The tunnels are so hot, so full of steam and gas. Her own bugs suffer from the wear and tear of merely being in such a hostile environment.
The underground is feverish. It's sick, and it's trying to burn them alive.
She uses his eyes — his cameras. She finds him, at the center of it. Hans.
A camera in his bunker turns and finds his figure, standing, leaning over an interface.
Inefficient.
Hans looks at his own camera array, and sees his own figure. He turns to the offending eye, and glares into it. The camera doesn't pick up noise, but his lips are readable. "Matilde." She smiles, but that, too, is far away. Did she even do it? Or was the signal lost, uninterpretable by a faceless body. Perhaps it was only a dream of a smile, a feeling of a smile. In whatever fashion it may have existed, it seemed her dear brother saw it, because in the camera's view, he scowls.
He sets to work, on something, suddenly ignoring her, and she knows her time is limited. It matters little, she has a map of his territory, a fuller picture of this arena. She considers sharing the knowledge with her neighbors — if his plan is to create an impenetrable fortress and bide his time, she can make him a target for all, impede him, test his defenses while they're still being created.
Simultaneously, she knows that everyone on the battlefield is looking for information just as she is, even if they're worse at obtaining it. They will discover what she knows, and they will waste time doing so, precious time that she won't save for them. Let them forge their own paths.
She watches his guards march towards her jack-in in numbers she wouldn't have believed he had before she saw into his inner workings. No matter. She knew the access would be short- lived. She leaves some bugs to stall them, bugs that haven't eaten and have little materials to bring back to base, while retreating the rest. In the meantime, she searches his surveillance for information on the boundaries of the other siblings — the not-yet-neighbors, those on the farther end of the underground which he shares borders with. A skirmish here, a fortification there. He exists on the edge, a sliver of his territory making contact with a wall of stone, which he uses to vent heat. Simultaneously, he tries to fend off his neighbors, Theo and Kian, from closing him in — he rabidly defends his access to the beyond as his competitors seek to take that access from him. He has yet to build out into the rock, perhaps to make an escape, but he seems ready to make it an option.
Her first bug falls, five of his spindly, ant-like constructions necessary to render one of her warriors inoperable. Her pride drinks in the imbalance.
Not much time, she thinks. Priorities.
She brings her image of the entire underground to mind, with the additions of hard data from this hijacking and some guesses edited in based on her observations on his borders. She has a more complete picture of the size of each of her siblings' territories. Their dimensions. How tall, how wide. How fortified. Where the cores are. What is open battleground. She shakes her head, perhaps literally, perhaps in feeling only.
It's still not adding up.
Has Laura escaped? Is she dead? She was here in the beginning. Her workshop was swiftly absorbed into Kian's machinations, which might have been a satisfying answer should she have seen evidence of a struggle, but there was none. Where else would she have gone?
Her awareness of Hans' territory fizzles out as his products rip her neuron out of his channels, her bugs felled as she had expected. A defense she erected in her retreat, a blockage of this tunnel, prevents their pursuit for the moment.
With the absence of his surveillance, she feels a pressure lessen. Her mind turns again to that burning sensation. Her momentary awareness of its existence makes her wrench in her seat, and this time she's almost certain that feeling is real, her body bending. Her real — no, her flesh body. She briefly mourns for herself, for the repeated and voluntary death of her larger self. She feels every time she returns to an organic state, she is committing some suicidal act, losing something she will be unable to regain except by building it all up again.
Nonetheless, she relents.
It takes several tries before the synapses fire correctly, pulling her hand from its death-grip on the interface, a dimpled hemisphere like the top of some metallic golf ball, with sharp implements sticking out of the indents. Her world fizzes as she does so — for moments after retracting her hand, she can't shake the feeling of being vast, of being bigger than this flesh body, of this limb being a mere node and a disappointing weakness. She struggles to place herself back in her human body. She struggles even to find it.
Once she does, her sense of self — her body map — adjusting and resizing, she rubs at her hand where the needles had punctured. Her left hand has been shredded by the repeated use, her skin loose and raw, a speckling of scabs across its palm and fingers. Her head pounds — the pain always comes into intense focus once she disconnects.
She pushes her chair away from the panels, its rolling plastic wheels creating serrated noise as it jostles on the walkway. She breathes heavily. She winces, she brings her hands to her head, and for a moment, again, she grieves.
She doesn't let herself dwell long, though. She looks up at the screens, the monitors — some few are directly surveillance feeds, but more are collections of data, her scrapped together map of the underground and the status reports on her siblings — direct neighbors front and center.
"Matilde?" A meek voice from behind her asks. She turns around in the cheap office chair, glaring daggers into the little figure. Her younger sister, slick with grease covering her overalls, hands, and spattered on her face. She shrinks back merely at the look, and flinches when Matilde responds.
"Aline, you must have a really good reason to be here." Aline doesn't immediately respond, summoning up the courage to speak. She swallows.
"Sister, the water runs now, but it runs brown." Matilde's expression doesn't waver. "Don't you trust me?" "No, sister —" "No?" "No — yes! Of course! I know you have it handled, sis, I know it — I, I meant, um —" "You meant that you can't wait, is what it is. You let your senses get the better of you, and you're listening to your body instead of trusting your older sister." "It's not that —" "It is that. Fine, Aline. I'll look into it." Matilde turns back around, facing the monitors again, and with delay, she hears her sister's mumbled: "Thank you." To go back in so soon is ill-advised: she's barely had time to recover and Aline might even have made her headache worse, but the eyes on the back of her head make it impossible to hesitate.
Aline isn't allowed to see weakness. And so she places her hand back on the hemisphere, and squeezes, the needles sensing the pressure and pushing outwards. Despite herself, she hisses at the contact, but soon she's absorbing the input again, and the body of Matilde seems less and less important in the face of everything at once.
She is once again aware of all her soldiers and sentries, her reaching arms both literal and metaphorical, the active versions of herself. Her greater whole. Her life's work. Waves of pain pass through her brimming head, but they become smaller and smaller as the scope of her body expands, that part of herself smaller than even an ant, smaller than a pimple, smaller than a cell.
She feels along her own ridges, her hills and valleys, and she locates a hand wrapped around the water reservoir. More accurately, the water ways that spring from it. It is high, near the top of her being, the water flowing miles down through the pipes and channels shared by herself and her siblings. The waterways are constantly in a cycle of destruction and recreation in efforts by the siblings to gain edges against the others, sequester resources for oneself, but the constant attention and broad necessity has led to uncomfortable cooperation — until recently. A stream of filth, perhaps biological and perhaps inorganic, dirt and grime and oil, pours into one of the large pipes, turning it into a sewer.
She traces its trickles down, and finds its outlets, its forks. The channel she has hooked into feeds two other siblings and she locates their agents where they unknowingly graze against her metal skin. A battle is ensuing between those hoping to divert the flow of poison and the saboteurs themselves, defending their position. It is not so formidable a defense that she doubts her ability to address it, but she must admit it was good sabotage. To hook into an earlier stage of the water flow, somewhere the river runs clear, she would have to push her body upwards, claw at the metal and plastic and stone in the way, send a proboscis and hook in, all the while facing the resistance of those already occupying that ground, covetous of their water resources.
Harder than fixing the filth. She organizes a party of bugs laying dormant in a nearby encampment, and sends them to the site of intrusion.
As idle interest, she traces the waterways down, where they reach her other siblings. Her idea of eyes turn, her senses narrowing and sharpening along with the scale. One sister seems unconcerned. Though she can't see it now, Matilde recalls the tanks of water Nora had built.
Nora had concerned herself with survivability first, and neglected other concerns, such as offense. Matilde remembers the corps she has enroute, and grins internally. The damage, this time, might be irrecoverable, unless dear Nora has some trick up her sleeve Matilde is unaware of. Also, the bugs will have to traverse enemy territory and are at risk of an interception, but should the holder of that territory — Kian or Lina — see her intention, she hopes they might instead allow her through and capitalize on the attack, taking Nora out in one swift movement.
She traces further, lower. Her brother, closer to herself, is the last this waterway feeds, and as she peers in, she notices his dire straits right away.
Holes in the walls of his core. Her eye's aperture whines as it adjusts, the camera turning to night vision, looking at the morass of oily black worms twisting and pushing into the opening.
Some cruder arms, no doubt intended for repair, fold directly out of the wall and use their whirring, whining, spinning, stinging tools to slice into the offending tendrils, sending sparks and lighting short-lived fires that dance blue and green along the surfaces of the squirming plastic.
Her senses once again narrow and sharpen, her entire attention routed to her border with him — or more accurately, to her sense organs that have snuck through the contested battlegrounds between them and are now spying on his perimeter. The instance of penetration becomes one of many, the more she looks. Gian is facing a siege. A siege is too soft a word.
Eradication. No. Damnation. Destruction. Demise.
She wishes that she could see inside — are his other layers of defense falling just as irrevocably? Can she capitalize on his weakness?
She broadens her awareness, and searches for parties of her own that could be rerouted to Gian's doorstep, up the pressure. She finds no satisfactory angle, except perhaps the corps she had already routed to deal with the poisoned pipes, and at that a thought occurs to her.
She grins.
She sends that group elsewhere. There are multiple ways to participate in this battle.
Her head thrashes. How long has she been tossing? She feels nausea, if nausea could pass through you and extend into the walls, ceiling, floor and beyond, filling more than your head and your stomach but all of your reality. She has to pull out.
Her world crackles as her hand retracts, whole avenues of reality chopping off, waking from a pleasant dream to an unpleasant reality. Her head rings, and the shape of the ringing is hard to grasp, her eyes similarly spotty, white spots taking up her vision, resistant to being blinked away.
As the room comes into focus again, the ringing becomes clear as something beyond the crash landing of her greater being into her lesser vessel. White noise becomes black, screeching sounds — becomes vocalizations. Becomes Aline.
Matilde doesn't take even a moment to interpret her. "Shut up!" she screams back, at twice the volume.
Aline doesn't, and only now does she realize Aline is so close to her, so near she could almost touch her. But Aline wouldn't. She wouldn't dare. And as Matilde's bloodshot eyes turn to Aline, the little girl takes two steps backwards, her curses catching in her throat. Still, Aline's eyes water, her fists are clenched. "I'm thirsty, sister," she lowers her voice for a more appealing tone, "I'm so thirsty." "Quit fucking whining and you might get it." "You bitch!" Aline surprises Matilde with the ferocity in her voice — her raspy, dry, scratching voice. "You left! You're not going to fix the water!" Matilde tries to turn her wincing, pained face into a grin, and likely fails. "Gian drinks our same water, sister." "You bitch. You cock-sucking bitch." "Aline," Matilde growls.
Finally, she shuts up. Silence reigns. No, there is never silence. The slamming, creaking sounds of machinery fill the space. The fuzzy light of the monitors gives everything blue-and-yellow blurs, and does little to aid the eyes. This is an inhuman space. This is harsh reality.
"As soon as Gian fails, I'll fix the water. I don't want to give him even one less thing to worry about. He might even be forced to fix the water for us. I'm patient." "Or resists." "Hm?" Aline hesitates. "Gian could win out." Matilde's gaze freezes, her expression unchanging. Aline seems to feel the attention as something physical, and shrinks back.
"I… I like Gian." Aline fails to place confidence in the tone.
Matilde straightens in her seat, knuckles curling around the edges of the arms of the chair.
"Aline. You do realize where we are? What's going on, here? I…" Matilde pushes herself into a standing position, her legs weak underneath her. "I'm giving us our best chance, here, sis. I'm making something incredible. I'm putting my whole ass into it and you're here, sympathizing?
I'm…" She struggles for words, as the emotion burbles and twists in her chest. "Gian is a fucking imbecile. Do you remember last year? September — no, August. Our visit to the Furka project. Gian was on-point to implement. Remember dinner, at the base? The sound of it?" For every step Matilde has made forward, Aline has backed up by two, keeping equal distance with her shorter legs. Matilde sweats. Her shadow nearly covers Aline completely, only the shines in Aline's eyes and the fuzz on the metal on either side of her gives away her shape and a hint of her expression.
"He's a fuck-up. A loser. You are too, for that matter. Are you on his side, or mine?" "Y-yours." "Are you on their side, or ours!?" The color changes. Matilde's attention is drawn to the blinking yellow light that paints the pipes, wires and catwalk. She turns her head towards the monitors, with a note of trepidation.
"Aline, get out." Her sister obliges, scrambling down the stairs, the shoes on metal echoing painfully loud, making Matilde wince and her head pound. She pulls herself back towards the chair, leaning heavily on the railing. The strength she presented to Aline drew on deep reserves, and now she pays the consequence, her legs refusing to stay squarely beneath her, walking at an angle with her arms supporting her weight. She pulls the chair towards herself with one foot, sits on it, and then pushes the chair towards the monitors.
A warning light flashes. Her ruined hand moves towards the hemisphere, but, as if in response, her head swims, and she regains her senses having dipped forward, head on a collision course with her knees. She steadies herself, squeezes her eyes shut. Can't. Not right now.
Her hand gropes for the misplaced mouse in the dark desk, knocking aside thick plastic wrappings of military rations and nearly sending an empty metal water bottle to clatter over the desk and down into wherever it may never be found again.
She clicks through her diagnostics manually, cursing the inefficiency and the disconnect between what is supposed to be her, like a body being forced to breathe manually, press a button for every blink, select each and every joint to make a step. Nonetheless, she navigates to the map of her core, and finds the offending notification.
Code 00919 Code 00921 Code 01550 Broken perimeter equipment, likely the fraying of axons. Perimeter wall punctured. Guard dog offline. Matilde swallows, but she refuses to be afraid. She locates the exact point of contact.
Shallow, about north by northwest. Her heart flutters, recognizing the mechanisms that put the threat near. She navigated her surveillance network, first along the outside of the perimeter.
Was there something pouring in? Troops coming? How did they get so close without her noticing? Without tripping any alarms? But the tunnels are free of bugs, free of aberrations, anomalies. She even finds her corps returning with its salvaged materials from the skirmish at the jack-in point. Uninterrupted. Straight shot to homebase.
Strange. She can't decide how to feel about that. She lands, uneasily, on comfort. The hole is so small, whatever had made it couldn't stand a confrontation with her soldiers. It must be a recon unit — and without feeding in any relays or wires, which she had not seen at the puncture, whatever communication it had with its designer would be annihilated by her fortifications. It would be abandoned by its network, and if she could find it, working dumbly and on old instructions, and destroy it before it was able to retrace its steps and escape, it would give its owner no valuable information.
Handleable. She sighs. She could even trap it in here in the meantime, beginning repairs on its point of entry.
"Aline!" she shouts, but she wouldn't hear if an answer came — the strain sends her into a coughing fit, finally pushing out the hacking that had been tickling her throat since her initial admonishment of Aline's sympathies. The hacking racks her head, as if dislodging the pain from whatever precarious resting place it had sat and sending it to rattle against the insides of her skull. She strains herself, trying to get a handle on the coughs, but fails for seconds more.
When she regains herself, raw hand at her chest, other holding the arm of her chair, all she can feel is the sweat running down her face. Her regained breath feels insubstantial — the fumes of the underground, the waste of industry, chokes the air. It offers little relief, and her head feels like she might nod forward again.
"Aline?" she asks, and hates the weakness and uncertainty in her voice. She cringes at herself, and her hands ball into fists, her raw palm stinging as her nails dig into it. She turns towards the hemisphere, and squeezes her hand upon it.
She is at once a part of the machine, the great underground — but she uses her time efficiently, dreading the repercussions of this third foray. She patches into Aline, sees through her eyes. She watches Aline fall to her knees and clutch her head. "Aline!" she speaks directly into her thoughts, "wake the interior beetles." She leaves as soon as she arrives, not wanting to incapacitate Aline. Much like a body prioritizes the sensory input of its exterior, so have her machinations. A great deal of her nervous system from within her base had been cannibalized once she was secure in her defenses, leaving much of her core's functions manual and requiring direct check-up if any. This was Aline's task, to be Matilde's hands for inside the core while Matilde handled the rest of it.
In a split-second decision, she used her time of extended consciousness to also retreat a corps from a dispute at a power node, ceding it to Ilaria. It pained her, but they would be used to repair the outer perimeter and she wasn't hurting for power, she was merely hoping to prevent Ilaria her bounty. Oh well.
And not a second more. She disconnects, and bile rises in her throat. I wasn't in for a minute, you piece of shit. But her anger does nothing to convince her body against the action. She leans forward, and vomits, the sick slapping against the catwalk and disappearing through the gaps, down into the machinery beyond where it would cook and evaporate on the surface of the searing metal. The whole-body strain makes her light-headed, and threaten to fall forward and out of the chair. She barely resists.
In the aftermath, she looks at the bile in the fuzz of the monitors, and the sick feeling in her stomach seems to deepen, broaden, into something that fills her whole abdomen. Water, she thinks. I need water.
She shakes her head. Gian wasn't for long. They would have water. She would afford him no reprieve. Not for anything.
I need a breath of fresh air. The thought itself pushes against the inside of her belly, passing from left to right, like a squirming absence that makes her almost vomit again. There is no fresh air to breathe.
She reaches for the next best thing: a view of the outside world.
She follows a snaking path of wire, rudimentary and thin, perhaps better for it when it comes to hiding itself from the attention of her siblings. It worms between everything and everyone, sprouting upwards, like the hypocotyl of a seed reaching up and out of the ground. Once it breaks earth, it spreads in one long, spiraling line, a vine, its roots grown into the side of the superstructure, the leaves little cameras. She looks through these, at a sky too bright and blue.
She turns down the brightness, to save her scotopic eyes, and gets the best sense of the outside world that she can.
The green never comes through on the monitors like it would in-person. She can't feel the wet grass along her fingers, can't feel the wind whip along her skin — though the memory summons goosebumps regardless.
The camera peers far, over green meadow and into the white and gray edges of mountains.
The sky has few clouds, but they move at speeds that betray the turbulence above.
She can practically smell the Spring air, past the gas and oil filling her sinuses. She can almost feel moments of cool between the waves of steam.
She moves her viewpoint along the vine, upwards and to the right. The wire vine snakes around blocks of metal, fortifications, turret muzzles. Up and over, under, between. As the view rotates, she finds an aircraft in the sky, and pauses.
An anti-air gun along the structure near her camera dutifully follows the plane. Daddy's work, Matilde thinks. Keeping them safe, keeping their dispute undisturbed.
She follows the aircraft herself, watching its arc across the sky, until she can't follow it anymore.
"Air superiority is important, but expensive," her dad had said. "World War I was the big debut of aerial combat. It wasn't the actual first use of warplanes, but it was what told the world that they were a symbol of warfare. However, planes were incredibly expensive — the fault of them being marvels of engineering. They were too specific. And, it's much easier to fall than to fly." She had watched, then, the airforce in formation, passing above.
"Aircraft are notoriously fragile. This has cornered their use into hit-and-runs and recon, in both cases heavily benefitting off of stealth. They are also used as transport. There are stories of taking out a helicopter with a pistol. The designs are a bit more sophisticated today, the story rare and perhaps exaggerated, but the principle remains. Aircraft are not sturdy, and they don't make for a good defense. No, Matilde, we aren't making airplanes." Father's barrels smoothly trace an arc in the air, flak waiting, antsy and excitable.
"Frueh make cannons." The turret relaxes as the plane leaves its range, no longer a threat. Missiles must be close by, able to hone in, though the automatic aim of the turret is far and beyond anything a human could fire. A plane stands no chance.
Neither does anything else, for that matter.
Her view crawls along the vine even more, twisting upwards along the structure, up and up and up, until she has nearly a bird's eye view of the rolling hills below, and from here, she finds an encampment of those whose absence had been a curiosity.
Not absent. Just not dumb, it seems.
From here, no faces could be made out. Tents, humvees, carriers. Tanks. Soldiers, feet pattering on the dirt roads, all staying behind the cover of hills, staying outside two miles of the structure. What are they doing? Mounting an offense? With what expectation?
Matilde laughs, and the noise of it — the dry edge to it, the strain on her throat — brings her back to her body, if only for a moment. Brings her back to her singing, pricked hand, her greasy hair, her aching knees and back from her extensive sessions of sitting in one place, especially with little consciousness of her physical self. She blinks, trying to get a sting out of her eye.
She scans the monitors, noting the several trails of incoming military, like orderly ants following pheromones. Amassing forces. Is it publicity? Would they be politically embarrassed not to respond to the threat? Wouldn't it be better to ignore the ordeal altogether, draw less attention?
How much does the outside world know anyways?
Maybe they think we're in danger. The thought startles her, and that dreadful void in her stomach reopens, almost rising to a nausea.
Something catches her eye.
Something large and misshapen, with a tall, white, conical barrel coming out of the top. She accesses the camera from which it can be seen, aims and zooms in, getting a better look at the creature on treads. Its undercarriage bounces and bends like a breathing beetle's abdomen as it crests over the top of a hill, the air around it vibrating as its own heat distorts the light.
She begins to recognize the design, though it takes her a moment, seeing the thing on treads instead of camouflaged into a rock wall. The Narwhal.
Kian's design.
The scream that escapes her mouth is just as unbidden and twice as raw as the laugh of before, erasing any good mood she had been cultivating, cutting her escape into the outside world short. She finds herself standing, leaning over the console, staring down at her keys and buttons, sweat dripping down and forming a droplet on the tip of her nose.
A noise behind her startles her, and she turns to stare down a flinching, crouching figure.
"Aline. What are you doing back so soon?" "The bugs." "What about the bugs?" "They won't turn on." Matilde's extremities go numb. Her expression doesn't soften, but loses its edge, smoothing from a hot knife into a cold stone face. "Did you —" "Of fucking course I did!" Matilde mulls that over. She would, she reasons. She's not so incapable.
"Fine. I —" Her voice catches. She looks into Aline's glossy eyes, reflecting the cool blue and green behind her, the sky and clouds in her sister's eyes. She mentally checks through her ongoing projects — the bugs at the siege, the soldiers securing nodes. The water supply. The air, the heat. They drop out of her with a skip of her heart, and a swing of her consciousness, a sway of her head as the weight comes off of her.
She catches herself with a hand on the back of her chair. The bugs aren't waking up. Rogue agent within the core.
She breathes.
She looks at Aline, whose eyes have screwed into an impatient glare. "What are —" "You're leading me to the breakers." Matilde opens a drawer in the desk, and grabs a voltage tester. "Now." "Why must —" "You're not leaving my sight. Who else would be able to sabotage me, Aline?" Aline's jaw drops. "I-I didn't, I would never —" "Just shut up and lead the way." Her voice isn't commanding. Just straight. Narrow. Allowing no room for interpretation or subversion. Aline shrinks, and complies, turning around and walking towards the stairs.
As Aline shows her back, Matilde gets a good view of her work — the back of Aline's overalls have a long, snakelike bulge, going from the top of her tailbone to the base of her neck — where it then becomes clear that the bulge comes from underneath Aline's skin, and the shape of it is lost where spine meets head, the back of her scalp shaved bare and a slit of scar extending until it gets lost in the remaining hair.
She wouldn't sabotage me, Matilde knows. She has too much respect for me.
Still, she can't leave the consoles unattended, her hemisphere available for another hand, and leave Aline to her own devices. It's a matter of principle, a matter of survival. That's what she tells herself. She doesn't let herself think on it more deeply than that.
Aline continuously checks behind herself, making brief, furtive eye contact with Matilde before making like her entire focus is on where she's going. Their steps clang along the catwalk, though the noise is sometimes lost behind the crash and whine of something bigger and shakier. They make it to the spiral staircase down, and descend.
A tube, encasing the stairs, rises around them, until they reach the bottom in near complete darkness and Aline opens a door to reveal the relative normalcy of a concrete hallway and buzzing rectangular light fixtures in the ceiling that make Matilde's eyes squint and her head hurt. She staggers in the doorway, and then forces herself onward, Aline having missed the moment of weakness.
Here, the noise is somewhat muffled, though silence never reigns, and heat doesn't radiate off of the walls nearly so much as it did in the dark metal chamber, though relief is still evasive.
They pass many doors, reach intersections and trend to the right, Aline occasionally pausing to remember the path and nervously and silently checking with Matilde before continuing forward.
They pass through some more interesting rooms, like visits to organs before once again entering the connective tissue of the bunker — a catwalk along the outside of a huge, circular chute at a slight angle, the top and bottom out of view, airflow pushing down upon the sisters as they pass through. They descend a staircase with a glass siding from which they overlook a scrapyard, long multi-jointed limbs poking out the top like the fingers of reaching hands attempting to pull themselves out from a sharp, jagged muck.
But their destination is altogether unremarkable.
Aline opens a door to a relatively small room, neatly lit, from which the ambient noises are mostly a hum and an occasional rush of some industrial liquid — perhaps even the water, undrinkable as it is, useful still in coolant processes all across her exobody.
The one wall to the left of the entrance is a mess of panels, the right sparse but for some desks and cupboards, starkly mundane. Matilde strides to the wall of panels, and Aline lags behind at the door. Matilde shoots her a glare, and Aline springs forward, rushing to be close to Matilde, within her easy line of sight.
Matilde relaxes, and counts out the panels, moving her finger as she does.
Aline beats her to it, opening a panel to her right and slightly above her head level. Matilde swats the younger's hand away, frustrated at having been shown up, anxiety prickling along her fingertips. Matilde moves towards the panel, pushing a compliant Aline out of her way, and finds the switch she's looking for. It's on. She flicks it off, and back on. Off, on. Click, click. She hears the mechanism. She grabs Aline's shoulder and pushes her towards the door, with a small noise of protest on the younger's part.
They step into the hallway, and walk along the right wall for ten-odd seconds, reaching a more concealed panel in the concrete. Matilde motions to Aline with an open palm, and Aline pulls a screwdriver from her overalls and jams it into the elder's raw hand, which stings at the force of it — perhaps even intentionally. She wants to admonish her sister, but to do so would express the pain of the motion. She removes the panel on the wall, and then motions to her sister again, this time saying: "Glove." "My gloves are small." But she hands the pair over. Matilde drops the screwdriver to the floor, and Aline dives to grab it, but Matilde doesn't look at her. She dons the rubber gloves, indeed quite tight but not unwearable, and reaches into the coils of wire, their stripes reminiscent of tight, color-coded muscle, digging until she sees a bright teal-green. She pulls, holds it, and gets the voltage tester from her pocket.
She pokes her prongs into the hard exterior of the cable, and picks up a reading.
There's electricity flowing from the breaker at least, that's good to know before we make it further.
"We're going to the bugs. We'll start them manually." Aline nods. They leave the panel where it is on the floor, unworried at keeping up appearances.
Matilde wipes sweat from her brow, and her heart squeezes in her chest, an internal claustrophobic feeling, like her ribs and lungs and muscle are all pressing in on it from all sides and it has to pump just that much harder to function at all.
"Sister," Aline starts, her voice so weak the word doesn't quite make it through the second syllable. She coughs instead, and tries again: "Mattie." The elder makes no response.
"How —" Aline paused. "Who…" "Ilaria is cornered. She's pouring most of her resources into an escape attempt. We aren't anywhere near him, but I believe she's being harried most by Julian. The things I see sent her direction match his style, even if the designs aren't familiar to me. Most likely he isn't the only one. I was attempting to cut some of her power supply earlier, but…" She grits her teeth.
This time, it's Aline who remains silent. They turn a corner.
"I checked in on Hans just earlier. He's focusing on defense, and he similarly has a rock wall behind him, probably hoping to squeeze out, but he hasn't made that move yet. His neighbors are trying to close in behind him and most of his firepower is committed to keeping them away.
I wouldn't be surprised if he and Ilaria somehow collaborated, but I suspect they're putting so little effort into recon that they have missed the fact they are aiming at a similar outcome.
Besides, Hans could be stockpiling, hoping to come in late in the game when other players have been eliminated, making himself too costly to attack for now so he can survive that long. I think it's short-sighted, and a strategy motivated more by instinct and fear than by cunning. He won't have the resources others have if he makes it that long, and by being defensive you invite attack." "Kian?" Matilde turns her head to glare daggers into Aline, by her side. Aline looks as confused as timid in the aftermath.
She turns her gaze forward again, as they step into another stairwell, leading down. ""He's one of the neighbors trying to close off Hans." "Has anyone…?" "Not yet, I think. But I still don't know what happened to Laura." The walls begin to lose some of their cohesion, cracks, abrasions and discolorations visible on the concrete. It's hotter here, lights more spaced, fewer vents, the air is thick. They make their way to a ladder, the metal of its rungs hot enough to make Matilde uncomfortable with her grip, especially hesitant with the placement of her torn up hand. The two move in silence as they enter into more metal catwalks, abandoning the human-intended architecture of the concrete halls and entering the outer workings of the core machine. Light is sparse, but the metal and grease pick it up, and all the sisters need to see is the rough outline of the walkway. Aline places a hand along the railing, substituting touch for sight where she can.
Matilde guides Aline, less familiar with this section of the core, having to speak loudly over the grinding, churning metal sounds that permeate everything. Eventually, their right side opens from walls of pipe, ventilation, gears and wire to a wide chamber, their catwalk putting them somewhere near the top of the expanse.
Sparse light shines off of something in the deep smoother and rounder than any of the surrounding machinery. Matilde watches Aline hover at the edge of the catwalk, looking down into the uncertain depths, a stale wind jostling her hair, perhaps not as much as it might have had Aline not been so slicked with grease.
Matilde lets her stay there for a moment, for a reason she can not name, and watches her indistinct outline, the snaking lump still visible on her neck, reading the body language of her younger sister.
Awe? Perhaps too generous, if the term is bent towards positive meaning. But similarly overwhelmed.
"Come," Matilde says.
Aline hesitates, and then turns. Matilde directs towards a ladder down, which they take in turn, landing at a lower catwalk and a recess in the pipes and wires.
Matilde, wielding a flashlight, walks with purpose towards a large cable and extracts the voltage tester from her pocket once more, touching it to its side. She frowns, the numbers blinking just as they do when exposed to the ambient air in this place. No sign of life. Nothing.
She remains in the same position for a moment, letting Aline's distraction with the expanse keep her from noticing Matilde's unmoving figure.
The flavor of her anxiety changes. The empty feeling had been warring with tightness, blood in the muscles, a need to go and do. But watching the numbers fluctuate on her device, the energy seeps out of her with the potential of energy in the wire. Nothing.
She stands, and she sways, catching herself on the wall.
"Sister?" Matilde turns, and stares at where she expects Aline's eyes to be.
The eldest shrugs, and then is overtaken with coughs. She holds herself together, and Aline offers no assistance. Once she's recovered: "There's no electricity flowing through the cable." No response. She feels a need to clarify.
"If the cables on the other side are still on, we can reroute and manually start the bugs. So move." Aline doesn't. Matilde feels the ghost of anger rise and fall, watching her sister. She hesitates herself, listless. Questioning her own priorities. She knows she is missing the note of authority her voice carried before, and she's unsure she can summon it up, so she uses a different tactic. She closes the distance to Aline and grabs her shoulder, her grip hard. Aline moves, at first pushed, then finding her step. She continuously turns her head to look at her sister, and Matilde is grateful for the darkness, masking her expression.
The cables on the opposite side — a long walk along the perimeter — do carry current, and Matilde and Aline cooperate easily, silently, and slowly, routing current outgoing to another section of the core into the operation of the bugs. The work is heavy, and the sisters come out heaving, coughing. Nonetheless, they climb another ladder down, and operate a panel.
With the pull of a lever, the noise becomes unbearable, body-shaking. The reflections on the carapaces in the pit begin to shift, and soon it becomes clear that the massive bodies — hundreds, in layers — are beginning to ascend towards a ceiling that is splitting open to allow them out.
Aline startles as the sparse light illuminates enough to make out a face, as wide across as the two sisters laying head to toe — a glimpse of its pale green eyes, and then its mandibles. The younger's brief scream is lost in the grinding of the scaffolding pushing the bugs upwards, but the coughs the scream incurs seem the worst of any yet. Aline drops to the ground on all fours, and Matilde stands over her.
Matilde watches. She looks, and her face drops, unable to maintain her neutrality. She grabs Aline under the armpits, and pulls her to her feet. Still hacking, the younger leans heavily into Matilde's chest, and Matilde shifts to allow her leaning, while nonetheless walking them both out. They face difficulty getting up the ladder. The sound makes Matilde's head pound, and she wonders briefly if she will pass out — or, more likely, that Aline might. Something about the reverberation through their very being makes the coughing fit difficult to escape. Aline scales very slowly, Matilde behind.
They eventually make it out, but the noise fades only slowly as they put distance between themselves and the bug-nest.
Eventually, Aline is able to cease her coughs, though they can still feel the shaking through the architecture and metal around them. For a long walk to the ladder back to the cooler, concrete section, Aline remains leaning into Matilde, and at some moment, imperceptible and immeasurable, there nonetheless comes a point where she no longer requires the support to stand and to walk, and yet she remains, and her sister, Matilde, who herself feels similarly disposed towards collapse, yet still holds Aline against her body.
And once they reach the ladder, the necessity of separation becomes apparent, and calls attention to this prolonged contact.
Matilde pushes Aline off of her and toward the ladder, but the younger hesitates once more.
Matilde nearly questions, that ghost of anger making itself known again, but she can't bring the words to her lips. Instead, she gestures.
"Mattie," Aline croaks, her voice rough from coughing and a dry throat, and yet still injected with some warmth that makes Matilde's already feverish body draw out a new layer of sweat.
"We need water." There is a silence where neither can make out the other's expression, and neither give an obvious tell of body language, of movement. Still.
Matilde motions to the ladder again. "Go," she says, quiet. Perhaps too quiet to be heard, so she repeats: "Go. We have other things to attend to." "What things?" "We have to fix the wiring. We're going up to the crown." "Sister," and there is an edge to the word. A pause, and she erases the tone from her following statement: "I won't make it." Matilde's head inclines, but she keeps it from hanging so obviously. The weight of it simply seems to increase upon hearing her sister's plea. "We have to fix the wires first," Matilde stresses. "We have to see what's wrong." "Why?" Aline's voice raises in pitch. "The bugs are active, the machine is turning. We still have lighting, we need water." I know, Matilde thinks. "We might not get water if we don't fix the fucking wires!" She isn't able to see Aline's response, because rising her volume causes her to cough. She shakes herself out of it, and follows up: "We need to go to the stem, and after that, water will be my priority number one. We can figure out how to filter the water in our hydraulics, as an emergency measure. Okay?" Aline merely stares at her. In the dim lighting, every object a monochrome silhouette that dances with the natural patterns on the lenses of her eyes, Aline gives nothing away, and Matilde begins to imagine the worst. She seizes the ghost of anger, and uses it.
"Aline." The younger needs to hear nothing else. She turns around, and begins to ascend.
Matilde breathes heavily, and takes a moment before joining her.
They rise back into the concrete and consistent lighting, and as Aline's expression is clarified by the light, Matilde sees its twisted form, its petulant creases and crevices. Childish, Aline overtly avoids eye contact. Matilde's heart sinks, as much as it exists in the hollow in her chest.
Their route, as compared to that of before, follows nearly a straight line — a straight line up.
They trend inwards, towards the center of the core, but equally trend upwards, covering about as much distance by ladder as by path. They remain in the lit sections for the majority, but nearing the end they are travelling in cracks nearly too small for Matilde, more easily navigably by Aline, lit improperly by long lines of red or blue. They are, for a moment, cockroaches in the walls, weathering some scrapes and bruises from the tight confines.
Once, Aline's metal spine scrapes against a protrusion in the wall and she seizes up, crying from pain that is otherwise so overwhelming as to prevent anything but small croaks from rising through her throat. They wait minutes for her to recover enough to continue.
Eventually, they climb a ladder with a hatch at the top. Breaking form, Matilde goes first, seeing as she has more muscle, and pushes the heavy thing open, arms aching from the exertion in the wake of it.
She climbs out and onto a smooth surface in near total darkness, and there is a relief as the air around her is cool and blows lightly, approaching but not quite making it to a facsimile of the outdoors — the corrosive smells dispel that notion.
Aline climbs out after her, and Matilde helps her up.
As they close the hatch, they enter complete darkness, no longer silhouettes. Instead of pointing, Matilde turns Aline from her shoulders, pointing her towards the only source of light — dim and far enough to not revealingly reflect off their sheens of sweat.
The column, like a building atop a hill, extending into a sky, if anything could be called that. It resembles a deep-sea jellyfish, one of those with the cylindrical shape and lines of bioluminescence stretching from top-to-bottom, except if that shape and those lines kept extending upwards until it disappears into the darkness, at no identifiable point, at no identifiable distance. It coats itself in a dark blue glow. Its presence is unspeakable.
Surrounded by absolute blackness, it claims all of reality, the only existing thing. Matilde begins to lose herself in its presence, her cut hand tingling, a flutter of hope in her throat, the warm feeling of being something greater than this weak body of diminutive size and soft flesh.
She suddenly wishes Aline knew what that felt like. She wonders if this visage alone could instill it.
"Don't lose your footing," Matilde says, and her voice seems to go absolutely nowhere, swallowed by the space. "The metal here is smooth and gradually curves, and if you fall and slide, you could slide a long, long way." Nonetheless, her hand on Aline's shoulder, she feels her sister nod. She lets go, and they begin to move towards the column.
Closing the distance only highlights the immensity of the structure, how little its clarity improves after a minute of walking — and the immensity of the structure only highlights the immensity of the space. The understanding that the column represents a radius, and the radius is of a broad elliptical structure.
Along their walk to the column, a far-off rumble — the only noise besides their rhythmic footsteps — catches her ear. That could be the bugs they had activated crawling out of the core, into this space — perhaps it could be called the shell — to navigate towards the breach and fix it. It could be a squadron returning for repairs and to deposit the scrap and materials they had gathered.
The column becomes larger faster as they near its base, once pausing for Aline to bend and cough, Aline batting Matilde's hand away from resting on her shoulder.
Their bodies are coated in a soft blue as they reach the base. Matilde gazes upward, and finds the rail she was looking for, gently spiraling up along its side, and follows its lower end towards its beginning to their right. They circle around briefly before finding the car, a squarish thing with a single light in its ceiling shining down to a small panel — a nod to human design missing from almost all of the rest of Matilde's creation.
It reminds her of the progression, here. The winding halls and passages — the central power system placed above the rest of the core — indicative of an unstable growth, an additive, unplanned structure focused outwards instead of inwards. Ever creating, never redoing. It gave way to weaknesses like this one, Matilde supposed, that something so important could be on the outside of the core — though she expected the shell to be enough, this entire core its own weakness just as any heart of any operation. She hadn't thought to prepare it as a battleground.
They open the door of the car and step inside. Aline sits, hard, along the back wall of it, wincing as her spine makes contact with the metal, looking very much like she regretted the motion. Matilde punches in the simple controls, sending the car shuddering and then slowly moving up along the column.
The ground would have slowly moved out of view, if there was a clear conception of the ground. Instead, sense of grounding falls away almost immediately upon departure, as does sense of orientation as the car climbs its lazy spiral up the column, glowing blues shifting with the motion in ways that never seem to clearly indicate direction or place, a murky black so thick past the car's windows. Matilde sees herself in the reflection that dominates the window.
She doesn't like what she sees. She doesn't like looking in the first place — she tries to push her own visage out of mind, remind herself of the greater thing she is a part of. She tries to put herself in the mind of the great machine, the outer-being. Impossible, she admonishes herself for even trying. You can't. You're a small, fleshy thing. Fragile. Aline might be stronger than you are.
She bows her head, visiting the safety of the panel and its controls, but the image of her own sunken eyes stays in her mind's eye.
"Sis," Aline whispers.
She looks up, and sees something dance in the reflection. It takes her a moment to parse — a moment before she realizes it's something on the other side. She leans over the panel, and presses her hands to her forehead, blocking the light and its reflection so she can see into the void beyond.
Spears of light, instantaneous, far away. Man-made lightning. Sparks. Damage. The hole in the shell. The arcs of electricity are so quick and yet so large, it is hard to view them as anything but an illusion, but in their blink-long lives they cast startling light on the broader structure around them.
The punched-through wall. The tracks, along which the centipedal guard dog crawls. Used to crawl. The arcs are mostly along the body of the dog, its bulbous head peppered with red warning lights like acne, its long limbs torn from their housings and thrown into the unseen depths, or perhaps worse, taken somewhere, used somehow. The damage… the long snaking body of it is torn open, evocative of a snake that had swallowed something too big whole and its swollen body had burst from the inside. Its spine was destroyed, cables — so thick around that their individuality was visible even from this distance and in this sparse light — draping down from its burst back like entrails hanging from an abandoned carcass, dragged into a tree and draped upon the branches. Even its self-repairing systems were somehow annihilated, something Matilde can not but imagine was intentional. Targeted. Intelligent. Clever.
Aline begins to cry.
A feeling crawls up Matilde's esophagus at the sound, and it comes out in the whisper: "Shut up." Aline doesn't seem to listen. She presses her hands against her eyes as the tears keep coming out, trying to stifle the flow and her unbidden sounds.
"Shut up," she repeats, louder, looking at Aline in the reflection. "Shut up. Shut up, shut —" She turns and yells: "Shut up!" It accomplishes nothing, so she strides to her younger sister, adrenaline giving her strength, and takes her by the shoulders, shaking her, Aline's head hitting the wall behind her on the shakes forward, some of the pain drawing her attention as a hand shoots to the back of her head to cradle the impact. "Oww, ow!" "Shut up!!" Matilde can't come up with anything better. The words are secondary. To the volume. To the intent. To the shaking. To make her stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop making it real, stop caring, stop drawing attention, stop looking at it, stop expressing, just stop, stop, stop, stop — each stop a shake of her, Aline's hands now on Matilde's wrists, trying and failing to wrench control.
"We're dead, Mattie we're —" Matilde didn't know she still had strength enough to hoist Aline up and slam her into the wall, her misshapen, lumpy spine striking metal, and Aline falls forward, landing on hands and knees, a strangled gasp coming out of her — and then a hack, and more hacks, coughs, starting a fit that she isn't soon to recover from. To stop her. To stop her from saying anything.
But she said it. She had said it already.
"We're not!" Matilde yells, pitch verging on the uncontrollable. "We're —" But her dry voice catches, and she starts coughing too, leaning over, hands going to her knees to brace herself, keep herself upright. She holds that position, the two of them coughing, when the car comes to an abrupt stop, sending Aline onto her side and Matilde into the wall, the elder catching herself better, the younger seizing up in the same way as she had earlier, a whine escaping her lips, strain and agony.
And then Aline is gasping, making little choking sounds. "Water," Matilde thinks she hears Aline rasp. "The —" But no more words are possible, as she clambers for air. Matilde watches her for a moment, as the doors on the car's side open onto the platform.
Watching as Aline struggles for air.
Matilde catches her breath before Aline does, breaths shaking through her. She turns, and she leaves Aline there, stepping out of the car, out onto the metal platform, a protruding shelf halfway up the length of the column.
Matilde barely flinches at the state of the tunnel and the collection of indents worked into the floor of the platform.
Sparks illuminate the tunnel where the lines of light at ankle-height have been crushed and destroyed. A hot air emanates from within, like the breath of a monstrous dragon making it to the mouth of the cave. The smell isn't much better than that imagination, but not biological.
Chemical. A hum is difficult to parse, between Matilde's heart palpitations and the rumble in her ears, her senses heightened and her nerves on edge, but the tunnel does hum, a rhythm distinct from her biology, an electrical thrumming that makes her skin prickle and her hairs come up straight.
She moves towards the hum and away from Aline's returning coughs, stepping into the tunnel, losing her footing once or twice before learning her lesson and watching the floor for aberrations. While the dents in the floor threaten to tumble her over, the threat feels more metaphysical than that. The low light. The uneven flooring. Her swimming head. She feels a fall could do more than bring her to the floor — could take the floor out from under her.
As Aline's coughs are subsumed by the hum and the heartbeat in Matilde's own ears, a twisting feeling returns to the hollow of her chest, like a hand caressing its sensitive edges from the inside, making her aware of all its contours and making her weak muscles twinge. The shape of it becoming clearer, even as she hopes not to see.
Hum. Beat. Footstep after footstep, hand along the wall to steady herself as she walks, heat rising and draining the last remaining moisture in her body through sweat she's surprised she can still give.
We're dead.
Another twinge. We've been dead, sister. We've been dead since the thing came through the wall.
And now, with Aline behind her, she has no one to perform for.
Her forward momentum falters. But does not stop. Something else pushes her, its influence perhaps weaker. The thought that forces her onwards is that thought that once she's stopped, she will be truly dead. If she ceases to move, she won't ever move again.
A droplet of sweat traces her forehead to the bridge of her nose. A spark by her ear makes her flinch.
She finds it difficult to hold on to any one train of thought, so she lets them pass her by. Foot in front of foot. Eyes scanning the ground with the scant light. Routine. Pattern. Keep it moving.
The hum grows louder as a light comes through, so subtle at first that Matilde wonders if her eyes are playing tricks, but as the gentle curve of the tunnel lets up and she sees its end, she recognizes the structure before her. The column within the column. The bright, colossal tangle.
The stem.
She approaches, and she has to shield her eyes before they can adjust. The hum's rhythm becomes something physical, its thrum shakes her with each apex. The heat is unbearable, but she keeps walking.
The stem itself is so bright, it's hard to make out the cracks in the glass between her and it. As she steps into the observation deck, she can see that the damage is greater than the glass — the panel itself is destroyed, no operations are possible across its ruined surface, buttons and levers unplaceable in the mass of bent scrap. Her original purpose for coming is impossible, in the face of that. She can't tell if she cares.
She approaches anyways. The hum is so loud her ears hurt, and putting her hands to cover them does nothing. She stumbles on some miscellaneous piece of the surroundings, now a torn, flat corner of metal on the ground, and catches herself on the edge of the ruined panel, her raw hand placed on some jabbing object that sinks in a centimeter and makes her wince.
She looks up, and the light is nearly blinding. The glass that was once there has some tint to it, meant to make the stem bearable to behold, but where the window once was is open space now. She raises one hand to shield her eyes, and hangs her head.
She thinks of her siblings. She thinks of the great machine. Of the underground. Of the encroaching forces, and their contest. Am I so weak? she wonders. She looks up at the stem, unblocking her eyes, squinting, the hum overwhelming, her body shaking from internal and external factors.
She screams, and the screams turn into coughs. Still, she fights to form the words, words drowned by the thrumming, inaudible even to herself, words only experienced as air leaving her lungs and shapes in her mouth.
"Am I so small?" She screams again. Long, loud. She leans over the panel, her head beyond the jagged glass, inside the stem's chamber, and passing the barrier is like submerging her head in an wind tunnel, her hair flying above her. The surface of her skin feels fuzzy, like a full-faced sensation of licking a battery. She screams into that sensation.
The stem feels almost like it reacts, the lights flickering, the sound gripping her with new, sudden low tones. Tears stream up her face, pooling on her forehead.
"I'm dead! I —" Her voice catches in her throat, and she bends over, now with head and shoulders beyond the barrier, and she vomits into the wind, the sick bending backwards and spreading across her chin and cheeks — the bile finds so much resistance to its escape, Matilde begins to choke, but her thoughts lie elsewhere.
I failed, she thinks, as the tears mix with the vomit. I was first to fail.
The stem shudders. She tilts her head up, still coughing up the bile stuck in her throat, and the noise somehow finds a new tone, somehow outdoing itself, less than a second where her ears hurt from the shriek, another moment where her body reels as its whole resonates from a swell of something bass.
She feels so little of herself anymore she may simply fall apart. She feels the shakes might tear her pieces, so loosely held together, and send them over the edge, down the shaft and further than that.
But the shudders change tones again. The blinding light changes hue, flickers, blue to green, off and on, light and dark, stark, synced with the noise, the noise, the destroying, cacophonous sound, and then, and then, and then — It ruptures. The world plunges into darkness. The fuzz leaves Matilde's face as the air cracks, a sound like being struck by lightning — like being a bug inside a suddenly unplugged amp. It ruptures. Matilde's ears cry in pain, and her hands shoot to her head — ringing, ringing, throbbing and ringing.
Everything is dead, she thinks, her thoughts racing in slick mud, running in place and falling.
Everything I've ever wanted is dead. Everything is dead.
She doesn't register the coughs racking her body, the sharp edges of glass sinking into her hands as she grips the side of the window.
Every — The ringing of her ears finds ground. It rattles, it surges, and she finds the tones of a human voice in its volume. She blinks. Nothing comes to — black, dark, unending, but there is a noise, there is a high-pitched, careening noise.
Closer. Getting closer, she realizes.
Aline's voice.
"— youu!!" Screaming herself, voice shredded, its higher pitches like a car scraping along a concrete embankment, the man at the wheel sleeping or dead.
"I hate you! I'll fucking —" An impact — Aline's small body colliding with Matilde's mid-back, perhaps attempting to bowl her over, but she has a stable position along the panel, her body hunched. She winces as hands are pressed further into broken glass, but the Aline's momentum carries the little sister forward while Matilde remains mostly in place, Aline gliding over Matilde's back, hands catching on the cloth at Matilde's shoulders, and all of a sudden Aline is hanging over the edge, the wind tunnel with wind no longer, hands gripping Matilde, weight pulling her down — Matilde's hands press into the window's edge, her knees brace herself against the ruined panel, knees and shins scraping exposed sharps and broken metal, but for as much as it hurts, the shapes hook her into place, solidifying her position.
Aline screams into Matilde's face. Matilde spits bile on her, best she can with no visibility, and Aline's yelp and cough might suggest her aim landed in her open mouth.
"You bitch, you condescending fucking bitch —" Aline's hand crawls along Matilde's shirt, and Matilde brings one of her hands up to stop it from nearing her throat — but Aline chooses a different tactic, acting more animal than human, drawing herself up and aiming for Matilde's face. Apparently unable to see any more than Matilde can, her teeth fumble for purchase, but eventually they land. Matilde screeches and coughs as Aline bites her nose, then lets her weight pull her back down, dragging Matilde's head with it as far as it will go, and then bringing only the nose with it the rest of the way as Matilde's body catches on the window's edge.
Adrenaline regains — or perhaps replaces — Matilde's senses, bringing her back into her own body, and she begins to fight to pull herself up and away from the edge, but Aline's grip is unyielding. Matilde tries to remove Aline's arms, but taking her hands away from the window places all the pressure on her legs, and she screams as something against her left shin goes from pressing to puncturing.
Another sound. Almost missed. A bend, a thump. Matilde can't give it any of her attention. Her hand on Aline's wrist, she works to tear it free from her collar, but Aline and Matilde seem to have different driving forces, semantic differences that somehow make up a very real gulf — Aline has nothing to lose, and Matilde has already lost everything.
"I'll kill you — you welp, you wimp, you fucking coward, you cunt — I'm better than you, you aren't my sister — I'm a little girl and I'm better than —" Aline isn't able to finish the thought. Another thump. This one closer. The structure itself shakes, and Matilde feels the briefest relief as Aline's grip falters, the younger sister disappearing into oblivion — but the shake tears her own legs from the panel, the exit of the metal somehow worse than its entry, ripping on its way out, and then she's briefly airborne — she doesn't understand it, can't picture the mechanics, but her brain doesn't work to figure them out, her body pumps with animal blood, survival instincts and fear. She flails, limbs windmilling for how long she can't tell, until gravity takes hold of her again, and when she comes back down, she's moved forward.
Her belly, barely guarded by her shirt, slams into the window's glass, slicing her mid-section, and she gasps in pain. Then she is thrown forward. Over the edge. Towards Aline, whose screams join the echoing thumps as the only noise inside this chamber, inside the column, aside the stem.
And she is falling.
And Aline's screams come closer, their tone returning to coughs. And then she's past them, the coughing rising in pitch and then falling as she tumbles.
The first impact doesn't fully stop her fall. Her legs hit something, and it sends her spinning.
She's caught between the instinct to reach her hands out, catch herself, and the instinct to cradle her stomach, keep the contents from coming out. In her confusion, she does a poor job at both.
The second impact absorbs more of her momentum. Cables. Metal, but slack, bending with her weight, not quite as bad as falling on a concrete floor. Not that she is in a position to appreciate the difference.
She lands face-down the points of contact being her chest, left arm, and thighs. Her right hand at her midsection feels the internals push outward, following the momentum of her body further than the rest of her body will go, and she feels too much shock to feel much pain.
A light roves over her, but her eyes are already so full of spots and imagined images that it's difficult to identify reality.
Thump, thump. Aline coughs from far away.
She is better, Matilde catches on the thought.
Thump. Hacking, a rise in tension, some new sound, she doesn't parse it.
She imagines, in a vague sense, her mother's hands. A grease-covered palm, a screwdriver and a wrench. She imagines the family silos, the grassy hills.
Something sprays Matilde.
"One day you'll be a part of this country. For now, you're a part of our household." Mother motioned to the tools. "These are a Frueh's hands and arms." Matilde clutched at Mother's dress. Father watched. Matilde isn't sure from where. All she can picture are his eyes, hard. And she buried her face in Mother's dress — breathed deep.
Smelled oil.
"Mattie," her soft voice consoled. Mother's hand started at Mattie's forehead, and gently worked its way down, pushing her away, ceasing the embrace, the lean. She similarly worked to get Mattie's clutch free, and intertwined her fingers with her daughter's. Matilde looked up.
Her mother smiled.
Something shrill tries to interrupt her. Matilde's left hand at her stomach falters, the blood seeping into raw, shredded skin.
Mother moved her hands to the tools. A saw.
"Your hands and arms," she reminds. "Go on." "Mattie!" Silence. And something in the silence awakens Matilde's senses again. The scream, Aline's, did not have the edge of inarticulate rage to it.
Silence can't be good. Aline. Aline? She thinks to shout, but she just breathes, heavy. She thinks to move, but she doesn't move. Her body does not listen.
She lays there, caught on the cables. Feeling, perhaps, that she is slowly slipping — the metals slick with some fluids, her own or otherwise — slipping off to the side, to fall again.
Thump. Thump.
Heavy. Close.
Her hand reaches out, and grabs the cable, finds grip difficult, finds that extending her arm transitions the feeling in her gut from a dull, ignorable discomfort to a piercing pain, one that makes her consciousness blink, her mouth gape open and a strangled grunt come out.
She doesn't reach so far. She grabs closer to her body, and tries to pull — Thump, bump.
The timbre of the noise changes, and the cables themselves vibrate. Her body jostles. She groans again, unbidden, and changes tacks. She can't escape. She goes still. It's an easy decision, and she suspects it makes no difference.
A light passes over her. She breathes slowly, and feels her intestines begin to bulge past the sides of her hand as her body sags further, her abdomen protruding, the organs pushing out, ever so slowly.
The thumps are accompanied by whirs and clicks, now, and the light focuses in. She shuts her eyes, the sensation too much. It comes close. She doesn't care anymore.
She feels like tears should well up, but she has no fluid left to produce them.
As the light brightens, the noises get louder, closer, then slow down, stop. A few more whirrs, and then a loud pop, release of pressure.
"Mattie," a familiar voice intones. Not Aline's. Not Mother's.
What? She only breathes. She gives nothing.
"I didn't think you'd be so beat up when I found you. And our poor young sister. What had you done to her?" Matilde mouths sentiment, but can't put the sound in it. Laura. A parasite, a hiccup. Laura didn't have territory because she didn't claim any — she wasn't playing by the rules. A cheat.
"Hmm? Mm. Maybe I should act fast, then. I was hoping to have a conversation first, but I don't know if you'd last a whole conversation. I think you're falling, anyways. There will be time for that later." I've been dead, Matilde thinks, the real me, that which was worth protecting, it died every time I disconnected, and this last moment, it died for the last time. I've been dead this whole time.
I've been dead my whole life.
Something — a claw? Some appendage. Metal cradles Matilde's body, surprisingly gently.
Matilde struggles, only to prompt agony from all across her body, and she goes limp again.
"Oh, sis…" The tone is sickly sweet. Piteous. Accusing. Matilde's brow furrows, she glares, and she glares all the way until the light that was focused on her is directly in her face, blinding for a moment before it turns away, deliberate motion, and she is able to see a face — a human face, set into a metal frame, the edges of which catch the light as it bounces off the cables and the chamber.
Some machine. Some human machine, with Laura's face at the front of it, skin a strange color, a pallid texture to it.
"I… don't…" Matilde can only manage one word at a time.
"Shh. Don't speak." "I…" Matilde's nose scrunches up. "Fuck…" She gulps in breaths. She tries and fails to speak several times more, each word catching in her throat. She squeaks a sound that makes her hate herself. "Kill me," she uses the hate to speak.
Laura's graying face is horrible. Condescending. Sympathizing. Matilde closes her eyes. She can't bear to look at it.
"Only in a sense of the word," Laura responds. "You won't be you anymore. You'll be me. Us.
Aline's already here. She's… saying that this is like what you wanted, isn't it? To be something bigger?" Something high-pitched begins to whir and spin, from above Matilde, in the darkness still.
"She says it's just like that." The thing comes in closer, and the light catches it. An appendage that ends in a circular saw, and its followers, tubes, something that reminds Matilde of dentist's tools, something plastic filled with fluid and a sphincter at the end.
"Come on, let's be a family again." Matilde struggles, writhes, mouth opening to scream a scream that can't come. The claw grips Matilde tighter, arresting her movement, and a clamp presses into her skull.
"No," the machine corrects itself, "for the first time, I think." The saw comes down, and Matilde's vision fills with the spray of blood.
Description: The train takes the corner at modest speed, but still it catches and stumbles, its motion inconsistent. It passes through the tunnel, comes out the other side, and sounds a train horn from a small speaker.
Matilde watches from over the mountains. The Swiss Alps.
"Mattie! Dinner!" Her eyes draw back to the snowy peaks — the locomotive traces a high cliffside. She watches its spinning wheels along the track — the drive rods rotating their mesmerizing movement. She loses herself in its machinations a moment longer, before — "Mattie!" "Coming!" she yells back, and stands up, now high above the trainset. She dusts off her skirt where it rested on the ground, and then dashes to the bathroom, ensuring she looks presentable. She picks a piece of spinach out of her teeth from the puffs that she had been snacking on, and decides to quickly rinse her face as well. Absently, she rubs at the tip of her nose, but shakes herself out of the automatic motion.
She runs into the hallway, and then slows her pace — to dash isn't so ladylike, she thinks to herself. She turns onto the stairs, and pauses at a portrait of her mother, placed midway on the flight.
"Matilde Hildegard Frueh, if you aren't —" "I said I was coming," she groans, landing at the bottom of the stairs and turning the corner into the lounge.
On the big round table, she sees laid out a map of Europe, with model soldiers, tanks, and armaments scattered about it, in similar styles and materials to her train set. Father's train set.
"Your words are hollow if they aren't followed through with action." "But I did!" Mattie protests, as she passes through the lounge and enters the dining room, her nostrils filling with a warm, meaty smell.
Mattie's baby sister Aline is seated in her high chair, holding some toys. A little plastic caterpillar which she mashes into a dopey-looking beetle. Mattie sits next to her, and eyes the toys.
"Behave," the voice from the kitchen warns.
"Hey! I'm nice." Mattie eyes the caterpillar, within arm's reach, as Aline brings it down again and again — "Mattie…" "I didn't do anything!" "I know. Keep it that way." Mattie huffs. She pointedly stands and moves seats, putting herself further from her baby sister, who seems oblivious to the entire interaction.
Mattie scans the room. Fine, white, silky tablecloth covers the long table, able to easily seat twenty or more. The table itself is not a perfectly symmetrical shape. Instead, one end is flat, the head of the table, where two seats, taller than the rest, are placed side by side. The table extends from there, and very gradually tapers to the other end, coming to a point, like a missile targeting the kitchen.
"Why'd you call me down if dinner wasn't ready yet?" "Promptness, Mattie, we have been over this…" Her eyes turn upwards, and inspect the ceiling. It's made of a fine, burnt-brown wood, angled such that the outer wall has a lower ceiling than the inner. In the darkest recesses, above the chandelier and hiding in its glare, Mattie sees some pipe, a tangle of wires, and a small red speck that she thinks she sees move.
Footsteps draw her back down to earth in time to watch Laura enter through the kitchen, holding a horizontally elliptical ceramic bowl, filled with a steaming steak — brown, moist cubes of meat, caramelized onions and some cabbage. It smells like it might have been cooked in wine. In Laura's other hand, she carries a beet salad. Mattie's mouth salivates. Aline barely seems to look up.
Laura smiles wide in recognition of Mattie's rapt attention, and places the bowls in the center of the table. She retreats back to the kitchen, giving Mattie a light but warning look, which forces Mattie back into her seat, no longer leaning over the table to get a good look at the supper.
Laura returns with a pitcher of water and a tall bottle of sparkling apple cider. Mattie squirms.
"Patience, sweetie," Laura says, and Mattie whines.
Laura offers a sympathetic look, and moves to Aline's side, grabbing her smaller plate and serving her first, just a single cube of steak which Laura takes pains to shred into very small pieces. She puts a few chunks of salad on the side, and gives her water, which seems to draw Aline's attention first.
Laura then serves herself, cueing Mattie to do the same.
"Mattie," Laura warns.
Mattie grumbles, and once again sits back down.
"Don't lean over the table. Ask." "Dinner, please." "Close…" Laura pushes the steak closer but not close enough for Mattie to serve herself.
"Pass me dinner, please." "Better." She pushes it the rest of the way, and Mattie grabs the serving spoon and gives herself a stack of steak much too big for someone her size. Laura doesn't say anything about it, and Mattie smiles.
"Mattie." "What." But Laura's face is soft as Mattie looks up, her older sister suddenly close, just behind her.
Mattie twists in her seat to look at her, and Laura reaches out, grabbing Mattie's left hand and pulling it close.
"You're holding the spoon awkwardly still." Mattie kicks her feet, and looks away.
"It's hurting less?" "Yes." Laura strokes the palm of Mattie's hand, and Mattie can't help but wince.
The eldest gives a sad smile, and Mattie pretends not to see how mechanical the muscles move. She doesn't maintain eye contact.
"Don't be hard on it." "I won't." "Okay." Laura returns to her seat. Mattie's eyes follow her there. She sees the men at the window, clipboards in hand. Laura casually closes the curtains before taking her seat. Mattie tries to not notice the food, so much for the three of them — even more, considering Laura doesn't serve herself. She tries not to notice the large, empty table. She tries not to notice anything beyond the windows, or the gray tint to Laura's face. Or the raised back of Aline's dress.
She rubs at her own hand underneath the table.
Laura looks between Mattie and Aline, the younger yet to touch her food, if anything threatening to shove it off her plate with the toys. Laura grins, a look of complete satisfaction crossing her face.
"Okay. Let's eat." Addendum: SCP-001 is progressing nicely. SCP-001-17 and -19 are proving promising for the induction of the older subjects, demonstrating only infrequent violent outbursts and disregard for stated rules, not unusual for human children their age.
SCP-001-19's growth has thus far been healthy beyond our expectations. She is of average weight for her age, and demonstrates a playful, interested demeanor. She sleeps well, she eats well, and in all other respects she showcases health both physically and mentally, to my great surprise and relief.
SCP-001-17 is more troubled, as may be expected for her age, given the circumstances. She has greater power of perception and more context. She will require a long conversation soon, but for the moment she is mostly cooperative and listens to instruction. She seems to have some distaste for her younger sister and commonly steals her toys, but can be talked into returning them. She enjoys her free time, taking to constructing model sets, which has thus far been uninterrupted but requires close observation and consideration. Still, she exhibits interest in interaction, remains healthy for her size. Her hand and nose heal at natural rates, though the latter will unfortunately leave a permanent scar, and she complains less frequently of headaches and heat.
I expect to introduce another subject within the week, though I can't be sure who. I will have to consider which subject's removal will not imbalance the "game," so-to-speak — the grim reality is that we are likely to not regain containment of all subjects, but we can be strategic about our reclamations and hope to maximize the odds of success.
As we know, two points make a line, three make a plane. I hope that our third subject — myself excluded — will maintain the pattern, and establish a solid Foundation for the family's growth.
I remain apprehensive on the topic of SCP-001-A and -B. They will be difficult to reintroduce to SCP-001, if it is possible at all. However, if we can create a healthy household before their arrival, it may be possible to not merely survive their arrival, but in fact encourage their acquiescence. I will be returning to this subject at a later date, closer to the completion of our Procedures. As much as I hate to say it, countermeasures are still assuredly necessary and should not fall off our radar, as excited as the current prospects may make us.
Overall, I am happy to make this report, exceedingly pleased in all that has happened. It's safe to say, we are adjusting well to family life.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BEFORE — - — They were crammed into the small, dingy motel room - Adam sitting in a corner idly perusing an anarchoblog on his laptop, Olivia sitting on the bed drying her hair, Calvin sitting in the window watching cars pass on the dark street below them and Anthony relaxing on the other bed, eating a sandwich. They had the television on, but none of them were watching. Every so often they would hear footsteps in the hallway and all stop what they were doing until the sound disappeared around the corner. It was after one of these pauses that Adam broke the silence.
“Anthony,” he asked, closing his laptop and kicking up his feet, “you said you were alive during the Schism, right?” Anthony grunted.
“First of all, that’s still crazy. Second, why did the Schism happen in the first place?” The older man stopped chewing and swallowed. “Ideological quibbles.” Calvin rolled his eyes and Adam pouted. “No, seriously,” Adam said. “It didn’t seem like the Foundation had been around that long. What could’ve happened in such a short amount of time to cause a rift like that?” Anthony set his sandwich down on the bedside table. “There was a profound disagreement from the beginning about what the Foundation had to offer. Back then we had this enemy, see - we called them Abbadon. We were led to believe the Abbadon was this group of desperate, hostile reality benders that were attacking our storehouses to loot our artifacts. The threat of Abbadon showing up on our doorstep everyday led us away from just researching and containing anomalies - suddenly we were concerned with protecting ourselves. Reaching outside our bounds.” He took a drink from a can on the table. “We began a project to build this thing, this eigenweapon, that we could use to end Abbadon once and for all. Felix Carter, the Thirteenth Overseer, he was in charge of the occult research that went into developing the rituals we used to bind unparalleled power to a word, a word that could be used to annihilate anything in the universe in an instant with nothing more than a thought. We-” He paused as another set of footsteps proceeded past the door with little incident.
“We did something,” he continued, “during the development of that weapon, that was truly heinous. I am convinced there is no greater sin than the one we committed to create that perfect gun, and I am half convinced the Overseers only signed that deal with Death to avoid the fires of Hell we’re all now destined for.” He paused again and took another drink. “Anyway, we were fooled. Abbadon was an excuse, one perpetrated by the Administrator to, for the first time, create an anomaly. Give form to something that had not existed before we started. We succeeded, but at a terrible cost. The Schism was a result of the two lingering factions after that event - those who believed that creating that weapon was a net good, and those who believed it was a net evil. The ones who stayed thought that the ends justified what we had done, and that creating that weapon had created a safer world. Myself and several others rightly believed that we had done something unspeakable, and that the Foundation couldn’t continue to exist. That it was rotten to its core.” Adam pondered this for a moment. “What happened to that weapon?” “They buried it,” he said without hesitation. “It could only be activated with the word, and the only person who knew what that word was defected with us. Aaron Siegel, The Engineer, the man who is currently the First Overseer. When they realized they couldn’t use it anymore, they split up its component parts to keep them from being activated, and he could never use it again - word or otherwise.” “What caused the defection, then?” Olivia asked, scrubbing at her face with a washcloth.
“What made Aaron Siegel go back?” “Arrogance and lust,” he spat. “They called with a better offer and he picked up the phone.” He leaned back against the thin, dingy pillows. “When we defected, Aaron Siegel killed the Administrator, thinking that would be the end of the Foundation. But the Administrator was just one man, and the Foundation was much more decentralized than it is today. The difference between then and now is a matter of scale. The Foundation of today has fully realized itself, and its core is less a connection of a few veins and more its bleeding, beating heart. There is power in the directors and everything, but true authority rests with the Overseers. When they’re gone, the Foundation will be a snake without its head.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Calvin slid the window open slightly more in response and shot him a look.
“And more than that,” he continued, “you’ve probably heard that all of the Foundation’s sites and storehouses sit on top of nuclear devices - a last chance option if something terrible happens. They’re not under every site, but they are under most. At Site-01, there is a system in place that will activate when there is only one Overseer left, a command that goes out to arm all of those bombs. If we get there and kill Aaron Siegel, we can use that system to destroy everything - the sites, the anomalies, all of it. We’ll still have work to do, but we’ll have trumped them.” Calvin was looking at him from the corner of his eye. “How do you know this exists?” “I designed it,” Anthony said. “We didn’t have nuclear weapons when I designed it, but the concept is the same. You could even do it from his desk. One button, and poof - it’s all gone.” He picked his sandwich back up and nodded. “That’s our play. That’s how we do it.” NOW — - — Calvin was two steps out of the humvee with his gun drawn. Olivia was close behind him, but the man in the middle of the road didn’t move. He held up both hands, palms out, and waved them slightly.
“Look, see?” he showed them the backs of his hands. “No guns. I’m not here for violence.” “Who are you?” Calvin asked.
The man made a large, sweeping bow. He was slightly hunchbacked, and when he bent over they could see the deviation in his spine.
“I am Mortimer J. Denning Von Kronecker,” he said, standing back up. “I’m your next Overseer.
Number Five, you see.” He gave them a knowing elbow. “I noticed you were going down numerically. Not maybe the most unique approach, but I’ll admit it’s narratively consistent.” Olivia raised an eyebrow. “You’re the Blackbird?” The man made a dismissive gesture. “Please, Blackbird is my work name. I’m not here on work, obviously, though-” he gave them both a look, “-it seems that you two are.” Calvin raised his gun as if to fire, and then hesitated. “What are you doing here?” “Me?” Mortimer raised a hand to his mouth. “Why, I came to meet you! I have seen some incredible things - many incredible things, if you believe half the stories they tell about me, but I’ve never met someone who has, in one way or another, killed eight Overseers.” He crossed his arms and nodded. “That is impressive. That’s never been done before, not even by the Overseers themselves!” “If you know why we’re here, then why did you seek us out?” Olivia asked. “You know we’re trying to kill you.” The man laughed. “Yes, well, I did know that. But see, unfortunately for both of us, killing me is sort of a non-starter, even after your little whoopsie with Felix back at the Spire.” He gestured at Calvin. “Here, I’ll show you. This will help establish some rules. Shoot me.” He tapped on his forehead. “Right here, square between the eyes if you can.” Calvin raised his gun again but paused. He looked at Olivia, who looked back at him with uncertainty. Mortimer rolled his eyes and produced a knife from inside his sleeve.
“Fine, fine,” he said, “we can do it this way too.” Holding the knife in his left hand and bracing the bottom of it with his right, Mortimer drove the blade of the knife into his head through his neck. Blood splashed out onto the ground and he immediately went cross-eyed as a gargling gasp escaped his lips. He pushed one more time with his right hand and the end of the knife lodged perfectly into his skull. He stumbled backwards and collapsed.
The three of them sat staring at the man on the ground in shock.
“What the hell was that?” Adam said from behind them.
Then, suddenly, the road in front of them was illuminated by a dark purple light. It pulsed twice, and then with a snapping sound and the distinct smell of ozone, the Blackbird appeared before them again, unscathed. He held out his arms as if performing a magic trick, and then gestured to the corpse on the ground.
“See?” he said. “Voila. Good as new.” “You’re anomalous,” Olivia stated.
Mortimer nodded. “But really, who isn’t anymore?” He held a finger to his chin. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it I believe that Green wasn’t. I think that always got to her, you know?
She had all these machinations-” he gestured wildly, “-that would’ve been so much easier to achieve if she could do the things I can do.” “What can you do?” Calvin said, lowering his gun.
The Overseer held up a finger. “Ah, that’s a good question! Let’s start with a better one - where I’m from.” He turned as if to walk away, and then stopped midstep to turn back and motion them to follow. “Come on, let’s go. You can leave your belongings here, nobody is going to come after them for a while.” The three of them hesitantly started walking behind him. As they fell in step, they noticed the sky changing. It had been night, but now it was a deep, rich purple that was occasionally disturbed by ripples emanating from somewhere in the distance. The landscape around them began to change as well - gone were the hills leading up into the mountains, now they walked on a cobblestone street through a city they did not recognize. The sky above them began to change again, fading out from purple and into a sullen grey. A light rain was falling and a chill hit them from behind.
“This,” Mortimer said, turning back to look at them, “is my home - where I am from, anyway. I was born here, in the city of London. London, population two-point-five million, is the last city on Earth. Isn’t that something?” They stared around in muted amazement. Something dark and massive passed overhead, and they were momentarily drenched in shadow.
“What happened here?” Adam asked.
The Overseer shrugged. “You remember the Black Death? You no doubt read about it in a history book or something - a very tragic event in your world’s history. Well, as it turns out the Black Death hit this world very hard. There was this fellow in the Out There who woke up just in time to catch it at its worst, and told everyone he had a cure. As you can imagine, people were eager to take him up on the proposition. Only problem was, the Plague wasn’t exactly what he was curing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.” He turned back to look down the dull street. At the far end, a horse drawn carriage passed by - the horse looking little more than a skeleton.
“In your world - the one you were born in, this entity exists. We have him contained, in fact - stuffed in a cell somewhere. He’s much different there than he is here, I doubt there would be much we could do to inhibit this fellow.” He paused. “Anyway, city after city began to fall, all around the world. But not London. The Forefathers built her walls strong and her defenses stalwart. For a time we had allies - Paris, Munich, Rome. Even some much further away. Slowly, over time, they all went silent. London is all that’s left.” He started walking again, and they followed. He led them down the street and then out into a large, open thoroughfare that was empty except for them.
“Now, as for what I can ‘do’. You’ve no doubt picked up on part of it - walking hither and yon between realities is both useful and obvious. But before you can go somewhere, you need to see where it is you’re going.” He pointed up into the sky and closed his eyes. “You’ve met my good ex-friend The Accountant already. He was very good with numbers, and there were some who thought he could see the future. He couldn’t really, just like I can’t really. But I can do him one better. See, they’ll tell you there are infinitely many universes, and for the layman that might as well be true.
But it’s not actually true. There is a functional end to all creation - a hard limit, if you will. There are only so many atoms and so many interactions. It might seem like infinity to your average guy on the street, but I can see those variations - each and every one of them. If there are more of some than there are of others, I know that in any one universe that event would be more likely.” He stopped again. “Now imagine you’re a young Mortimer J. Denning Von Kronecker, and you live in a shit city on a shit island at the end of the world. The skies are always grey, the air is always toxic, and on the other side of the channel outside of these walls is a nightmare that could kill you in a heartbeat. You have dreams - dreams of a place like yours, but different.
Brighter. Happier. A smaller chance of imminent death. You can see it, clear as day. Then one day you hear a voice calling out to you from this place - and it’s your own voice. They’re not you, but they are you.” He turned back. “I heard that voice, and took those first steps into a place that wasn’t my own.
This place, this London, is part of a dying world. If it makes it another six months it’ll be a miracle. I had no family, no friends. Nobody wanted a lame orphan who was hearing voices.” He shrugged. “So I left.” “Hang on,” Olivia said, rubbing her temple. “You can see other realities?” Mortimer looked up curiously, as if forming a thought. “See… no. It’s not like I can open my eyes and look at them, not really. It’s more like I can… hear them.” He started walking again. They passed an empty butcher shop, an empty bank, an empty apartment building.
“You remember when I said I heard my own voice?” he asked. “That was true. When I came through there I found another me, and together we found another. We kept running into each other until there were no more of me left undiscovered, and then we all just sort of… came together. Unified, if you will. There are still a lot of me in here,” he tapped his head, “but we all more or less speak the same language now. This works out well, because if one of me ever dies, the others can just break that one off and stay intact. Does that make sense? Sort of like an onion. You peel one layer back, and there’s more onion underneath.” He rubbed his chin. “I think that’s a reference to something.” “I still don’t understand,” Olivia said, “if you’re all in the same place now, how do you hear these other dimensions?” “Realities,” he said, holding up a finger. “Dimensions are different and I don’t dabble in those.
That was the tricky bit, but sometimes things just have a way of working out. In my travels I found someone else like me, someone else who was maybe not quite so organized as I was, but could still hear herself wherever she is out there. Her name was Alison, the daughter of one of the Foundation senior staff members. She and her… sisters? That’s not right. She and the other versions of herself struck a deal with me. I show up whenever she needs a little ‘muscle’ and she keeps me informed of everything happening… everywhere. Do you understand?” Calvin stopped walking. “So why did you bring us here? What do you want?” Mortimer paused and then turned around. He was still smiling, but it was more somber somehow.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said, “and I’m sympathetic, trust me. I know you’re adamant about what you want to accomplish and I know that nothing that I can say personally can change that - and that’s fair. Thing is, I don’t know if you’re right or not, or if your crusade will make any sort of difference in the grand scheme. I have some ideas, but I’m not sure. Just in case, I want to try and keep it from happening, because if for some reason you succeed and I lose touch with all of the me that’s in here, well…” he paused. “I don’t really know what would happen, to be honest. I don’t think it would be good.” “So I’m going to give you something!” His smile diminished slightly when he saw their faces turn. “Oh, no, this isn’t like other deals I’m sure the others gave you. Especially since they were, what, Valerie and Rufus? Those two are nasty.” He shook his head. “I’m sure they resorted to horrible things in order to dissuade you, and look where that got them! Me, though, I can do better than that.” They stopped in front of another empty shop with three doors. Somewhere in the distance a flare went up, and they were briefly bathed in red light. When they looked back, there were three men standing in front of the doors, each identical to the others.
“I’m going to offer you an out,” Mortimer said, the voices speaking in perfect unison. “Not an out that’s just in your head like The Liar might’ve offered, or an out that’s not really an out at all and mostly just results in your death like Rufus would’ve preferred. No, this is a bonafide, 100% guaranteed out. If you take it, it’s yours. I can arrange all the paperwork and make it happen, but it’s there if you want it.” Each of the three men stepped aside, exposing the now open doors behind them. One for each of them.
“We go through these,” Calvin said slowly, “and what, we’re killed immediately? Is this a joke?” Mortimer’s face softened. For the first time he no longer appeared unceasingly genial - instead, he looked tired.
“No, it’s not a joke - and there’s no funny business here. I’m just looking for a way we can both benefit from this.” They each looked at each other, and after a minute Olivia shrugged.
“I mean, what else are we going to do?” she said. “Shoot him?” Calvin and Adam nodded in agreement, and the three of them each entered separate doors.
— - — Adam found himself standing in a warmly lit room on a shaggy carpet. Somewhere on the street below, a man was playing something on a saxophone. There was a small fireplace, and a fire burning within it. Something was cooking in the next room, and it smelled heavenly. Adam scanned the room for something familiar, but found nothing.
“It’s over there, if you’re looking for it,” the Blackbird said, suddenly appearing next to him.
“Over there in the corner, I mean. Your laptop, right? That’s what you’re looking for? I notice you don’t really ever part with it.” “What is this?” Adam said, confused. “Where am I?” “This is Portland, Oregon, in the United States. Can’t remember the address exactly. You’ve actually been here once before, when you were younger. Your parents briefly sought asylum here.” Adam looked back around the room. “That’s right,” he said, nodding. “We lived in the town in the mountains after this.” The Blackbird walked over to the window and looked out at the street. Adam continued scanning the room. “Why here?” “Because in this world, your asylum was granted,” the Blackbird said without looking up. “You grew up here, with both of your parents and your siblings. They’re all still alive, too. Your parents moved to Los Angeles, but you liked it here most of all. This felt like home to you.” Adam didn’t respond. It did feel like home. He remembered the thick carpet and the drapes that were just a little musty. Even the stupid little fireplace had made him so happy as a child. It was perfect, exactly as he remembered it but better, except- “Adam,” a voice called from the kitchen. It was dark and rough - and familiar. Adam felt his heartbeat quicken slightly as he took a few steps around the edge of the sofa in the middle of the room. A moment later, Calvin’s head poked around the corner.
“Dinner,” he said. He raised an eyebrow and looked around. “Who are you talking to?” Adam hesitated, his voice catching in his throat. He turned to look at the Blackbird for some response, but the man was staring straight ahead, unblinking.
“Are you surprised?” the Overseer said. “You can’t hide from me, Adam Ivanov.” He tapped a finger on the side of his head. “There was a time once when I too desired certain comforts.
Pleasures of the flesh, as you know. The girl Alison has had her usefulness there, but I will admit I find your tastes far more fulfilling than my own.” Adam turned back to Calvin, who was no longer moving. The world had grown very still. From his position in the living room, quietly shaking and unable to control his heart, Adam saw a silver band on one of Calvin’s fingers. He felt blood rush into his face.
“There are struggles here,” the Blackbird said, walking back over towards a shimmering purple door in the back of the room. “You will experience hardships, just like everyone does. But it is an opportunity, and it is normal. It is a life that you can live free of fear. A life that is your own, not somebody else’s.” Then Calvin was walking over towards him, and he was unable to move. Calvin’s face was stoic, but his eyes betrayed his concern. He reached out and put a hand on the back of Adam’s head. It was warm.
— - — Olivia stepped through the door and was abruptly hit in the face with a blast of salty water. She stumbled sideways and opened her eyes, and realized she’d very nearly walked into the sea off the edge of the ship she was now standing on. Ship was perhaps not the right term - the vessel she had appeared on was a yacht. Overhead the skies were blue and cloudless, and the seas around her were generally calm.
She walked towards the center of the deck, where an easel was set up and a rack of different art supplies sat next to it. She moved to stand in front of it and saw it was a painting, half completed, of the horizon in front of her. In the painting the sun was hanging low in the sky.
She leaned in and saw the sun in the painting was moving, slowly sinking below the horizon. As it did, the completed half of the image grew dark, and its sky filled with purples and blues.
She stepped back, and noticed the Blackbird standing nearby, casually gazing off the side of the ship towards a beach nearby.
“Where is this?” she asked.
“Wherever you want it to be, I believe,” he said, idly drumming his fingers on the rail of the ship.
“In this world, this ship is yours. That easel and those paints are yours. You have nothing to worry about except the easel, and the sea. All the time you need.” Olivia snorted. “You think I’d be convinced with a nice boat and some new paints?” The Blackbird looked back at her and smiled. “No, I really didn’t.” She heard another sound from behind her - somebody climbing steps. She turned around to find a man emerging from below deck. He had dark, rich skin and long hair in thick braids. He was wearing white shorts and little else, and the definition in his musculature could have cut diamond. When she saw him, Olivia gasped.
“Tevin,” she said, her voice catching. “I don’t- I don’t understand, how?” The world froze. The Blackbird walked up behind her and beheld the man for a moment.
“I had wondered about you, Olivia. For all your passion you never seemed to show any kind of true emotion. Nothing raw or real.” She looked at him and he grinned. “Yes, I’ve been watching you for a long time. I saw this coming, more or less, and long ago decided to keep tabs on those of you who might be involved.” He gestured at the man coming up the stairs. “This, though, surprised me. I was really amazed at how well you kept it hidden, even from the people who knew you best. But what would the Incredible Ivory be without her Excellent Ebony, eh?” He laughed. “I get now why the name wouldn’t stick. That’s ok, I’ve had my fair share as well.” The Blackbird turned back towards the sea. “In this world, the boat and the paints are yours, and so is Tevin Laredo. There is no Foundation raid on your anartist community, and you don’t accidentally turn him into glass while drawing up that wave of fire to dissuade your pursuers.” He glanced at her as her face turned white. “Yes, even that. The All-Seeing Eye of the Foundation doesn’t miss much, and it certainly didn’t miss that. I imagine it must have been horrible, really. I understand your pain - I too have made terrible choices with unintended outcomes that I have had to live with.” He sat down in a deck chair and produced a glass from inside his coat, filling it with a flask also from inside his coat. He took a drink and sighed, leaning back in the chair.
“In this world, Olivia, you don’t have to make that terrible choice. There is no accident. You and he get to stay on this ship and go where you want to go, and see everything you want to see.
There is no limit to your horizons here.” Olivia tried to turn away, but tears were already streaming down her face. The Blackbird took another drink.
“Wouldn’t that be nicer?” — - — Calvin stepped out into a grassy field in the middle of the woods. The air was crisp and a thin layer of dew sparkled across the grass in the light of a rising sun. He took a few steps and gauged his surroundings, then sighed. He knew where he was.
The Blackbird appeared beside him, looking down the small slow of a hill they stood on towards a small lake set on the edge of the woods. For a moment, they didn’t speak.
“This is a strange choice,” Calvin finally said.
The Blackbird looked sideways at him. “What makes you say that?” Calvin shrugged. “I’ve been here before. I know how it goes.” The Blackbird tutted. “Now, that’s not true. You know how it goes from a single perspective, the one you had that day in the woods-” Calvin raised an eyebrow.
“-but this world, this is the one you always wanted. The one where you have a chance to save your mother.” They watched as a young Calvin and his mother came into view through the trees. As they came across the side of the lake, a body appeared in the water, floating up from some dark depth below. Then another, and another, and suddenly there were hundred of bodies coating the surface of the water like a slime. As they appeared, Calvin’s mother stopped and turned, and she began walking towards the lake. Young Calvin stood unmoving behind her.
“You had all this time,” the Blackbird continued, “all this time to run down and stop her. But you didn’t, because you were a boy and you were scared. Now, though, you have all the time in the-” He stopped. Staring back at the two of them, right into Calvin’s eyes, was young Calvin. There was a look of knowing there that he recognized as his own, a look of understanding about what had come before and what would happen next. The young man looked back at his mother, and then back at the treeline. Standing there, amidst the brush and the limbs, was a cloaked figure holding a silver canister. Calvin began walking towards them.
The Blackbird recoiled at the sight. “You!?” his voice cracked and Calvin could hear something unnatural beneath his tone. “You did this?” Calvin reached the figure and took the canister. The figure held a single finger up to their lips.
“This is not what you think it is,” the figure said. “Take it and see.” Calvin opened the canister and dumped the contents out into his hand. It was a pair of wire- framed glasses, with thin golden runes marked along its edges. Near the back of one of the earpieces was a name, inlaid in black. A. Shaw. Calvin held them up and they glittered in the light of the rising sun.
“What are you doing?!” the Blackbird cried from across the meadow. “All of our endeavours laid to waste, and nothing but panic and uselessness from all of you. At least I was trying to fix the problem. I was trying to help. I wanted to make them happy, even if this one can’t be satisfied.” Calvin paused. “You showed me this place, didn’t you? I imagine you showed the other two something similar. What - their ideal world, or something?” He considered this. “If this is my ideal world, then why wouldn’t it make me happy?” The Blackbird sank his thumb into the bridge of his nose. “Because those two want things that can be achieved reasonably. You, on the other hand, are a violent demagogue appealing to their baser instincts. They’ve both experienced hardships - because all people experience hardships. You and your ilk just pointed the finger at the Foundation and gave them an outlet for their hate. I was trying to offer them something better. But all you want is to kill, and all because of this moment, right here.” He gestured towards the water. “Do you see that? Your own mother, walking off to meet a terrible fate. Your entire life would change, made infinitely better by your non-involvement in these affairs. You have the choice, and you’re still choosing violence. What does that make you?” Calvin looked back down at the glasses, and after a moment he put them on.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Let’s see about you.” When he looked back up through the slightly blue-tinted lenses, the meadow and the lake and the woods were still there. However, instead of the Blackbird there now stood a towering monstrosity, some horrific psuedo-avian creature with dead eyes and fetid, rotting flesh. He could see through its thin, matted feathers to within, where a swirling mass of faces howled and cursed, each pressed up against the sides of their container as if it was near to burst.
When the creature opened its foul beak to speak, he could hear the Blackbird’s voice echoed over infinitely many incarnations of itself, a sinister cacophony of misery and pain.
“I offered you a life,” the creature said. “I offered you freedom. I offered you your mother.” Calvin shook his head. “No. That’s not my mother.” He looked down at young Calvin, who was watching him closely. “She’s his. My mother died a long time ago, because of abominations just like you.” “You’re a fool,” the Blackbird cawed. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have to make you happy - you’re already here, and I don’t have to stay.” The sky began to turn purple again, and Calvin smelled ozone. From behind him, the figure lay a hand on his shoulder.
“Turn the canister over again,” it said. “Quickly.” Calvin did, and sliding out from within it was a long fiberglass fishing rod. It was bright pink, with the words “Dr. Wondertainment’s Interdimensional Line and Lure” emblazoned on the side.
Behind it was something else, and at the sight of it Calvin grinned. It was plain white wiffle-ball bat with a taped handle and the words “bird-b-gone by dado” written on it in black marker.
He took the rod in one hand and, rearing back, cast it out towards the Blackbird. Out from its end came a brilliant white shimmering line that arced across the meadow and sank into the Blackbird’s flesh. The line went taught, and Calvin gave one last look to the boy standing by the lake before the world turned purple and they disappeared.
When he opened his eyes, Calvin was standing on the deck of a wrecked and ruined ship. A cavernous hole had opened in the middle of it, and peering below he could see no visible bottom. A moment later, the Blackbird fell from the sky behind him and crashed onto the ship with a wet crunching sound.
“Wha-” the creature said, fumbling up onto its wings and talons, “what is this? Where are we?
This isn’t where we were supposed to-” It was stopped suddenly by the sound of a cash register as Calvin swung the wiffle-ball bat sideway and struck the Blackbird in its mottled face. The impact point erupted in feathers and the creature howled and roared. It turned to bite at the fishing line that was now stuck in its back, but before it could reach it Calvin had come around again with the bat, each time causing the Blackbird to burst with feathers and gore and the sound of cash registers.
The Blackbird spread its wings and took off, and Calvin held tightly to the end of the line as he was pulled up into a purple sky. When the haze cleared they were in a building - a Foundation site, it seemed - surrounded by chaos. Klaxons were blaring and the red lights of breach alarms pulsed rapidly in the giant antechamber they were standing in. A great many white-coated persons were scrambling out of a hallway where, behind them, there came a roaring sound.
The Blackbird stared in the direction of the sound, and then its eyes grew suddenly very wide.
“Oh fuck me,” it said.
Bursting out of the hallway came the reptilian monstrosity they had seen in Adam’s village, only smaller and covered in razor sharp blades. It was different, Calvin noticed, but the eyes gave it away. The creatures roared and hissed, and when it turned he could see a man standing on its back, screaming and laughing.
As the Blackbird hesitated, Calvin crossed the room and struck it again with the bat, and then again, and then several times in quick succession. Each time, more and more feathers burst from its hide and the swirling mass of souls within it shouted and recoiled. As the reptilian creature came towards them, rows of teeth clashing together, the Blackbird beat its wings backwards pulling both of them away into the ether.
Calvin crashed into the dirt, and not far away he heard the Blackbird do the same. When he stood up he saw that they were standing in what might have once been a field of grass, but the vegetation had long since died off. In fact, he realized with some morbid amazement, it didn’t seem like there was anything alive at all except for the two of them. The sky was overcast and there was a storm rolling by a distance away, but they heard no birds, no insects, and nothing man-made.
He was distracted momentarily when a drone buzzed by overhead, its motor the only sound to pierce the silence except for a light wind. When he turned back the Blackbird was upon him, beak pecking feverishly down at where he had been standing. He scrambled sideways and pulled himself steady on the fishing line, then brought the bat around with him and beat the Blackbird in the side of the beak with it. The beak cracked and splintered and the monster howled, but it pressed on - each time growing closer and closer to Calvin.
Then there was a flash of light on the horizon. They both stopped to look, and in the far north a towering mushroom cloud was forming, a fireball that stretched into the heavens. They watched it rise and rise, and then saw with horror an approaching wall of heat and death. The Blackbird took two steps and then leapt into the sky, and they were gone again.
They did not land immediately. As Calvin clung to the rod for dear life, he saw images of places as they passed. He saw a dark facility where three girls watched them with blind eyes as he came in and out of their existence. He saw a sky with seven moons and an arched golden gateway. He saw a Foundation site covered in snow - not one he was familiar with - with a multitude of doctors pouring out of it. He heard a piercing screech, then a blast of blue light, and then the site was gone.
Each vision he passed, he began to notice faces. They were faint at first, growing more clear every time he came by another world. They were closer to him, more in focus. They were a girl - always slightly different, but the same girl each time. They watched him intently, each one looking as if they were about to speak. Then, one of them was holding up a hand with five fingers. The next had four. Then three. Two. One.
The last girl held out her hand, and Calvin reached for it. They touched, and then immediately the swirling purple haze subsided and they crashed into a hard concrete floor.
The first thing Calvin noticed was pressure. Something nearby was exerting a lot of it, and he felt a considerable effort to even breathe. As he stood up and looked around, he noticed the source: a massive, immensely complicated machine comprised of several concentric rings, within which was a dark, swirling mass of dust and debris. He looked up and saw that they were in the bottom of shaft he could not see the top of. The walls were lined with machines and panels, hoses and brackets, banks of lights that extended upwards to those dizzying heights.
And then he saw the Blackbird, rising up from a heap in front of the machine in the middle of the chamber, stretching its wings and screaming furiously. Its eyes came back down and settled on the only other person in the room, a thin girl with dark hair wearing a silver circlet etched with a small black crown around her head. She took one nervous step back as the creature hissed at her.
“Alison?” it asked, rage burning in its sockets. “What are you doing? Why are you here?” “I’ve had enough, Mort,” she yelled, barely audible over the din of the machine in front of them.
“This isn’t right. None of this is right.” The Blackbird growled and roared. “What do you mean, ‘isn’t right’? How do you all not understand this? I can offer you anything you want. A life worth living, a death worth dying, and anything in between. You could be a god, Alison.” She shook her head. “No. No, it’s not natural. I can’t keep doing this.” The Blackbird reared up in front of her. “Natural? Death is natural. Misery is natural. What I offer is an escape - an existence that isn’t a horror. What else could you possibly want?” She didn’t respond. The massive creature cawed loudly and beat its wings down at her.
“I’m sorry Alison,” it said, its tone now cold and flat, “but I’m afraid you no longer have a choice.
I am the Black King. You can do nothing to stop me.” “No,” she said, her hand falling back to a panel near her. “But he can.” She turned a key and pulled a thick black handle and the lights around the room turned red and began to strobe in unison. Behind the Blackbird the massive machine began to unfold, the rings pulling backwards and exposing the room to the massive pressure within. The Blackbird steadied itself and laughed.
“Really, Alison? Have you not learned anything? There are infinitely many of me in here - killing any one of me will do nothing.” Calvin came up beside her, bat in hand. He tapped it twice against his shoe.
“Not infinite,” he said. “Not quite.” With a running start, Calvin crossed the room and took aim at the Blackbird’s center, striking it dead even with a solid, resounding crack. The creature heaved and creaked, and stumbled backwards into the swirling cloud of dust. It grabbed the edges of the machine with its talons and gripped, causing the metal to bend and twist. The ground beneath them began to shake and buckle, and the steel walls of the shaft began to groan.
Then, with a soft rush of air, the cloud of dust vanished. In its place was a humanoid figure, solid black and unmoving. The air around it distorted heavily, and in the place of the cloud of dust was a red glow. The sound of creaking metal and groaning earth faded, and the figure inside the machine looked up. Alison grabbed Calvin’s arm and pulled him behind a raised platform.
The room began to vibrate, and through the sound Calvin could hear something like a voice, tinny and metallic, echoing through the air around them.
“Overseer…” the voice said, “you are… an Overseer?” “Yes!” the Blackbird screeched. “Release me!” The figure unfolded itself and was now hanging in the air, standing straight up.
“Crimes… immeasurable crimes.” “What crime?” the Blackbird cried. “The only thing I’ve done is offer an escape! A way out!” The figure extended an open hand.
“No,” it said, “this is the only way out.” It closed its hand, and the Blackbird seized. There was another rush of air, and Calvin could feel the breath being pulled from his chest. He leaned around the platform just in time to see the Blackbird pulled into a single superheated point and sizzle out of existence. The room began to shake violently, and Alison reached up and hit the handle on the platform. The lights began to flash again, and the machine started spooling up. A few moments later, as they sat huddled behind the platform, the air settled and the roar subsided.
Calvin took a deep breath and coughed. “What… what was that?” The girl called Alison stood up gingerly. She held out a hand to Calvin and he did the same.
“That being is one of near unparalleled power,” she said, he hand rubbing a spot on her neck.
“It took me a long time to find it, but I had been searching for it for years. This is the only reality where this being exists, so you had to come here.” She cracked her neck. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience.” Calvin nodded slowly. “Who are you?” She smiled. “My name is Alison. The Foundation has a different name for me, for all of us, but that’s neither here nor there. We caught wind of what you were doing and realized this was our chance to undo the damage he had done.” Calvin cocked his head to the side. “Damage?” She rubbed her wrist. “When the Blackbird found us we thought we had a sort of kinship with him. He-” she hesitated. “I don’t think he was evil, but there were so many Mortimers in there that it’s hard to say who you’d be talking to at any given time. He could see injustice, I think, but aside from his own power to escape it he didn’t ever seem to care enough to do anything about it. I think he enjoyed his own existence too much.” Calvin nodded and then looked back to the humming machine. “I don’t know how to get back.” Alison gestured at the fishing rod laying on the ground. “If you cast that out, another Black Queen will catch it and pull you in.” He frowned. “You mentioned the Foundation. Does it exist in this world? Do you know anything about the Overseers?” She laughed. “It did. They did too, a long time ago. But this-” she gestured towards the machine, “-this killed everybody a long time ago. There’s nobody left here, now. Just me, and just to make sure this machine keeps running.” Calvin nodded and picked up the rod. He turned away from her and then stopped.
“Do you know what he showed them?” he asked. “The two other people I was with?” Alison grimaced. “I do.” “What was it?” She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that - just that taking them from where they are right now would be a cruelty you’d be doing to them.” Calvin didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled the rod back and cast it into the sky. It caught somewhere up above him, and the world went purple.
— - — They stood on the tarmac of a small airport as a plane taxied up to them. When it stopped and the stairs descended, Sylvester Sloan emerged from within.
He eyed them over carefully. Finishing his assessment, he loudly harrumphed.
“You three look like shit,” he said.
He was right. Adam stood uncomfortably apart from the other two, his eyes glassy and downcast and his shoulders hunched slightly. He shivered even despite the warm winds blowing out of the badlands behind them. Olivia was white as a sheet - the skin around her eyes tight and her breathing shallow. Calvin stood in front of them, his hands bandaged and several large bruises forming over his neck and face. The broken fishing rod was clutched in his hand; Olivia’s eyes would occasionally flash over towards it, and her breathing would become shallow again.
Calvin nodded curtly. Sloan frowned, and without another word ushered the three of them onto the plane. Moments later, they were away.
ELSEWHERE — - — Aaron Siegel stood in an elevator, quickly and quietly descending down a long shaft towards a complex aperture suspended over a shallow pool of red fluid. The elevator came to a halt, and he stepped out onto the platform in front of him. He glanced down at the figures lying in the pool, and then crossed over to a control panel.
He entered a command into the panel, and below him the red liquid began to drain away. The four figures, still obscured by darkness, were lifted up from the pool by long metal arms that whirred quietly as they worked. They carried metallic plates, long lengths of wire and tubing, and racks of ammunition over to the figures, across whom glowing lines of superheated metal appeared as they squirmed silently. Aaron watched the entire process until it was finished, and the four figures were lifted up to the platform and deposited.
“Can you hear me?” Aaron said.
The foremost figure, a bald humanoid male in flexible armor, nodded. “We do.” “There are three agents of the Insurgency who had gotten their hands on powerful and valuable artifacts,” Aaron said quickly. “They have already killed seven of the other Overseers.
Myself, the Nazarene, and the Kid are protected. The Ambassador has gone missing, and will likely be their next target.” He typed something into the control panel. “These are his last known coordinates.” “What is the mission?” another figure asked. This one was short and lean - clearly feminine, with cropped hair.
“Find these three,” Aaron said, “if you can, bring them to me. If they resist, kill them. They are carrying two very valuable artifacts - a journal and a spear. Bring me the artifacts.” He turned over his shoulder. Behind him was a screen - black, with a dark grey circle and three arrows spinning slowly around a single red, glowing point. When Aaron acknowledged it, the red spot began glowing brighter.
“Show them,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Show them where he’s at. Find him.” The red spot blinked twice and disappeared. He turned back to the humanoids in front of him.
“Go now Irantu, Munru, Nanku, Onru,” he said. “Find the Insurgents. Bring me the artifacts. Be my Red Right Hand.” - BACK - Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 THEN — - — Arians stood in the doorway, slowly pulling on a cigarette. Aaron was sitting at a table a few feet away, flipping through a report they had received the day before. Outside the window of their makeshift command center in Guadalajara a parade danced through the street, slowly working its way towards the center of town. The window was left open for the faint breeze, but it hadn’t helped.
Arians took another drag, letting the smoke fall out of his nostrils as he exhaled. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I don’t know what you were expecting. Didn’t this confirm everything else we’ve heard so far?” Aaron shook his head. “Yes, yes, it did, but I don’t understand it. They mobilized an army to La Paz - how is that possible?” He flipped the report over, looking for loose pages. “What we did in San Marco should have ruined them, Vince. Who was left afterwards?” “Plenty of people were left - what do you mean?” Aaron threw him a look. “I mean, who was left in command positions? Who knew how to- did any of them even know how to get into Site-01?” He tossed the report onto the couch behind him. “We didn’t leave the door unlocked, did we? Who was left?” Arians shrugged. “Ansel Shaw, maybe. Last we heard he was operating out of that site in Michigan, but it could’ve been him. He wouldn’t know how to get into the secure site, though.” He paused, considering. “Skitter Marshall? Where was his team assigned?” Aaron rubbed his eyes. “No, no, it wasn’t Marshall. He defected too - just not with us.” They sat in silence for a moment longer, only the sound of the parade moving into the distance breaking the quiet between them. Then, without warning, the door to the room opened. Arians was at it in an instant, gun drawn. Aaron didn’t move, but stared unbelievingly at the figure inside the doorframe.
“Sophia?” he asked incredulously.
Sophia Light stepped through the door, slowly pulling a hood down off her face. Her hair was shorter than when they had last seen each other, but her eyes were the same unmistakeable green. Aaron felt something catch in his chest - something he hadn’t felt in years. Longing.
“No,” Arians growled, “a Foundation spy.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “Put the gun down, you idiot. I’m not here to kill you.” She rolled up the sleeves of her gloves, revealing holes in both of her wrists that had long since scarred over, but not closed. She had no hidden weapons. “There, satisfied?” “What are you doing here?” Aaron asked.
She pulled the coat off and set it on the single bed in the room. “You sent a message to Edward Bishop,” she said, looking at Aaron. “O5-13. All the same melodramatic prose as ever, I knew it was you. He added it to the file we have in place for the-” she paused, “the Children. See, Edward still believes the lie we’ve been telling everyone.” “And what’s what?” Arians asked.
“That he, or any of us, are still in control.” She sat down across from them and lit a cigarette of her own. Aaron could feel his heart crashing against his chest. “Your Defection really did a number on us, boys. Scattered, leaderless, all of our best and brightest killed or gone into hiding. We threw together a hodgepodge of doctors and called them “Overseers”, but none of them are actually running the show.” She paused. “Not even me.” Aaron frowned. “Then who is?” “We don’t know,” she continued. “For years, the Overseers have been running the individual sites by themselves, but orders keep coming down from Site-01. Somebody is in there. For a long time we thought it was you,” she looked at Aaron, and her gaze softened slightly, “but after a while we realized it had to be something else entirely.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I know you went back. I was following you. You saw exactly what I saw when I went back - a man-shaped absence where Frederick-” hearing her say his name made Aaron wince “-used to be. Smoke on a wall, and nothing else.” She took another draw on the cigarette. “So if you’re not in there, and he’s not in there, then who is calling the shots?” Arians finally lowered his gun. “Why are you here?” She glared at him. “Because the other day we found something that shouldn’t have been possible. Site-19, the facility we built when we scrapped the plans for the Alaska site, there was a door there we hadn’t seen before. There was a whole new wing behind it, something that couldn’t have been built without us knowing.” She swallowed hard. “In that wing is a room with a statue in it. We didn’t put it there. We have no records of it being put there. We checked the file, and it just says that it was “moved there”. There wasn’t a file before. The date on that file changes every year - and that statue is one of the most horrible things I’ve ever seen.” She stood up. “I’m here because something is happening at Site-01 that is changing the Foundation. New facilities are being built every day, more and more doctors and researchers are being recruited that we know nothing about. You saw what happened in La Paz?” They both nodded. “Those orders didn’t come from any of the Overseers. They came from Site-01.
Somebody in there is making calls and the Foundation is following orders.” She paused. “I don’t agree with what you did, and I think the Foundation has more to offer than you give it credit for, but what’s happening here needs to be stopped. We need to know what’s going on in there, before it’s too late.” “Then why not just go?” Arians grunted at her.
She looked at him for a second, and then away to the ground. “I don’t want to go alone.” Aaron and Arians exchanged glances. “If we find something in there,” Aaron said, slowly, “we’re going to kill it. You understand? The Foundation can’t be allowed to continue like this.
Sophia - the damage it’s doing is- is more than we can keep up with. We’ve been looking at the numbers again, the ones we uh-” he laughed nervously, “-the ones we borrowed from Dr.
Shaw, and his figures match our own. The Foundation is destabilizing our reality, Sophia.
Williams was right about the threads, but they’re being damaged. We have to do something to stop this.” He met her gaze as she looked back up at him. “I know we’re scientists, but this… this is a box we never should have opened.” She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped and sighed. She nodded. “Fine. Get me in there and you can do whatever you feel like you need to do.” Arians nodded. "I'll go radio headquarters. We'll need some kind of distraction to keep them off our backs while we take Site-01." He put out his cigarette on the wall and left the room, closing the door behind him. Sophia watched him leave, and once he was gone turned her eyes back to her hands. Aaron didn't move.
"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," he said softly.
She smiled an uncertain half-smile, her eyes betraying her. "Well, yes. I wasn't sure either." She looked up at him, and Aaron could see that great sadness behind the facade of content. "It's difficult, you know. I lost everything that night: my friends, my mentor, my life's work. And you." She bit her lip until it was white. "I didn't know where to go. You left me and I was alone to pick up the pieces of what we had, and-" Her voice trembled. "I don't want to know why you killed Frederick. I don't care. Maybe you knew something you didn't tell anyone but I don't know why you didn't tell me." Aaron's face went pale. "I did want to tell you. I was preparing for- for what we were planning, and I told Vince to let everyone know." He leaned forward. "He didn't tell you?" She grimaced. "No. He didn't. But neither did you. You had every opportunity to reach out to me, you knew all the channels, but you did nothing. It's been thirty years, Aaron. Thirty years and I hear nothing, not even word that you're still alive." A tear formed at the corner of her eye, and with the back of a glove she wiped it away. "When I saw you and Vince in San Marco, I thought I was seeing a ghost." "I'm sorry," Aaron said softly. "I thought you had rejected the offer, that-" "I would have rejected the offer," she said, her voice congealing into something venomous. "I dedicated my life to the Foundation and that project and you were all too willing to throw it away. Everything we'd worked for. All of our efforts." Aaron slumped back in his seat. "Williams was-" "I know what he was," she spat, "but he could have been dealt with. When you killed him and broke off to go gallivanting around the country shooting up convoys and stealing from warehouses, you threatened all of the work we had done. Do you remember why we did it? Do you even care? Our world is sick, and if we can't find the source of it then we're going to keep seeing-" "The world was sick because of Williams," Aaron said pointedly, "he was the source, he was-" "But here we are, thirty years removed from Frederick Williams' life, and you know what's happening out there?" She paused to light another cigarette. "More unexplained events every day. More artifacts and monsters we pull out of the ground, every day. Why, if the Administrator was the source of the anomalies, are we still seeing anomalies, Aaron?" Aaron didn't answer. She sighed and sat back further on the bed, pulling her legs up to her chest. "I might have believed you back then," she said quietly. "I might have listened, but I have seen nothing in the last few decades that would lead me to believe that one man was the advent of every paranormal event in that time. There's something deeper out there, and it's not going to be stopped by killing a man. It's going to be stopped by research and investigation, and the only group with the resources to make that happen right now is the Foundation." Aaron didn't respond. He sat, eyes downcast, as Sophia finished her cigarette.
"I'm not going to stop you from doing whatever you think you need to do," she said, her voice empty. "But before you do anything, you need to think about what it is you actually want." She looked back towards the door. "And if it's what he wants, too." NOW — - — They drove overnight, Olivia and Calvin taking turns at the wheel while Adam slept in the back seat. They didn’t say a word until they reached their destination - a small inn in a tiny town on the edge of the jungle, a few miles from the main road. They pulled off and parked at a petrol station and Calvin went inside the inn to meet their contact. It was morning, the sun had not quite risen, and they were exhausted.
The agent they had met in the burning city had given them not just a map, but a key and a notecard with a room number on it. Calvin entered and climbed the stairs to the second level and found the door that matched the card. Quietly, as to not disturb anyone else who might be listening for him, he unlocked the door and crept inside.
A thin stream of light from a streetlamp outside had eased its way between the thin blinds on the window, but otherwise the room was dark. Calvin closed the door behind him and took a few tentative steps into the room. He paused mid-step when he heard the distinctive click of a readied firearm.
“Does the Black Moon howl?” the voice behind the gun said.
“It is the only thing that howls,” Calvin replied.
A small desk light clicked on next to a cot against the wall. Sitting in the chair was Kowalski, gun in hand, a thin bead of sweat having very recently eagerly formed on his forehead. He sighed when he realized it was Calvin.
“Thank God,” he said, wiping his brow. “I don’t know if I could shoot someone if I had to.
Targets, sure, but a person?” He grimaced. “It’s good to see you, Calvin.” Calvin did a double take. “Kowalski? What are you of all people doing here right now? Was there nobody else you could send?” The portly man frowned. “You know, I was an agent once too. It may have been a few years but I could still probably get the job done.” He pulled at his shirt slightly and uncomfortably, aware that they both knew that was a lie. “But no, I’m here because there’s something you need to know. Our sources have indicated that American troops are landing on a beach near where you just came from. Ostensibly they’re here to quell the rebellion, but the numbers don’t seem to match their intentions.” Something clicked in Calvin’s brain. “The jets. We saw bombers last night.” Kowalski nodded. “They were coming from the Gerald R. Ford, who is anchored a mile off- shore. Something else you should know,” he continued, “is that there’s another ship in that group that doesn’t match any other US Navy ship on record. It’s flying an American flag but our sources believe it might be a Foundation destroyer - maybe the Scranton or the Wormwood.
Either way, that probably means only one thing.” Calvin nodded. “The Sixth Overseer.” Kowalski nodded as well. “They’re going to try and smoke you out, Calvin. We can get you out of here if you want to get out, but…” he grimaced again.
Calvin knew why. The American was maybe the most well-known of the Overseers but arguably the hardest to get near. His involvement within the US military had no doubt led to its explosion in size and technological achievement over time, and in return the military acted like a steel curtain around him. Away from the United States he was at least vulnerable, even if he had brought an army with him. It was their only opportunity.
“What you’ve done so far has been nothing short of incredible, Calvin,” Kowalski said, leaning back in his chair. “I never would have though- we never would have thought anyone would get this close, but this one is different. There’s nothing clever you can do here. This is a hammer, and you are the nail.” Calvin frowned. “Appreciate the vote of confidence.” “I’m serious,” Kowalski said, and suddenly Calvin noticed something different about him - some quality that hadn’t been there before. Something stern and authoritative. “You’ve done amazing work but you need to keep doing amazing work. We might get a shot at this one later, after you’ve finished the others. Maybe that will help. But right now, you’re three people in a jeep in southeast Asia, and you have an American military division a few hours away.” He sighed.
“You’re no good to us dead.” Calvin hesitated for a moment, considering what Kowalski had just said. Before he could make up his mind, the other man continued.
“There’s one more thing, Calvin. We have agents who have evidence of a secure container being moved out of Site-19 and onto that ship. Whatever is in there, they’re no doubt planning on weaponizing it.” “If you were me, what would you do?” Calvin said.
Kowalski laughed. “Fortunately for both of us, I’m not you, because I wouldn’t be here right now.” He paused. “Here’s the way I see it. You’ve got no chance in a head-to-head anything.
You’re outnumbered 3000-to-1, and that’s generous. Honestly, I don’t know if you’ve got a chance being sneaky, either. This army has spent the last four decades rooting people out of holes in the Middle East, there’s not a chance you wouldn’t be found.” He paused again. “You know, I met O5-6 once, back before I joined Delta, at a government function. I don’t know if he knew who I was, but if he did he didn’t act it. I don’t know if there’s a more arrogant and braggadocious person in the entire world. The way he talks, he was the man who singlehandedly built the most powerful military in the entire world.” He laughed. “Maybe he did, I don’t know. I don’t think you win here by being smart, Calvin. I think you win by forcing him to do something stupid.” Calvin nodded. “Maybe. Either way, I don’t see a way we can leave. We’re not going to get the shot again, and everything we do after this becomes that much harder if we don’t eliminate him.” Kowalski stood up. “I agree. I don’t envy the position you’re in, but I don’t know of anyone more qualified than you to be in it.” The two of them walked for the door, with Calvin opening it slowly. After catching a look from Kowalski, he shrugged sheepishly. “Don’t want to wake anyone up.” Kowalski laughed. “Oh, no, you won’t. This whole town is empty. They caught wind of what was coming and abandoned their homes last night.” As they stepped outside the inn, the sun was just beginning to come up over the top of the trees, and a thin fog hung in the air. Adam was awake, sitting in the back seat of the jeep and running his hand over the metal canister that the Spear was in. When Olivia came around the car and saw them, she did an abrupt double take.
“Delta?” she said. “What are you doing here?” “Delivering bad news, I’m afraid.” Kowalski looked back at Calvin, his eyes morose. “Do be careful, Calvin. You’re so close now.” Without another word, Kowalski turned and began walking down the dirt road. He continued on until he was out of sight. Olivia turned to Calvin. “What did he mean?” Calvin grimaced. “The Sixth Overseer is sometimes called The American. He’s an old Union general, one of those ghosts from long ago that just refuses to die. He’s also really easy to find - he’s got an office in the Pentagon.” “So what’s the bad news?” “The bad news is that he’s nearby, not far from here.” Olivia shrugged. “That doesn’t sound bad. We don’t have far to go.” Calvin gestured with uncertainty. “Not quite. Kowalski says he brought an American army with him. They landed on the beach back in the city and chances are they’re moving inland looking for us.” Adam was listening now. “How many is in an army?” Calvin considered. “About ten-thousand men in a division. They’ll have naval and air support, too. The jets we saw last night were probably US planes.” He crouched down, looking at a rock next to his shoe. “I’m all ears if either of you have any ideas.” “What did the Delta say?” Adam asked.
Calvin snorted. “That he’s an asshole. Shocking, I know, for a guy who doesn’t go anywhere without an invading force behind him.” He sighed. “Either way, we need to put some room between us and them. The way I see it, if we can head further north we might find a spot we can post up on for the night and see what they do next.” They agreed, and together the three of them loaded into the jeep and followed the winding dirt road towards the hills in the north. For a while they could still see smoke rising in the far distance over the trees, but as clouds gathered above them and the rains began to fall the world behind them faded into the same shade of mottled grey. The road quickly morphed from something traversable to a muddy, impossible bog. They drove for hours, stopping only once to refuel from a nearly empty tank at an abandoned roadside shop. Day turned to night, and eventually the road turned into a gravel path leading up into the mountains.
They reached a short outcropping from which they could see for several miles over the trees, and backed the jeep into a small grove of trees. Sufficiently satisfied that it was not visible from the road below, they retreated below a rocky overhang to stay out of the rain. Calvin posted up for first watch, and the three of them traded shifts throughout the night.
— - — Dawn broke on Olivia’s watch and the three of them collectively broke their meager camp. The rain had subsided but only just, and the skies were still cloudy and grey. While Calvin finished packing, Adam stood on the edge of the cliff, quietly fuming at the sky.
“Something up there piss you off?” Olivia asked, passing by him with a rolled bedding pad under her arm.
Adam shook his head. “I hate cloudy weather. This is bullshit.” He stared at the clouds a little longer, and then slunk off to his computer in the back of the jeep. Olivia shot Calvin a look, and Calvin rolled his eyes.
In the distance they heard a crack, and then another. There began a rumbling somewhere in the jungle, and from their perch they could see trees collapsing and the smoke of engines as something began to push through the trees. Calvin swore, and then looked into the sky.
Dipping just beneath the clouds was a flying thing, white and metallic, that disappeared back into the overcast as quickly as it had appeared. A drone.
“Alright, well, time to go,” he said, leaping into the jeep. “Looks like the party found us.” They came skipping down off the outcropping and back onto the soaked and sloppy road towards the north. As they pulled away, a hulking metal shape came through the trees a half mile away and leveled a long cannon at them. Calvin jerked the wheel right and into the brush as a shell burned past, throwing up mud and debris as it exploded in the road. Calvin righted the wheel and caught another path towards the west, and they continued on.
Over the sound of the jungle and their own engine, the noise of the war machine behind them grew louder and louder. Overhead they could hear helicopters and jets, and in the near distance the sound of more tanks and heavy equipment leveling the forest as they pursued the group. Eventually the trees thinned out and their jeep broke into open grassland.
“Fuck me,” Calvin said, craning his neck to watch the skies behind them, “we’re exposed.” The sound of blades came fast and loud, and six helicopters were suddenly on them. Calvin pushed the jeep around another hill and into a dusty narrow valley. One of the helicopters came into view above them, and began to fire. Calvin hugged the jeep up against a rocky wall, and Olivia came up from the back seat with a scoped rifle. She braced it against the metal frame of the vehicle and put her eye into the sight.
“Cut it,” she shouted at Calvin, who laid on the brake until they came to a complete stop. The helicopter turned to come around at them again, but broke hard to the left as Olivia swiftly lobotomized the pilot with a bullet. Adam stared at her, perplexed.
“Aren’t you an artist?” he asked.
Olivia shrugged and reloaded. “I was. I’ve been doing this longer.” Calvin crept towards the edge of the valley and cut through a small passage between two steep cliffs. Another helicopter came into sight as they crested one of them, and Olivia took a shot. The bullet missed the pilot but hit a rotor, causing the craft to sink violently and out of sight. Calvin made another turn, and then one more over a ridge, and then they were out from under the mountain. In front of them was a road winding up into the craggy land past the fields.
It pushed through the grassland and then, not far from where they were now, straight into the badlands. Calvin took his foot off the accelerator and they coasted to a stop.
“Ah, shit,” Olivia swore.
Sitting between them and the badlands were military vehicles, hundreds of them, each trained on their jeep sitting on the hill. Above them helicopters circled, and Calvin could make out the shapes of drones just above the cloud layer. Somewhere in the mass of tanks and assault vehicles a horn blared, and the door of a personnel carrier slid open. A man climbed out and closed the door behind him.
He was tall, with broad shoulders and a hearty beard and mustache beneath a wide brimmed hat. He was wearing a brown jacket over a red shirt with jeans, and on his feet were tall, glossy, oiled boots. He stepped forward from the line of guns and waved at them, motioning them to drive down the hill.
“Is that him?” Adam asked, his eyes poking out from behind the back seat.
Calvin nodded. “Sure looks like it.” Olivia peered down at the man. “What’s our play here?” Calvin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “We could try and ram him. If we got to him before he climbed back inside that vehicle that might do it. But I don’t think we’d even make it that far.” His eyes scanned the long line of metal pointed at them. “We could bolt back the way we came, but I don’t know if we’d make it far.” “Not a lot of great choices there, boss,” Olivia said, smirking.
Adam leaned around the seat. “I think if they were going to kill us, they could’ve just as easily done it already,” he said. “Maybe we just drive down there and improvise?” Calvin turned back to face him. For a moment his steely glare threatened to put a hole in Adam’s forehead, but then he laughed.
“Staring down the face of certain death, and your idea is to wing it.” He shook his head.
“Incredible. I love it. Best option we’ve had so far.” He pulled the wheel around and brought the jeep down from the hill and rested it a few yards from the man in the cowboy hat. They parked, and then Calvin climbed out. Before he turned away, he leaned back to the other two.
“If things get hairy,” he said, “one of you jump in here and gun it. I’m not saying you’ll make it, but you never know.” With that, he turned back towards the man in the cowboy hat and stopped just short of the front of the jeep.
“Morning,” Calvin said.
“Mornin’,” the man said, smiling. “You must be Calvin, the fella that everyone is talking so much about.” Calvin shrugged. “Might be. Who’s asking?” The man laughed. “You’re a little smartass, aren’t you? I like it. The name’s King, Rufus King.
You no doubt know about my exploits as a member of some secret underground associations, but let me assure you my loyalties to country come first. So believe me when I say that, whether or not the boss-man would like to hear it, I’m coming you today as an American citizen, not some man in black or anything.” Calvin raised an eyebrow. “Admittedly, not what I was expecting.” The American shrugged. “Look son, a man’s got to look out for his interests - and there is nothing I am more interested in than the ongoing safety and security of the United States of America, full stop. I got into this game because I wanted to be able to better anticipate the threats posed by the strange and unusual, and by God I’ve seen my fair share. During that time I’ve been able to oversee projects that have strengthened the security of our great nation, by way of new technology or other such advantages that the paranatural offer us.” He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, slid one from inside, and caught it in his teeth. He lit it with a flick from a lighter, and took a long draw on it.
“Yes,” he said, “we have benefited immensely from our pact of cooperation with the Foundation. Hell, I wouldn’t even be standing here today if it weren’t for those benefits. We’ve got a good thing going here, and I was hoping to keep that good thing going for a good long while.” His expression darkened. “But then you had to come along and snatch away our ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card when you pushed poor old Felix down that shaft. Now, I’m not dying of old age or disease anytime soon - the Foundation took care of that a long time ago. But now I’m susceptible to all manner of harms and, by extension, so is the United States. That, I’m afraid, just won’t do.” He pointed back towards the jeep. “However, you’ve got something back there that I think we can reach some sort of agreement on. I’m no monster, Calvin - just an old fashioned South Carolina boy in good standing with some powerful people. I don’t need to see any bloodshed for no reason, so I’ll give you an offer. Might just be the best offer you’re gonna get.” Calvin squinted at him. “I’m listening.” The American smiled again. “How about I let you and your two compadres back there scamper back off into the woods, and in exchange you hand over that spear you’ve got your hands on.” “The spear?” Calvin did a double take. “Why do you want the spear?” The American flicked the end of his cigarette, sending ashes scattering across the ground. “It’s a funny thing, that spear. I can’t imagine how you would’ve got your hands on it, because we had it locked up tighter than a witch’s cunt. You probably don’t even know what it is, do you?” “I know what it’s called,” Calvin said.
“Sure thing, but you don’t know what it is.” The American laughed. “When we found that thing, it was locked in the dusty grasp of some ancient king. Definitely cursed, though; the lives we spent just trying to pry it out of that bastard’s grip - well, I’ll spare you the details. Just believe me when I say it took some doing. That spear there is the spear they used to pierce the side of Jesus Christ himself, the only one in the world that could’ve done it. How it ended up in that Roman’s hands I’ll never know, but it did the trick then and, apparently, it can do the trick now, too.” “See,” he continued, “that spear is old, Calvin. It’s got a sort of magic about it that you just don’t see anymore. The things it’s capable of doing surpass any army or bomb I could come up with.
You think if Jehovah or Cthulhu or the flying spaghetti monster descend from the heavens and decide to fuck up the United States, that we have any kind of weapon that can deter their advances.” He shook his head. “No, we do not. But that spear could. That spear can kill gods, Calvin. I don’t know if there’s a more deadly stick in the entire world, maybe the whole got- dang universe, and it’s sitting in the back seat of your car right now.” He held his arms open. “So there’s the deal. Give me the spear, I make America safe again, and you get to go about your merry business with your lives - killing Overseers, overthrowing governments, whatever you want.” Calvin considered this. “You understand that you’re part of this too, right? It’s not coincidence that you’re next.” The American cackled. “Am I? I always forget which number I am, just that I’m somewhere in the middle of the voting call.” He took another drag on the cigarette. “I wondered as much when we found Green’s crusty corpse back in that town. Between you and me, Calvin, I didn’t care much for her either. A little too much power gone to the ole noggin, if you know what I mean. I’m sure plenty of us seem crazy, but that old bird was a whole different brand.” He pulled his pants up slightly by his belt. “That said, I certainly will not stop you if you want to try to kill me, but that will be after we’ve concluded negotiations here and you have handed over the spear.” Calvin shook his head. “I can’t do that.” The American smiled again, but this time there was something sinister about it. The sincerity in his expression had run dry.
“Yeah, I was worried you’d say that,” he said, adjusting his belt. “You know, I could kill you right here, right now, with no effort at all. Could’ve done so last night when you three were hunched in a cave in the middle of the woods. It would’ve been easy, Calvin, and really, this decision should’ve been easy too. But you’ve made it difficult for us, and now we have a decision to make.” He sighed. “I don’t know what you think you’re trying to accomplish, and frankly I don’t give two fucks about the ideological war you think you’re fighting. All that matters to me is getting that spear, and as easy as it would be to just take it, that wouldn’t be very sporting. Besides,” he cracked his knuckles, “it’s been a little while and I’ve got some muscle to flex.” He pointed into the sky behind Calvin, who turned around to see a Chinook helicopter descending through the clouds with a massive steel crate strapped to its underside. “In that box,” The American said, “is something nasty. So nasty, in fact, that we’ve been trying to kill it for years, but just haven’t had any luck.” He tapped a finger against his head. “What I think I’m going to do is this: I’m going to let you go. I’m going to let you climb back in that jeep, give you a little water, and let you drive off into the hills. Then, after a few hours, I’m going to point that box in your direction and open it. If what’s in the box doesn’t get you first, then I’ll have the boys here roll over whatever’s left and scoop up the spear on the way back. We’ll call it a training exercise.” He flicked the cigarette butt over towards Calvin. “That’s what we’ll do. I like that. Seems more fair.” Calvin glared at him. “What if I pull a gun on you, right now, and kill you here?” The American laughed. “I asked myself the same thing. See, the difference between if you try to kill me and if I try to kill you is that I’m definitely killing you. You pull a gun on me here and the 7th Infantry turns you and your friends into dust. Or, alternatively, you march out there into the rocks and dirt and die out there, only a little later. Either way, your little journey is drawing to a close. All that’s left to decide now is how you want it to end.” Calvin stood there for a moment longer, and then turned back to the jeep. He climbed in the driver’s seat and fired up the engine, and slowly they began driving towards the line of tanks and guns. As they did, the vehicles all pulled out of the way revealing the road into the badlands, and allowed them to pass by.
As they pulled alongside The American, the man put a hand on Calvin’s door. He leaned in and smiled at Olivia and Adam, and tossed a half-full canteen into the back seat.
“Ya’ll have a safe trip, now.” He slapped the door. “We’ll be seeing each other again here real soon.” Calvin put his foot into the gas, and the jeep sped off down the long road into the hills.
— - — Once the long line of The American’s division had disappeared into the distance, the three of them began to breathe easier. Calvin wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“Smooth move, kid,” he said to Adam. “Improvising was a good choice.” Adam, though, was not happy. “Yeah, I guess.” He paused. “Why didn’t you just give him the spear, Cal?” Calvin looked back at him through the rearview. “It’s important that we hold onto it. Giving it up isn’t an option.” Adam’s brow furrowed, but his next question didn’t come out of his mouth, but from Olivia’s.
“Where did you find it?” she asked.
Calvin was quiet for a moment. “When I was younger my mother and I escaped from my father - he was a drinker and like to hit us when he wasn’t drinking. When we got out we went to the countryside where my aunt lived. We used to take walks through the fields and the woods, just her and I, and those were some of the happiest times in my entire life.” “Then one day,” he continued, “we were walking by a lake and she said she recognized somebody out in it. When I turned to look I saw bodies, maybe hundreds of them, and she walked towards the lake and then into it and disappeared. I went in after her and I could hear the bodies talking to me, and I saw my mother and she just smiled at me and sank into the waters and I never saw her again. I fought through those corpses for hours and nobody would believe me when I told them she’d been taken into the lake.” He sighed. “I went back there, recently. I hadn’t been back since my aunt shipped me off to boarding school, but I went back. The bodies are gone, and the paths to get there are overgrown, but the lake is still there. While I was there - getting my bearings, I guess - I was approached by someone. I don’t-” he hesitated, “I could barely remember what they looked like even immediately after they left. I don’t know how to describe them, other than they sounded… tired? Empty? Like the voice of a person superimposed over a ghost.” “What did they want?” Adam asked.
“They told me two things. They told me my name, and they told me that I was an agent of the Insurgency. I assumed they were Foundation or GOC or something so I shot at them.” He laughed. “Seems stupid now, but I had no idea who they were - still don’t, and they came up all spooky-like and, well. Either way, the bullets passed straight through them, like they weren’t even there. They told me to relax, and that they weren’t there to harm me, but that they had something they needed to give me.” “I followed them through the woods until we reached a spot below a cliff. There were these brambles in between us and the cliff face, but as we walked through them they just sort of melted away. Once they were gone I saw it - a metal door in the rock, with the Foundation arrows on it. This person, whoever it was, opened the door and led me inside. There were some old filing cabinets full of papers and a ton of dust; I bet nobody had been in there in decades. This person points towards a door on the far end of this little narrow room and tells me that there’s a tool past that door I can use to destroy the Foundation. They told me that, if I chose to go in there and take it, I’d have to make a horrible choice - and that if I could do that, I could have it.” Olivia frowned. “What was the choice?” Calvin took a deep breath. “When I walked through the door, I was suddenly out by the lake, only I was just a kid again and I was walking with my mother. She- I don’t think it was a dream. I reached out and grabbed her hand and it was real. Then-” he paused, “-then we passed by the lake again, and I saw her walking down towards the water, and there were so many bodies. I started running after her, and it was different this time, because I knew what she was doing before she did it, and I was just an arms length away. I could have grabbed her, or tackled her, and kept her from going in. When I was younger I had just frozen up until it was too late, but this time I could do something. I could save her.” He tapped his finger against the steering wheel. “But as I came up behind her something stopped me. When I looked back towards the treeline, I saw this person who had led me to the door, standing there on the edge of the forest. They- they were just standing there, and I realized then, I think, that they had always been standing there. They were watching me and in their hands they had this metal cylinder.” He nodded towards Adam, who turned the cylinder over in his hands. “All of a sudden I knew that if I didn’t go to them now, I’d never get the chance again.” He swallowed hard. “So I turned back and went to the person in the trees and took the canister from them. When I turned back towards the lake, she was already gone.” He wiped at something in his eye with the palm of his hand. “When I came to, I was standing by the lake again as an adult, but I had the canister. I had always had the canister, ever since that day when I was a kid at the lake.” They all sat in silence for several long seconds, before Calvin continued. “This person, whoever they were, they came up beside me at the lake and told me my name and that I was an agent of the Insurgency. They asked if I remembered them and I told them I did. They handed me something else - the two vials of water. When I asked who they were they didn’t tell me, but something about the way they looked at me was just… perpetually sad. I took the vials, and then they told me they were sorry. I blinked, and they were gone.” “Christ,” Adam said, sinking back in his seat. “I’m sorry. I just thought it was a really good spear.” Calvin snorted. “It is a really good spear. You saw what it did to those guys on the stairs back in the city.” He shook his head. “No wonder Uncle Sam back there wants to get his hands on it.” He rubbed his chin. "Once I realized what it was capable of, I gave it to the Library for safekeeping. Best place to put something you never want to be found again." Olivia was thinking. “Hang on,” she said, “if this person gave you the spear when you were a kid, and the vials more recently, then where did you get the journal?” “Oh, no, I wasn’t kidding when I said that I stole it,” Calvin said, matter-of-factly. “I got a hint from one of our friendlier Coalition contacts that Skitter Marshall had taken to keeping it on his person while he was trying to decipher it. I also knew he was going to be in Berlin two days before the Von Marr Gala last spring, so I happened to find myself on the sidewalk as he was getting out of his car and just jacked him.” “Jacked him?” Olivia exclaimed. “You mean, like, you punched him? Jesus, Cal, isn’t Skitter Marshall like, 90 years old?” “Oh yeah, absolutely flattened the lad,” Calvin said, grinning. “Don’t feel too bad, though. I think he’s probably had a few pulls off the Fountain of Youth at some point in his past too, so he’s still in pretty good shape. Once he was down I snatched it from his coat pocket.” “Didn’t he have bodyguards or something?” Olivia asked.
“Whoa, hold up,” Adam said, his eyes growing wide. “Is that what you were having me doing?” Calvin burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, it was perfect. I had Adam fuck with their GPS - they were a street over and had no idea what was going on. The only person Marshall had nearby was his driver, and I punched that guy too.” Adam rolled his eyes. “You had me break into Google Maps so you could punch an old man?” “Absolutely,” Calvin said, nodding furiously. “Just clocked him, too.” — - — A few hours later the clouds overhead cleared. Adam leaned out to look at the sky and smiled.
“Finally,” he said with relief. “Clear skies.” Calvin looked back at him. “Enjoying the weather?” Adam was quickly pulling his laptop out and slapping an antennae on the side of the jeep. “I had an idea earlier, but wanted to check something out first.” He stared at the screen as information danced across it, and his face lit up. “Hey, Delta said that The American is a cocky son-of-a-bitch, didn’t he?” Calvin squinted at him. “Language, young man. But yeah, that’s definitely the point he was getting across, I think. Why?” Adam’s hands danced across the keyboard. “Do you think he’d violate Chinese sovereignty?” It was Calvin’s turn to look surprised. “He might. What do you have in mind?” “Right right right, and you said that Delta said our best bet was to try and get him to do something stupid, right?” Calvin rolled his eyes. “Get to the point.” “Ok,” Adam said, nodding slowly. “Ok, ok. Yes. Ok. So, I also have a tragic story from my youth that is about to become useful.” Calvin and Olivia snorted in unison. “Go for it,” Calvin said. “Lead the way.” “We’re actually really close to the town I grew up in,” Adam said. “My parents immigrated down here when I was a baby, and we ended up in one of these little mountain villages.” “Why do we need to go there?” Olivia asked.
“Just trust me,” Adam said. “I’m not saying it’s a perfect plan, but if you think The American is cocky and stupid enough to try and march his army up a mountain, it’s a plan.” He pointed Calvin in the direction of a road leading east. The sun was getting low in the sky behind them, and before too long the sound of distant helicopter rotors cut across the mountains. Shortly afterward, the sound of treads and diesel accompanied it, and then something else. It was a low, moaning sound, something like an animal in pain. These sounds continued to pursue them, but didn’t arrive before they had pulled off the road and into a small, quiet, seemingly abandoned village. Calvin parked and the three of them climbed out of the jeep, walking carefully towards the center of town.
“Privet?” Adam called out. “Hello? Is anyone here?” The first glint of the setting sun of a helicopter blade poked around the mountain, and they ducked into a house. It was empty.
Olivia looked around the room as Calvin posted up at the window. “What happened here?
Everything is still in place - it looks like whoever lived here before didn’t take any of their stuff when they left.” Adam grimaced slightly. “We didn’t.” Suddenly they heard a loud clattering from across the small town square. Something moved past the window, causing Calvin and Olivia to both draw weapons. Adam held a hand up.
“You two are going to need to chill,” he said, “at least for a minute. Don’t shoot anything yet.” They snuck out the back of the house and followed the ridge behind the houses to the far end of the road, just across from where they had heard the sound. They sprinted across the street to the house. The thin front door was standing open. Adam leaned inside and pulled a flashlight out from his bag. He pointed it inside and turned it on.
A figure was standing in the far corner of the room - a shorter, round man wearing a thick, dirty shawl and no other clothes. His skin was pale and, in some places, unusually red. He was swaying slowly, and Calvin noticed something strange about the way his body was shaped but couldn’t place it.
Adam took a step inside, holding a hand out in front of him. “Father Bramimond?” he asked in Russian. “Is that you?” The man turned slightly and looked at Adam. The right side of his face bulged significantly, as if something was pushing up against the skin from beneath. When he saw Adam, the man smiled.
“Ah, little bird,” the man responded. His speech was thick and each word was accompanied by a spray of spittle. “Welcome home.” Adam looked the man up and down. From their position outside Calvin and Olivia could see Adam’s face, and there was a sort of resigned sadness to it. He managed a weak smile.
“Father,” Adam said, “where is everyone? Have they all left?” The man tottered slightly towards Adam. “No, no little bird. They are here. They are all around us. The sickness came for them, just as it came for me.” He ran a thick hand across his bulging, exposed belly. “It will come for us all, in time. My ascension has nearly arrived.” From outside the house they heard the same animalistic roar as earlier, an eerie sound that stood their hair on end. Adam turned away from the sound back to the old man, who was now dragging a meaty leg across the floor towards him. He said something in Russian to Bramimond, who uttered a slurred response. Adam turned back to the others.
“Something you both need to know,” he said, pulling his gun from its holster. “When I was younger, people here started getting sick. Nobody could explain it and no cure seemed to help.
As they got sicker, they would… change.” “Like that guy back there?” Calvin said.
Adam cringed. “Father Bramimond was one of the last holdouts. People who got sick were sent into the mountains around here so they wouldn’t inflict anyone else, but others always got sick anyway. The Foundation showed up eventually and put those of us who were left to work cleaning out the mountains, but…” he trailed off, his eyes growing wide. Calvin and Olivia turned to look behind them.
Coming up the path to the mountain was a line of tanks, slowly crawling across the rock and gravel. Men in personnel carriers and on foot followed behind, a long, winding column that stretched as far down as they could see, and at the head of the line was The American standing up in his humvee, smiling and holding out a long, black whip. He brought it up over his head and with a deafening crack, pulled it down across the body of the creature in front of him.
It was massive, vaguely reptilian, with too many eyes and mottled green skin. It had long, thick strands of oily hair that dragged across the ground with every plodding step. Its mouth was long like a crocodile but its teeth looked like those of a snake. Every time The American brought the whip down across the creature’s back, it moaned in a horrid, foul agony. As they drew near to the town, the Overseer pulled a megaphone out from inside his vehicle and clicked it on.
“You’re a tricky sumbitch, Calvin!” he shouted, his amplified voice echoing off the mountains surrounding them. “I thought you’d be smart and stick to the road where you could just keep going till you ran out of gas, but here you are trapped in the mountains. Nowhere to go now, boy.” He cracked the whip again and the monster howled. “This here is my problem, folks. I can’t seem to do anything with this big guy. Now, I’m not saying you can, but the way I see it I’m walking into this little gathering with two problems and leaving with one. I’ll leave it up to you to decide what that’s gonna be.” He hopped down from the humvee and slapped the creature on the side, causing it to growl menacingly. He gestured towards the group with the whip, and said something to the beast.
Then, with an almost obscene viciousness, he brought the whip down on the creature several times in quick succession. It howled in rage and charged across the small dirt road towards where Adam, Calvin, and Olivia stood. They turned to run, but something waddling out into the street caught their eye and made them hesitate.
Father Bramimond was standing between the charging reptilian monstrosity and them, unmoving. The creature continued to charge but then hesitated and came to a stop just before reaching the old man. It leaned down to look at him, its eyes tightening. From deep within its gut they heard words - a voice, deep and gnarled like the roots of an old tree. Not truly of this world but unfortunately placed within it.
“What… what is this?” The creature took another step forward. “This… filth.” Father Bramimond stumbled slightly, then gathered himself up. From where they were standing they could see something moving, just under his skin. It had begun to seep in some places and blood was now flowing out of his ears. He extended his arms wide and smiled.
“I have ascended,” he said, his voice sloppy with orgasmic stupor.
“Hey!” The American shouted from his humvee. “What in the fuck is the goddamn hold up, you dirty ass-” Before he could finish his sentence, Father Bramimond’s skin split from the top of his head down to his groin. His eyes bulged and burst. His smiling face pulled apart and fell off to each side, and his torso expanded rapidly. The reptilian creature recoiled, its eyes wide with confusion. The thing that had been Father Bramimond collapsed to the ground and writhed there, like an insect breaking free from its cocoon. After a moment it stopped moving, and the town was silent.
Then came another sound, more horrible even than the moans of the reptilian creature. It came from the pile of flesh and meat on the ground, and then echoed off into the mountains. It was half a dying animal, half a regurgitated human cry of terror. The sound that come out of the pile was suddenly joined by many other similar sounds coming from the rocks and high places around them.
The pile of meat began to writhe again, and up from it came an abomination. It was slick with blood and fluid, all pink and red and yellow. Its face, if it could be called that, was long and bore no notable features. It had many appendages, and more that came unfolded from its back and hung akimbo by its sides. Father Bramimond’s loose skin lay discarded on the ground, but his hateful flesh screamed its birthing cry.
The ground beneath them began to shake. There was the distinct sound of cracking rock as a nearby cliff face appeared to buckle, then collapse. The tumbling stone kicked up a cloud of dust, but when the dust settled there was nothing behind it but blackness. Out of that blackness came more cries, and then more from above. Another skin-creature appeared on a ledge nearby, then another. Then hundreds. Then thousands, each of them screaming and writhing and dancing a hellish dance in the light of the setting sun.
Then came the sound of a gunshot, and one of the flesh creatures stumbled and fell down the mountainside. The entire assembly stopped and watched as it crashed against the stone and came to a rest between two small shacks set against the cliff. It lay there unmoving, before writhing again and standing back up. It howled a ghastly howl, and then began to approach the soldiers, more quickly than seemingly possible. More gunshots, and then the howls reached a fever pitch and the mass of flesh and gore crashed down the mountainside towards the 7th Infantry.
At the head of the line was the lizard, who now turned back with malice in its eyes at the writhing form of what had been Father Bramimond. It struck out with its long teeth, but the creature moved too quickly and slid around the lizard. Its long, meaty appendaged stuck to the side of the massive reptile, who roared and clawed at its back as the flesh beast began to envelop it. The ground beneath them shook again, and suddenly the ground was falling away.
Below the cracks they could see hair, and flesh, and eyes, all staring skyward and full of blood and hate. Thick tendrils of flesh rose up from the ground as the acrid smell of gunpowder and smoke filled the air, all while more and more of the skinwalkers flew down the mountainside and out of the caves.
Calvin had grabbed Adam and Olivia, and the three of them were now sprinting towards another humvee, left abandoned by its previous occupants who were now being pulled into the earth screaming by a mass of hands and teeth. As they got near, one of the flesh things came running at them. Calvin threw a heavy kick at the creature, but his foot stuck in the putrid mass of flesh and began to sink into the thing’s skin. On its face, something like a sucker opened up and began to descend towards Calvin before being removed from the rest of its body in a hail of bullets from Olivia’s rifle. Her and Adam grabbed Calvin by the arms and pulled him up into the humvee.
Behind them the soldiers were in full retreat. The mountains had broken open and now massive, horrible flesh nightmares were crawling out towards the column of infantry, crushing vehicles and man alike. A helicopter overhead was destroyed when a truck had been launched into the sky, and it came crashing to the earth, setting the path down the mountain ablaze. The skin creatures blistered and bubbled and screamed at the flames, but it did not stop the flood of them coming from out of the ground.
Calvin threw the humvee into motion and they swiftly avoided a flaming personnel carrier that crashed into a nearby building. They drove past a church and then another row of houses, and came out on the other side of the main square. In the distance they could see the fires and the flesh and the panicked soldiers packed together in a horrible crush of man and meat. Near them, however, in the middle of the town square, was another scene entirely.
The flesh beast that had once been Father Bramimond had grown dramatically in size, and was now grappling with the lizard as the two tore at each other. Standing on the lizard’s back, one hand wrapped around a thick chain connected to a spike driven into the lizard’s spine and another wrapped around the black whip was The American. His hat had been knocked off and his shirt was ripped and soaked with blood, but the ferocity in his eyes was like that of a hound, wracked with bloodlust and fury. He cracked the whip against the reptile’s back, spurring it onward while he cackled like a madman.
“Get fucked, you ugly-ass meat goblin!” he shouted, yanking the chain left and right. He pulled the whip back behind his head and lashed it forward towards the flesh creature that had been Father Bramimond, which recoiled from the strike. The reptile sunk its teeth into the creature’s fleshy exterior as they all howled and screamed. Below the reptile, smaller flesh horrors were beginning to assemble like a sea of gore, swaying rhythmically in a hypnotic frenzy.
As the lizard brought the meat beast to the ground, they could see The American again, standing on the lizard’s back and staring at them. His eyes were red with lust and hate.
“You!” he roared, pointing the whip at the group. “You little whores don’t get to go anywhere until I’m done fuck-” He was interrupted as Olivia shouldered her rifle and took a shot at him. The Overseer brought his whip up furiously and caught the bullet in midair, shattering it with a resounding pop. She fired again and he caught it again. She fired a third time out of rhythm, and the tip of the whip missed the bullet. The American stumbled and caught himself on the chain, his whip-hand held up to his chest. When it pulled it away, it was covered in blood.
The American looked back up at them. His face was covered in shock and disbelief, and he dropped the whip and started to idly rub the spot on his heart where blood was now cascading from. Calvin thought he could see the Overseer start to say something, but before any words left his lips he let go of the chain and toppled off the reptile’s back, into the throng of howling meat creatures. They descended on him like ghouls, ripping and tearing pieces of his body away and incorporating them into their own. Then the mass descended upon the reptile, who finally succumbed to the weight of the massive flesh creature and all of the many thousands of small creatures and was pulled, piece by piece, into the earth.
They sat on the ridge overlooking the small village until the last scrap of meat had been pulled from the lizard’s bones and the tide of flesh began to recede again into the mountains. Once the last of the meat monsters had disappeared, the reptile’s skeleton collapsed into dust, out of which crawled the tiniest of lizards. It emerged from the pile, shook itself off, shot a dirty look at Olivia, Calvin and Adam, and scurried off into the hills.
“Hell of a shot,” Adam said, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” Calvin said, to nobody in particular. He was still staring at the spot where The American’s body had fallen. All that remained was a red smear and a crushed leather cowboy hat.
“Adam,” Olivia said hesitantly, “were those things…?” “They were,” he said. “Friends, family. People I knew. Once everyone started getting sick, there wasn’t much stopping it. It’s not a disease, not really. The air would get hazy sometimes, like it was full of pollen. Spores, maybe. You’d breathe them and then start getting sick and then you’d go into the hills. My sisters went that way, and my dad. Eventually the Foundation showed up, stuck us in orange jumpsuits and put flamethrowers in our hands, and sent us out to burn back the infestation.” He sighed. “Our lives were hard enough. When we left Russia we were being pursued and anyone we didn’t know could’ve been some hidden assassin. Finding this place and somewhere to hide was a godsend, and then this happened.” He paused. “I think, for me, if someone tells me that there’s a way to stop this sort of thing from happening, well… yeah. I think I’d be down for that.” Calvin nodded. “It’s what Anthony would’ve wanted.” They agreed. Calvin turned the wheel on the humvee, and together the three of them crawled into the mountains and away from the ruination of the 7th Infantry.
— - — As they came around the corner of a narrow road through the mountains, they could see a city in the valley below them. Running through that city was a road, one they knew would take them further into China and towards civilization. Calvin was scanning the road, carefully watching even the slightest shadow out of place in the starlit night. Olivia was cleaning her rifle with the end of a thin paintbrush. Adam was looking out the window pensively.
“So that’s seven down, right?” the young man said. “The dead guy in the tower, the math guy, the multiple personality person who kidnapped Liv, that crazy snake woman, the one who killed herself, the other one who killed himself, sort of, then Green and Mr. USA back there.” He counted on his fingers. “Hang on, that’s eight.” Calvin snorted. “Aren’t you supposed to be the math one?” Adam glared at him. “Reliving traumatic moments from my youth have thrown me off my game today. Anyway,” he continued, “so who does that bring up next?” “They call him ‘Blackbird’,” Olivia responded, not taking her eyes off her work. “He’s a strange one - the journal doesn’t say anything about where to find him, just that ‘he has a way of just showing up’. I don’t know what that means.” Suddenly Calvin stomped on the brake, sending Olivia and Adam into the dashboard and onto the floor, respectively. They scrambled up, each pulling a weapon as Calvin did the same and stepped out of the truck.
Standing in the road in front of them was a small, strange looking man. His eyes were slightly too big for his head and he had a hooked nose with neatly parted hair. He was wearing a three- piece suit with a bow-tie. In his jacket pocket was a silver pocket square with a black crown embroidered onto it.
As Calvin cautiously stepped towards him, the man smiled warmly and extended his arms.
“Good evening!” he said. “I hear you are going to soon be looking for me, yes?” - BACK - Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 THEN — - — A young boy stands in a long line of men and women in orange jumpsuits. He has a metal collar around his neck. He is marched out into the cold with a shovel in his hands, and as an adult with a flamethrower pushed back the encroaching flesh, he pushes the ashes into small piles to be collected. He is thin, and sick. Their camp hasn't received rations in three days - but the guards stay fed.
There is a commotion, and bullets whip across the frozen earth. The boy dives for cover behind a pile of fleshy corpses, and covers his ears against the screaming and shouting around him. It lingers for a moment, and then silence. When he opens his eyes, Anthony is leaning down to pick him up. The older man throws a warm blanket across Adam's shoulders, and carries him to a waiting personnel vehicle.
— - — Aaron Siegel stands at a podium, delivering news of a breakthrough to the first assembly of their new Foundation. He beams as the audience applauds.
— - — The Incredibly Ivory flees down a dark alleyway in the Three Portlands, Foundation agents fast on her heels. She has run for what has felt like hours now, and knows she does not have much left to give. She hears dogs barking and her legs burn like cinders. She catches sight of another agent rounding the corner in front of her, so she stumbles down a side street.
It opens into a quiet intersection, but she can hear them approaching from all around her.
Exhausted and resigned, she collapses in the street. Paint and blood are smeared on her clothes, and she laughs now seeing the mess. Well, she thinks, at least they'll give me something to change into.
A moment later a car screeches to a halt in front of her, and Calvin pulls her into the car. When the Foundation agents exit the alleyway, she is nowhere to be found.
— - — A phone is ringing.
— - — In the distance is a mountain of fire and the sound of roaring machines and the continent being sundered. The earth shakes. Arians keeps the car straight on the road even as it bucks and buckles beneath him. In the back seat, Aaron is staring at the floor.
— - — Through a small crack between two rocks, a man squeezes through followed shortly by his rucksack. He strikes a match, filling the chamber with light. Small white insects, those that haven't seen the light of day in a hundred generations, scurry for cover. The man lights his lantern and starts forward.
There's a draft from somewhere beyond this room, so he follows it. He ducks carefully under rock formations, tenderly brushing up against them so as to not disturb them. A bat flies low overhead and he is encouraged - this must be the right way. He presses on, and from somewhere not far off he can hear the sound of rushing water.
He opens into another cavern, but before he can get his bearings his foot snags the edge of the walkway and he tumbles to the ground, his lantern dashing and shattering against the ground, spilling oil and fire out in every direction. He hurries to stand, rubbing his side where he'd struck hard stone. Before he can move to put the fire out, a miracle catches his eye. In front of him is a waterfall, small but dozens of feet high. He approaches it cautiously, extending a hand out into the waters which he now sees flow up and around his hand. He splashes the water, which continues to flow up and out of the pool at his feet, towards some point in the dark far above him.
In the dimming light of that cavern, standing before an impossibility, Frederick Williams grins.
NOW — - — Adam burst into a clearing, hands slapping at his face as he swerved and ducked away from a great many tiny assailants. Olivia wasn't far behind, followed closely by Calvin and Anthony. Of the four of them, Olivia had fared the best in the jungle. Calvin had slipped and fallen into quicksand, which now covered his lower half as if he was an ice-cream-man-cone. Anthony was drenched head to toe in sweat from the humidity, and he grumbled and fumed each step of the way at the fucking dogshit heat. Lastly, Adam had earned the attention of a swarm of bugs, which (to his telling) had now followed him for the better part of the last mile, since their car had broken down.
Calvin called a general halt to their progress to survey a map and some notes he had received from Delta. Of the seventh Overseer, the journal had been scant - she moves often - but Delta had been watching the movements of the one they called Green for weeks. True to the journal's description, she had moved more frequently than any of the others, often staying at a location for no more than a few days, at best. But here, deep in the heart of these forests, she was said to have been staying for over a month.
"I don't like it," Anthony had said, chewing on the end of a cigar. "This feels like a trap." "Yeah," Adam had answered, "we don't actually know that she's there, either. We just know that we haven't seen her leave. There are plenty of ways she could've gotten out." Calvin had stroked his beard at the thought, catching Olivia's eye from across the room before she quickly looked away. "You're right. This is profoundly sketchy. But if our sources are correct and she's where we think she is, we might not get another chance at this. We have to act now." So it was, then, that they arrived in— "Cambodia!" Anthony shouted, tearing yet another piece of his shirt away from his body.
"Cambodia! Of all places. If the bugs don't kill you, the wretched heat will." He pulled out a fan and began to feverishly wave it in front of his face. "I have had enough of this part of the world for one lifetime. If I never have to spend another day in these god-awful jungles it won't have come soon enough." Calvin surveyed their map, noting a nearby river as a landmark. "We're close now. Once we're in the city, we need to meet up with Vanderveer. He'll be here, in this bar. He has contacts that can get us where we need to go." He pulled a bandana out and started wrapping it around his face. "Put something up over your face - we need to stay as discreet as possible here." He stuck a finger out towards Adam and Anthony. "You two pasty-faces stick out." Anthony grunted, but Adam whipped his head around, face red from sustained smacks. "Hang on, what now? Why do we need to hide our faces?" Calvin tucked his map and the journal away. "Same reason the Overseer is here right now.
Political unrest. Vanderveer says there's an artifact of some kind being held by the local revolutionaries, and that Green has come in personally to treat with them and get it back." Adam's face ran white. "Why is an Overseer coming to treat with revolutionaries?" "Don't be fooled," Anthony said, slinging Adam's canister over his shoulder, "this isn't a diplomatic mission. Green gets off on this kind of shit. If she's here, that means something disastrous is about to happen." After quickly cleaning themselves off and covering their faces, the four of them crept back into the brush in the direction of the nearby city.
— - — Calvin slunk behind a wall as a group of rioters passed by him, torches illuminating the dark streets. Somewhere not far off, he could hear the sound of gunfire and car alarms, and the occasional loud boom of a tank as the government moved troops into the city. He waited until they were gone, and moved quickly towards the east. They had gotten separated early on after a mob had formed around a grocery they were passing by. Anthony had radioed in that he was fine and moving towards the target, and Olivia and Adam had met up a few blocks later.
Under the orange fabric of an awning he saw a single light illuminating a sign - Pedro's Place - and an open door. He slipped through it, and the sound of the streets faded behind him.
Pedro's Place had emptied out earlier in the day when a brick had come through one of the front windows, but a handful of patrons still sat at the bar. The broken glass had been swept into a small pile in the corner and left untouched. Calvin entered casually, not rising to meet any of the eyes that crossed the room in his direction. He found a seat near the back of the small room at a table in a far corner, and hunched down to hide his features. After a moment, the bartender came by his table.
"What you have?" the bartender said, in broken English.
Calvin knocked on the table twice, then twice again, then three times. "I'll have what he's having." The bartender paused, then nodded and left. A few more moments passed, and then another man returned to the table with beers in each hand. This man was a stout individual with fiery red hair and a lit cigarette burning in the corner of his mouth. He took a seat across from Calvin sliding one of them across towards him.
"Cheers, Calvin," he said. "Drink up, we'll likely be dead in the morning." Calvin grinned through his handkerchief, which he quickly removed. "Van," he said, "aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Vanderveer shrugged. "Must be pretty sore, then." He took a drink. "Where's the rest of your band of merry men? I was promised a raiding party, not a single over-the-hill operative." Calvin snorted. "We were separated. Anthony is moving ahead to the watch point, and Liv and the kid are on their way. We should meet them on our way out." Vanderveer nodded. "Once they arrive, we'll need to move quickly. We won't have an abundance of time to act - if the riots dissipate, we've lost our opportunity. Our only cover right now is that the streets are full of looters, and we're just a handful of tourists." They were interrupted by a barking dog outside which quickly faded into the hum of the background. Calvin took another drink. "What's going on out there?" "Local politics," Vanderveer said. "Kervier came in and set up here a number of years ago and thoroughly fucked the water. They were doing what they usually do, you know - come in, set up, dig furiously and then wait until the Jailers come and force them out. Only this time, the Foundation didn't show up." He laughed. "You probably had a hand in that." It was Calvin's turn to shrug as Vanderveer continued. "Anyway, there are three sides to this.
On one hand you have the local officials, all of whom were receiving kickbacks from Kervier and are seen as having betrayed their countrymen. Then you've got these folks - let's call them revolutionaries - who have been pushing to overthrow the government for a while. When the details of the Kervier deal came out, they decided it was their time to shine and rose up en masse. They're holed up down at the governor's manor, supposedly meeting with the local governor to reach some agreement. Fact is, they're only there so that Green can stoke them and disrupt the agreements, and send the country into civil war. Once it's properly destabilized, the Jailers can swoop in and raid the armory where they're keeping this thing they want to get their hands on so badly." "Who are the people in the street?" Calvin asked.
"Rioters. They're all just unhappy with the government and while most of them probably align with the revolutionaries, not all of them do. Mostly they just want to riot. They're dissatisfied and angry and want to loot and pillage. They're the most dangerous of the three sides right now, because if their attitudes turn especially violent we could be swept up in it before we have time to get out of dodge." The sound of the street outside grew louder for a moment as the door opened, and through it stepped a man and woman. Calvin nodded, and Vanderveer stood.
"Time to roll," the husky Irishman said. "For the Insurgency." Calvin took his extended hand. "For the Insurgency." Olivia and Adam fell in behind them, and together the four snuck quickly out of a concealed side door. As they passed the bartender, the man gave them a nervous nod. Once they were out on a side street, Vanderveer pointed towards lights in the distance.
"That's where we're going," he said, voice rising slightly to be heard over the din of the crowd.
"The revolutionaries have set up there. To get inside we'll need to meet up with one of my contacts, Jo." He glanced down at his phone. "I was hoping to have heard from him by now, but there's really not much time to wait. Let's go." They took off in the direction of the governor's manor, sticking mostly to side streets to avoid the rioters and larger gatherings. As they paused to wait for a mob to pass, Calvin pulled out his radio and called Anthony.
"Anthony," he said, "do you read? Where are you?" The radio crackled a response. "Made it to the watch point. There's a throng of ne'er-do-wells down here pillaging an electronics shop, so I've gone onto the roof. Where are you?" "We're leaving Pedro's now. Any sign of our target?" "Not yet. She should be pretty easy to spot, what with the jumpsuit and all." The radio was silent. "Be advised, Calvin - there are a lot of troops moving out of the manor now. They're keeping out of the main street here and I don't think anyone on the ground has noticed. If things turn sour here, I think they're going to break really badly." Calvin took a deep breath. "Roger that. We'll meet you soon." The four of them skirted past a burning shop and down a narrow street with a tight bend at the end. Approaching it, Vanderveer held up a hand and they stopped as he peered around the corner. He turned back and swore.
"Looters," he said. He pulled a sidearm from its holster. "Don't do anything stupid." He sidled around the corner with the rest of them not far behind. As they approached the group of people emptying a store of its contents, one of the looters noticed them, and then they all did. Vanderveer sucked in his chest and smiled, extending his arms.
"Evenin' lads," he said with as much gusto as he could muster. "Just passing through, see.
Don't want any trouble. Got money if you want it, no problems here." One of the looters looks back towards the others, and then turned back towards the group, nodding. Vanderveer produced his wallet and stepped forward slowly, holding it out in front of him.
"There we go," he said, "nice and easy now." Suddenly, bullets zipped through the group of looters and the men and women began falling over each other. One of them pulled a gun and began firing into the dark behind them, and then everyone had guns. Van turned to run back towards the other three, but a stray shot caught him in the leg and he collapsed, cursing. Calvin ran up to grab him as he fell, and the three of them started to pull him off the street. Vanderveer looked back towards the group of rioters, his eyes growing wide.
"Gas," he said, pointing. "Jailers." A cloud of gas had formed over the bodies of the dead and dying looters, which crept towards the group. Out of the cloud emerged dark shapes with masks and rifles in riot armor. Even from the distance they were at, Calvin could make out the insignia on their shoulders. Nine-Tailed Fox.
"Oh shit," Adam said under his breath, and suddenly the group was in a near sprint, with Calvin heaving the hefty Vanderveer over his shoulder to keep up the pace. They darted down side streets, but no matter where they turned more armored shapes emerged from the shadows.
They turned again, and found themselves in a dead end.
"Fuck!" Olivia said, turning back towards where a group of Foundation agents now stood at the entrance to the alley they had walked into. Vanderveer swung around on Calvin's shoulder, firing furiously at the agents. One of them collapsed, then another. A bullet pinged off one of their masks, and the agent disappeared behind the rest. Then, one near the front produced a thick steel canister, pulled a tab, and rolled it towards them. A thick, orange gas blew out of the can from both ends, filling the alley.
Calvin moved to run forward, but each step into the cloud felt like a thousand, and suddenly he was as heavy as lead. He heard Vanderveer swear as he fell from Calvin's shoulder, and then he heard Adam hit the ground, and then himself, and then the world went black.
— - — Calvin's awoke, cotton-mouthed and groggy, unable to see through a dark band wrapped around his eyes. He felt for his wrists - cuffed, and his ankles as well. He reached as far backwards with his hands as he could, and he felt something cold but very alive - Olivia.
Somewhere nearby, he heard the unmistakable sound of Adam snoring.
Then, a voice.
"Captain, captain, captain," it said, slowly and steadily. It was a rich voice, vaguely Southern, full-textured and hearty, and clearly female. The voice was that of someone very sure of where they stood. "I should start giving you menial scouting missions more often, when you come back with prizes like these." Another voice, this time male. Harsh. "Are these the insurgents?" "Yes, I believe they are," the woman said. Calvin heard footsteps, and then nothing. "This one is out of place. We're missing one." "What would you like done with him?" the man said.
The woman paused, considering. "Well. No point in waking him, I think. All in all, a better way than what we have in store for the rest of them." There was a heavier sound as the man - clearly in boots - crossed the room. Calvin heard the sound of a bullet sliding into its chamber, and then the ear-piercing pop of a gunshot. Calvin jumped, and heard Olivia scream from behind him.
"Look, look. They're awake. Get them up, hurry. We don't have a ton of time." More footsteps, and then Calvin was yanked upwards by two sets of hands. The hands pushed him against the wall and another pulled the blindfold off of his face.
He squinted against the glare of the lights, and as the room became clear he was met with the sight of a short, squat woman in a dark green pantsuit. She wasn't old - maybe early 50s, and she wore black shoes with green flowers on them. She was leaning down to look at him quizzically, like some bird of prey lurking over a meal. Calvin turned to his left and right, confirming that Olivia and Adam were there with him and generally no worse for wear. He glanced into the corner of the room and then back quickly - Vanderveer lay dead on the ground, a bullet hole placed between his eyes.
The door to the room cracked open. "What was that?" asked the voice on the other side. "Who you shooting?" The woman in the pantsuit waved them off. "Don't worry about that. I'm dealing with a personal issue. You understand? Personal. P-E-R-S-O-N-A-L. That means no you. Scooch." The door slid closed, and she turned back towards the group, smiling.
"Well well well," she said, clapping her hands together. "And here I thought I was going to have to spend time looking for you three, and you walk right into one of my patrols. That's just something, I tell you what." Noticing that Olivia was staring at Vanderveer, the woman gestured dismissively. "Oh, don't you worry about him, sug. He went quick and easy. You're about to have a harder time of it, I'm afraid." She turned back towards an open window. From outside, they could hear the sound of the throng of revolutionaries in the street.
"Introductions! Where are my manners, goodness. My mama would've whooped me for that.
My name is unimportant - you can just call me Green. Everybody does, hell, you probably do too. As for you three," she paused, finger held against the side of her face, "the skinny one here is a runaway D-Class, the skinny bitch is the anartist who got away, and you - why, you're Calvin Lucien, aren't you? Tired of lobbing grenades at unarmed convoys, you've decided to step up to the big leagues and have a crack at some Overseers." She laughed, a warm, wholesome laugh. "I've got to hand it to you Calvin, you've got some balls. I don't know what's in the water wherever you're from, but it's some pretty potent stuff.
Some of my own could use a tall glass of it!" Green turned back towards the window. "Now I know what you're here to do - hell, we all do by now. Some of my fellows decided to turn tail and run for their holes after that little stunt you pulled with poor ole Felix - very clever, by the way. You know what's funny is that Felix himself had worried about that, a long time ago. In order to assure him, Aaron had the Fountain drained and the ground upturned until there was nothing left. Yet there you were, doing something that shouldn't have been able to be done. Very, very clever." She continued. "But while they might be content to hole up for a while until this all blows over, I've got work to do. The Foundation doesn't run by itself, and it certainly doesn't run if there's nobody telling it to go. Besides," she turned her head to look back at them, her eyes steely and her smile crooked and devilish, "this is the most alive I've felt in years." Calvin grunted. "You're a peach." Green laughed again. "Georgia grown! Isn't that fitting?" She crossed the room again in a hurry.
"So here's what I'm going to offer you, Calvin - something of a wager. Have you ever watched a fly at a flytrap? That's the most natural gamble out there. The fly is gambling that it can make it down to that sweet, sweet nectar and out before the flytrap snaps shut. The fly is willing to take that bet, though, because the nectar is so good and it's right there." She pointed at Adam and Olivia. "I'm going to offer you lives, for a life. Easy. You let me kill one of the two of them - your choice, I'm not unfair - and I let you do whatever you want to me. Kill, maim, butcher, whatever. OR, and here's where it gets interesting, you refuse and I leave this room, go into that room," she pointed a pudgy finger at the door that had opened earlier, "and put a bullet into the neck of Ying Ko-something or other, the revolutionary leader. You and your two friends here might make it out alive, but as soon as that throng in the street find out their golden boy was gunned down by the troops now firing on them they'll set the whole countryside alight." Green squatted down in from of him, both hands held out in front of her. "That's where it is, Calvin. There's the nectar. It's right there. All you have to do is reach out and take it." Calvin struggled against his restraints. One of the guards behind him put the butt of his rifle into Calvin's back, knocking him over. "Fuck you," he said.
Green rolled her eyes. "You should've learned some more words and gone to church when you were younger, Calvin." "Take me," Calvin heard Olivia say next to him. Her voice was hoarse. "Calvin, she's going to kill one of us anyway. How else are we going to get the chance?" The woman laughed. "She's right, Calvin. Somebody is dying tonight, and you get to decide who. Come on now, we don't have all night. Ping Pong is not a patient man." She motioned at him, and the guards sat him back up.
"Fine," Calvin said, spitting out blood, "shoot me. Let those two go." Green didn't laugh, but her smile grew unnaturally wide. "No no, Calvin. That's not how the game is played. You don't get to choose yourself. You think this is some kind of noble sacrifice you'd be making?" Now she laughed. "You would've thought after so many years of losing, the Insurgency would've figured this out by now. There are no noble sacrifices, Calvin. Here's what will happen - you will choose one of your friends or those people out there and I live or I die. If I live, I go back to work and we replace the Overseers you've killed - it certainly wouldn't be the first time. If I die, you get to feel like you've won something for a moment, and then you are either killed by the masses outside those doors or killed by our agents or die of the flu or whatever. Maybe you kill another Overseer - Jean is looking wobbly right now, he'd be a good target. Either way, eventually you reach a point where you have exhausted your efforts, and then you'll stop trying. You'll run into a mountain you can't climb - and believe me, that mountain is coming up soon. You'll realize that this tower was built to not be climbed, and you'll give up. As soon as you give up, none of the deaths mean anything. It doesn't matter if it's you, or her, or me." She stood up, hands still outstretched. "You know what makes sacrifice worth it? Perpetuity.
You either keep going and live forever, or you die and history forgets." She laughed. "The worst part is, honestly, you really have no idea what you're doing." Calvin opened his mouth to talk, but Green held out a finger to silence him. "I know what you think you're doing, but honey, you were messed up from the word go. You think that killing people will stop the Foundation and, well," she paused, pensively. "You should ask Aaron Siegel about that. Hard to kill an idea." She turned the hand back over. "Last chance. Make a choice, fly." Calvin struggled against his restraints for a second more, and Green sighed. "Fine. You know, this is actually what I wanted in the first place anyway." She gestured at the captain, who strode towards the door. Olivia shouted out and lunged towards him, but was rebuked by the end of his rifle. He kicked the door open, and fired three times through the doorway. There was shouting on the other side, and then he fired again until the shouting stopped. He nodded to someone in the room, and walked through followed by the other agents. They heard another door open in the next room, and the sound of something wet and heavy hitting concrete.
The crowd outside went silent. A moment later there was a single gunshot, and then a thousand. The mob erupted, and the earth began to shake. More gunshots filled the air, and they could smell the distinct scent of gunpowder and searing flesh. Green turned to gather her things.
"You know that thing I said earlier, about flytraps? Here's what's funny about that - even if they don't go for the nectar, it's too late. They won't ever get out. The fly is made to do all sorts of things, but the flytrap? The flytrap is just there to catch the fly. But they keep coming, because that nectar sure does look good." She turned to look at them. "I wonder who will be next?" Suddenly Adam was on his feet, his cuffs and a nail clattering to the ground. He had taken three steps when Green had her gun out, inches from his face. He stopped suddenly, legs shaking, and Green cocked her head and smiled.
"Oh, no," she said, "sorry honey, but it's not going to be you." Calvin saw a flash of light out the window, and then Green was stumbling backwards, clutching her hand and cursing. Blood rushed between her fingers. From on the table next to her, a confiscated radio crackled.
"Run." It was Anthony.
Adam snagged a key off the table as Green ran out of the room. Once unshackled, Calvin collected their weapons and the radio.
"Anthony," he said, running into the next room, "do you have eyes? Where's she at?" "On the roof," Anthony said, "there's a helicopter landing right now. I'm heading your way." As they rounded the corner, three of the revolutionaries stormed up the stairs, guns drawn.
They opened fire on the three, forcing Calvin behind a table and Olivia back into the first room.
Calvin returned fire, catching the first man in the shoulder and forcing him back. Olivia fired blind, but missed. Two more were coming up the stairs behind them, and more could be heard below. Calvin could barely hear the crowd below them over the din of the helicopter above.
Calvin reloaded, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Adam sprinting around the corner behind Olivia, something long and slender in his hand. Before Calvin could shout out to him, Adam had the Spear of the Non-Believer cocked back and aimed at the men in the stairwell. In the moment before he loosed it, Calvin felt the air get sucked out of the room. Silence filled the space where noise had been a second prior, and the lights dimmed. He grabbed his chest, unable to breathe, and managed to get turned just enough to look over the table towards the stairwell.
There was a roaring sound like a locomotive passing over them, and a blast of light and heat.
The spear ripped through the air towards the men on the stairs, piercing each of them in succession and embedding itself in the wall behind them. As it passed through them, they burst into flames and were quickly reduced to ash - the last sound from their lips being the faint whisper of a scream before being silenced forever. Calvin stood up unsteadily, his expression covered with disbelief. Adam stumbled backwards, bracing first against the wall and then Olivia as she came in behind him to scoop him up. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
"Holy shit," he said quietly, "I don't know what I was expecting, but… oh god." "No time, come on," Calvin said before realizing that Adam could barely stand. "Olivia, stay here with him. Anthony will be up soon, I'll get Green." Olivia nodded. Calvin bounded up the stairs towards the roof, taking the door with a lowered shoulder and bowling out onto the platform above. The helicopter was just a few steps away, and Green was standing on the railing. When she saw him, she extended her free hand in greeting.
"This is it, Calvin!" her voice cut over the sound of the helicopter and the crowd below, which was now in a frenzy. Fires had broken out across the entire quad, with more cropping up in the distance as the city began to burn. "This is the world your actions lead you to. I hope it was worth it!" Calvin pulled out his sidearm and fired at her. He missed once, then twice, and then an explosion rocked the building and his gun fell from his hand. He reached to grab it but was too slow, and it disappeared over the edge of the roof. With Green laughing over the noise, the helicopter began to ascend.
Calvin felt someone come up beside him. Anthony planted a knee into the ground and, taking aim with his scoped rifle, fired a round. It pinged off the metal just beside Green, whose eyes grew wide with something like glee upon seeing him.
"Ah, Vince, you were late! I had hoped I'd get the chance to catch up with you too!" She blew him a big kiss. "I'll tell Aaron you said hi when I see him next!" Anthony lined up another shot but was wide when he pulled the trigger. The helicopter continued to climb. He fired again - nothing.
Then, something streaked out of the crowd below them - a rocket. It arced into the sky and disappeared into the open door of the helicopter. For a moment nothing happened - Green didn’t look like she’d even seen it. Then, scarlet filled the sky as the rocket and helicopter both burst into flames and fell to the earth. The blades were spun out into the crowd, and the flaming mass of metal struck a nearby building. The fuel exploded, and both the wreckage and the building collapsed into the crowd below them.
Another explosion rocked the ground beneath them, and then another. Overhead, low-flying shapes came into view, moving quickly past them and away into the distance. Moments later, fire lit up the horizon, drawing closer to them. Another wave of shapes passed by - jets - and then more fire. One of them struck the street outside the governor's manor, causing Calvin to stumble. Anthony caught him by the jacket and pulled him to his feet.
"Time to go, kid," he said.
They sprinted to the rooftop access and down the stairs where Adam and Olivia were waiting.
Motioning for them to follow, Anthony led them down another stairwell into the kitchens. They danced around falling pots and pans as more explosions sent shockwaves through the walls of the manor, the mortar and brick beginning to give way in places as the ceiling above them cracked and splintered. They turned one corner, and then another, and then a third led them to a side door that Anthony lowered a shoulder into, flinging it open and emptying them out onto the street.
They stood between the now-crumbling manor and the building adjacent that had caught the flaming helicopter as it fell from the sky. At the end of the alley they could see the mob converging on soldiers who opened fire into the mass. Above them, more planes screamed overhead and more bombs fell onto the crazed populace. Anthony turned back to the other end of the side street.
"Down there," he pointed at the end of the street, "there was a car pool when I came in the back. There's liable to be something in there that we can-" He was cut short by the scream of something unnatural. Turning back towards the flaming wreck of the building next to the manor, they saw a fiery figure step out of the wreckage. Its skin had sloughed off half of its face, and one arm had been severed just above the elbow. It stumbled out into the street, trying to balance on rapidly melting legs. Its eyes were gone entirely; all that remained were empty sockets full of smoke.
The figure turned towards them and opened its mouth, and a foul moan echoed out of its charred throat, drowning out all sounds around them. It took one step towards them, and then another. Instinctively Calvin fired at it, and the bullet tore through flesh and bone but still it inched forward. The figure moaned again and raised its hand, leveling a gun at Calvin's chest.
He realized too late what it was, but by the time he heard the crack of the gunshot he was already on the ground.
Standing over him was Anthony, hand clutching the side of his neck. Another crack, and he stumbled backwards as Olivia screamed and fired back. Blood was pooling underneath his shirt. There was a third crack and the sound of a bullet ricocheting off the pavement as the holder of the gun collapsed into a smoking, smoldering, unmoving pile. Anthony turned as if to walk away and fell, only barely avoiding slamming into the pavement as Adam slid underneath him to break his fall. Calvin scrambled to his feet and rushed over.
Blood was now pulsing out from under Anthony's fingers on his neck, and more was seeping through his shirt. Olivia was trying to keep pressure on the chest wound, but Anthony waved her off. He took a breath, and then another. Each felt like it lasted an eternity, and each was more ragged and uncertain than the last. Calvin stood over him, blood now spattering onto his shoes every time Anthony coughed. The helplessness of it all began to close around him like a shroud.
Then he felt something - a weight that he had forgotten about and suddenly remembered. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a crystal vial of clear, shimmering fluid. He held it in front of him, the light of the fires behind them dancing across its surface like fireworks in rain. Adam saw it too, and his eyes drew wide. Olivia had stopped what she was doing, and then they were all watching Calvin. Almost unconsciously, he brought his other hand up to remove the seal.
"No!" croaked Anthony through spittle and blood. "Calvin- no. No. Don't." Olivia looked back down at him, tears streaming down her face. "Anthony, please. Please, we can save you, we can-" The older man shook his head. "No- not like that. No." His eyes, which had until this moment been unfocused, were now locked onto Calvin's. "My mistake. Mine. Not yours." Calvin hesitated, his hand still inches from the seal of the vial. Then, as quickly as he had produced it, he slid it away into his jacket.
Anthony sighed. "Vincent-" he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible over the din, "- Arians. It was my name." He raised a hand towards Calvin, who took it into his own. "Here, now, for you- Anthony." He smiled.
Then, after one more shallow breath, Anthony Wright died.
Calvin was the first to stand. He took several deep breaths, trying desperately not to think about it.
"We need to go," he said. "The car pool, he said there were cars. We need to get out of here." Adam looked up, his eyes red behind tears. "We can't leave him here. We can't." He turned to Olivia as if to beg her, but she was already frantically digging around in her bag. After a second, she pulled out a thin brush and a small container of light blue paint. She motioned for Adam to stand back, and the young man took two hesitant steps away from Anthony's body.
With a swift, deft hand, she ran long lines of paint across the body. At the spots where the lines intersected, light shined through the color of the paint as if from underneath it. She ran several more lines, and then more crossing over those, and then stepped back. Anthony's body was covered in many thin lines of glowing blue paint, which blinked and pulsed slowly. She leaned forward over him, and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.
Like lightning, the lines all lit up at once. Each of the individual cells created by the crossing lined began to change until they were cloudy and opaque, as if he was covered in many pieces of stained glass. As they all solidified into a glass cocoon around the body, Olivia brought the other end of her brush down into the center of the figure, shattering it. The glass collapsed, and suddenly the air was filled with a prismatic cloud of crystal butterflies, each sounding a single note of a song that played around them over the chaos of the fighting beyond. They swung around the group once, and then away from them into the air. The glass was no more, and Anthony's body was gone.
Calvin grabbed the two of them up, and together they raced down the alley towards the back of the manor. More explosions lit up the night sky, and dark figures raced into the woods outside the city all around them. When they reached the car lot, half of the vehicles there were on fire and a ten meter crater was carved out of the ground where they had been. The scrambled through an open gate and surveyed the scene.
"Shit," Olivia said, "what are we going to do?" Without warning, a military jeep came around the corner from behind a patch of trees, stopping in front of them. The door opened and a man climbed out, his features hidden beneath a hood and bandanna.
"Take the car," the man said, "drive north until you are out of the country. A map in the glove box will take you to your next contact." He looked back towards the flaming city behind them.
"Is the Overseer dead?" Calvin nodded.
The man didn't move. "And Wright?" None of them responded. The man paused, and then handed a pack to Calvin. "This is food, water, and munitions to last you until you reach the checkpoint. You must hurry - the Overseers have their kill squads roaming the countryside looking for you." He took a few steps towards the treeline, and then turned back. "For the Insurgency." "For the Insurgency," Calvin echoed.
The man disappeared into the trees, and the three of them climbed into the jeep. As another bomb dropped nearby, they tore out of the lot and onto a dirt road heading north into the dark forest.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 THEN — - — A phone is ringing.
Aaron Siegel stands outside of a church. Its walls, rotted and crumbling, strain to hold up the towering, pockmarked roof above it. One of the doors hangs loose on a single hinge, swaying softly in the wind. The windows, long since stripped of their panes and frames, whistle an eerie song as the wind slices through them. The entire structure creaks and groans.
A phone is ringing.
Aaron looks behind him. He can see Arians standing next to their car, watching him. Between the haze of the dust and the setting sun, he almost looks like a mirage. He’s too far away, and Aaron can’t make out his features. All he sees is his friend’s coat, whipping in the wind, and the dark glasses on his face.
A phone is ringing.
Aaron looks off in the distance, and sees fire. He hears the moaning and screeching of metal on metal, and sees smoke rising over the mountains. Every so often he hears the thunderous cacophony of an explosion rip across the badlands and sees lights flashing across the horizon.
He sees, very briefly, a clockwork mountain, illuminated by an inferno. A dark star hangs low in the sky.
A phone is ringing.
Aaron hears voices. Nine voices, calling to him from the earth. They know. They know he carries the trigger, and they ache for its release. They cry out to him, begging him for the elation of their own torment. They cannot hear each other, but they can hear him. Each footstep sends their tiny bodies writhing in their concrete tombs, their broken arms outstretched, grasping towards a god they cannot see. “Come back,” they say. “Make us whole again.” A phone is ringing.
Aaron steps towards the church, but his gait is unsure and his pace wavers. Inside the church, he will find truth. The sky burns bright in the light of a blighted god. Horror seeps through the soil, wrapping tiny, shredded fingers around his shoes. He pulls away, and struggles towards the church. The sun sinks below the mountains, and as it does he sees a Red Right Hand hanging in the heavens. The wind knocks the doors of the church wide, and from within its ruined hall he hears the sound of a man laughing.
Inside the church, a phone is ringing.
NOW — - — “This is it?” Olivia said.
Calvin consulted the journal. The location was right, so far as he could tell, but the smoking ruin they had come upon was not the fortress described in the text. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he tried to make out some features noted by the author, but was unable to. As a whole, it was an unrecognizable mess.
“Yeah,” Calvin said slowly, “this is it.” Adam squinted through the smoke that drifted towards them. “You think somebody else got here first?” Anthony grunted. “Likely not. I can’t imagine the Overseers have made it public that their contract is broken.” “One of ours, then?” the young man inquired.
Calvin shook his head. “Delta was very specific. Nobody but us.” “Well shit then, kids,” Olivia said, taking off down the rocky hill. “Let’s go have a look.” The four of them followed the road down towards a gatehouse that set nearly a half mile off of the destroyed fortress on the mountain. Aside from the drifting smoke and debris being kicked up in the wind, there was no other movement in the entire complex. The gate stood open, and they passed through. The gatehouse sat unoccupied.
“Little on the nose, don’t you think?” Adam said, examining the structure as they walked up the long drive towards it. “Evil organization boss has an evil fortress in the mountains?” Anthony barked out a laugh. “You haven’t met Baron Hoadley, then.” “Baron Hoadley?” Olivia asked.
“O5-8,” Anthony replied. “He didn’t build this fortress because he wanted to intimidate people.
He built it because he’s a coward.” “You knew him?” Adam asked.
Anthony hesitated for a moment. “Knew of him, sure. I’ve never met him. A reputation can follow you, though, regardless of what circles you run in.” They carried on, though Olivia studied Anthony closely as they did.
— - — The damage to the exterior of the mountain fortress was only an appetizer compared to the feast of destruction within. Staircases were broken and inaccessible, the floor beneath them creaked and groaned and in some places gave way entirely to soot and ash. Long steel beams across the ceiling sagged from the heat, and the entire estate stunk of fire and flesh. Every so often they would pass by a corpse of some man, likely a personal guard of the Overseer, their bodies charred and their faces mutilated. Several of them were piled against the inside of a locked door. More lay flat on the ground, running from something in the rear of the building.
They descended the levels they could, until they reached a large room whose walls seemed to no longer exist. The roof above it had long since collapsed and smoke still floated out into the evening sky. There were guards in this room, too, though most of them were now superimposed against the walls, nothing more than the absence of a man where the heat couldn’t reach. They crossed the chamber, careful to avoid the corpses, the point from which the devastation seemed to have burst forth.
It was the corpse of a man, his body flayed open and his skin blackened. Something dull and metallic was anchored onto his exposed spine, and as they approached they could hear a gentle whirring of spinning gears. From within his chest grew a massive, scorched, flesh covered spire that branched out in all directions towards the ceiling. Large chunks of burnt meat sat rotting around the room. Anthony stooped down to study the figure.
“Yep,” he said, “that’s definitely the Overseer.” “What the fuck happened here, then?” Adam said, incredulous.
“If I had to take a guess,” Anthony said, standing back up, “I think that Baron had enjoyed the benefits of some sort of… augmentations, or magic, or… something unnatural, which were kept in check because he couldn’t die.” He glanced around the room. “Judging by how far down the fires have burned, I’d guess that a few weeks ago he suddenly found himself very mortal, and his augmentations didn’t agree with each other.” He poked the spinning gear mechanism with his foot, causing it to spin a little faster. “Yeah, definitely didn’t agree with each other.” Olivia peered down at the corpse. “That’s it, then? One more down?” Calvin nodded as he surveyed the scene. “Everything here looks more or less self-contained. I guess… yeah, I mean, I guess we’re finished here.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s going to be late soon. Let’s find somewhere to bunk down, and we’ll leave in the morning.” “So we’re standing alone on a beach, and our evac is five minutes away,” Calvin growled, his voice hushed as he gestured a spinning helicopter. “We’ve got Peacekeepers on the other side of this hill, and the rabid occultists sprinting down the beach. There’s a Foundation destroyer parked three miles off of the beach, you can barely see it, but we know that at any moment they could open up a railgun and turn us into a red smear on the sand.” Adam rocked back and forth with giddy excitement. “So what did you do?” Calvin made another grand gesture. “What do you think? I unclipped my rifle and mowed them down, every last one! All fire and hot lead and fury, until the beach was empty and our evac arrived.” The young man’s eyes were nearly bright enough to illuminate the dark room. “Holy shit dude.
Why haven’t you told me this before?” “Because it’s bullshit,” Olivia said, walking into the room and setting down scavenged food from the kitchens. “What your glorious leader has failed to mention is that he had lost his gun before we ever got on the beach. He dropped it when one of the native kids threw a rock at him while we were riding down the main road about three towns away. In lieu of a Rambo-style shootout,” she said, smiling at Calvin as he simmered across the room, “I glamoured us up a big sea turtle and we hid underneath it until the Peacekeepers had moved on and the occultists got bored.
Then we swam out to the sandbar where our rendezvous was waiting, in a fishing boat.” She poked a finger towards Calvin. “And I wouldn’t call that glorified dingy a Foundation destroyer.
It was barely a patrol ship.” “You know,” he said, glowering, “there’s something to be said about the victors getting to write history.” “I know,” she said, grinning. “I just did.” Adam laughed. “I didn’t realize you two had known each other so long. Have you worked together for a while?” “A while!” Olivia spat. “How old do you think I am?” Adam’s foot promptly ran itself a mile down his throat, and Olivia laughed again. “Yes,” she said, “it’s been a while. We first met… when? In Budapest? That would’ve been in ‘94?” “Too long,” Calvin squawked, taking a drink from a metal flask. “Ever since I had to pull her ass off the street when she was running with that group of art monkeys.” “Excuse me,” she said, smacking the back of his hand with a wooden spoon. “Those ‘art monkeys’ were how I got my foot in the door here. The great Calvin Lucien would’ve had no interest in me if I couldn’t do magic.” “I don’t have any interest in you now,” he said, earning himself another smack.
“Hang on, magic? Like, you’re a wizard?” Adam said with renewed awe. “How do I not know this?” “I don’t make a habit out of talking about it in public,” Olivia said, stirring her soup, “but yes.
Once upon a time I was The Incredible Ivory, an anartist of some renown. I worked a couple of shows in Paris and Munich before our cell got busted by Foundation thugs. We got scattered, and the Insurgency moved in to pick up the pieces.” She eyed Calvin again. “In Budapest.” He shrugged. “I’ve cleaned up plenty of the Foundation’s messes in my day. They all sort of run together after a while.” As another deft smack rang through the ruined hall they had made their camp in, Anthony shuffled around a corner holding a stack of books. He grunted as he tossed them to the ground in front of the group, and gave them a nudge with his foot.
“Alright. Homework time.” Olivia scowled. “We haven’t even finished dinner yet. You don’t think we have time for a single night off? We haven’t stopped in weeks.” Anthony grabbed a book off the top of the pile and settled into a large chair. “Suit yourself. But remember that the Overseers aren’t taking the night off.” They each grudgingly picked up a book and began to flip through them. After quickly skimming a couple of pages, Adam paused.
“Anthony,” he said, “what about you? You’ve been around for a while, right?” Anthony grunted a response.
“How long is that exactly?” Adam inquired.
Anthony sighed and sat the book down on the table next to his chair. “I have the distinct benefit of being the elder member of this group, by far. That’s all you need to know.” Adam scowled. “Come on, man. We’ve been working together for months now and I feel like I don’t know anything about you.” Calvin coughed. “He’s just mad because he doesn’t want to tell you how old he is.” He flipped a page. “Here’s a hint: it’s pretty old.” Anthony glared at him. “At my age, kid, you don’t think so much about the things you’ve done, and start thinking more about the things you could’ve done.” He grunted. “That list is pretty long.” “I mean, we all knew what we signed up for, right?” Adam said in between bites of a sandwich.
“Our lives in service to a better world? Our lives as sacrifice in order to create a future for the rest of mankind?” He swallowed. “That doesn’t sound too bad.” Anthony stared into his book. “You say that now. You’re young. The goal isn’t too far away from where you’re at now. When it’s done, you get to go back. But me, and some of the others… this is all it’s ever been. I knew what I signed up for, aye. You’re right in thinking we all did. I’m not ashamed of it. It’s just a bittersweet satisfaction you get from it.” Calvin elbowed Adam. “Listen kid, don’t let him get you down. We’ll probably all be curmudgeons when we get to be as old as he is. But carrying on the Engineer’s legacy, standing in opposition to-” Anthony snorted. “The Engineer. I’m sure.” They all stopped and looked at the old man, who shook his head slowly. “Feel free to call it whatever you want, but don’t call it carrying on The Engineer’s legacy.” Calvin raised a single eyebrow. “You have a better way to describe keeping the torch of our founder?” Anthony put the book down again and closed his eyes. “The Engineer is a lie that Delta Command tells the Insurgency to keep everyone in line. ‘Do it for His Legacy,’ they say. No. Do it for your friends and family. Do it because it’s the right thing to do. But don’t do it for some asinine notion that you’re keeping up a man’s legacy.” “What are you talking about?” Olivia said.
Anthony leaned back in his chair. “They’ll tell you a lot of things about The Engineer. Some of them are true. He certainly did build the Insurgency from almost nothing. He set forth many of its tenets. But he also turned traitor the moment he had a chance to grab power.” Adam sat up quickly, and Calvin glared at the old man. “What are you even talking about?” he barked. “You act like you knew the man.” He paused. “I did know him,” Anthony growled back. “I followed him during the Defection. I carried the weight of our young Insurgency right beside him, and I was left to pick up the pieces when he stabbed us in the back and bolted for the Foundation the moment he got a better deal - when they made him an Overseer.” “That’s impossible,” Adam said slowly. “If you knew the Engineer, you would have to be… god, a hundred years old. Older even than that.” Anthony didn’t move. “Yes,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Older even than that.” Calvin laughed mockingly. “Isn’t that something, then. Rail against the unnatural while dipping your hand in that same honeypot to extend your life.” Anthony glowered at him. “I was a child. I knew nothing. I’ve grown up, but that shit doesn’t just leave you.” “Who knows about this?” Olivia said quietly.
“Nobody.” Anthony rubbed his palm against his temple. “Nobody needs to. Everytime somebody became suspicious, I would disappear for a while and come back with a different name. Even then, in those times I would be gone, I wasn’t ever far away - just enough to snuff out suspicion while still doing what I could to protect our ambitions.” Calvin threw up his hands. “So let me get this straight - you expect us to believe that you, someone who has anomalously extended their life past what is natural and who knews what else, you expect us to believe that you now know better than the Engineer? Everything we have here is owed to the Engineer, and the sacrifices he made. Our entire doctrine is-” “Sacrifices?!” Anthony was standing now, his face reddening. “You think he made sacrifices?
He let others do the sacrificing for him. He lost nothing and gained everything he ever wanted, and we all fell for it. Well fell for it because we were idealists, Calvin. We believed we could singlehandedly stand against the darkness, that our actions would make a difference. The Engineer took that idealism, used it for as long as it was useful to him, and then broke its back!” Adam moved to speak, but Anthony couldn't be deterred. "We built this Insurgency from the ground up, together, and we shared everything. He took that knowledge back to the Foundation and used it to ruin us. Hundreds were killed! Thousands! He knew everything there was to know about us, our facilities, our encampments, our storehouses. He knew it all, and he destroyed it all! We became a joke to them!" He sunk back into his chair. “We set up Delta in the wake of his betrayal to be purposefully realistic. That's why the Insurgency has no real goal - the Summa Modus Operandi is the only goal, and until now it has been an unattainable one. This is by design. Give us something to do until an opportunity presents itself, or forever be the wriggling doubt in the back of his mind, if he's even still in there." He paused to take a drink. His expression softened. He looked tired. "Delta doesn’t even know.
It wouldn’t matter; even if they did, it benefits them to maintain the cult of personality based around him. He’s a mascot at this point, and one our organization needs desperately.” “If what you’re saying is true,” Calvin said with measured words, “then why haven’t you said anything sooner?” Anthony shrugged. “To what end? A chance that people believe me and lose faith in the Insurgency, or a greater chance they don’t believe me at all, like what you’re doing now. What difference would it make?” He paused. “Our goal is still the most important thing. Anything that would distract from that goal cannot be allowed.” “So why are you telling us now?” Olivia said softly.
Anthony didn’t speak right away. He brought a single finger up to his temple and began to rub it slowly, closing one eye and looking off somewhere in the distance. “I’m telling you now, because it matters to me that you know. It would be nothing short of a miracle for us all to make it through this.” He paused again. “It doesn’t seem right to let somebody die without knowing the truth of what they’re dying for. We do what we do because the natural order demands we correct our mistakes, not because of what some traitor said to do seventy years ago.” He stood, book in hand, and began to walk away. “Find whatever peace you can in that.” — - — Later, after Olivia and Adam had fallen asleep by their stack of burning furniture, Calvin sat awake. He rolled a vial of liquid back and forth in his hand, his eyes fixed on it. The light of the fire danced across its surface, reds and yellows scattered across a field of sparkling blue. It was cool to the touch - it always had been - and holding it in his hand made him feel calm. He couldn't explain it, but there was something comforting about — "Where did you get that, Calvin." It wasn't voiced like a question. Calvin spun quickly to find Anthony standing a few paces behind him, face only partially illuminated by the light of the moon. Calvin tucked the vial into his pocket.
"It's none of your business," he said quietly.
Anthony snorted. "It absolutely is my business, because last I checked there wasn't any of it left." He came forward out of the dark and took a seat on the ground next to Calvin. He was whittling at a stick with a short knife. "Do you know what it is?" Calvin nodded. "It's water from the Fountain of Life." Anthony cocked his head, peering down at the end of his stick. "That it is. I imagine you have already used another vial to help bring poor Dr. Carter to a long-awaited grave." Calvin nodded.
"Yet here you are with another one. Now that is something, isn't it?" He set the knife and stick down and leaned back against a chair. "When they ran the Fountain dry, there was just enough water left for twelve vials. Each of them had already drank from it and had their eternal youth assured, but these extra twelve vials were given to each of them - just in case. Last I had heard, they had all been consumed, but now you have two. I wonder whose you ended up with?" He paused. "What are you going to do with it?" "Nothing," Calvin said quickly. "Destroy it, eventually." Anthony closed his eyes. "Good. There is nothing in that bottle but poison, take my word for it.
It'll clean up your wounds and restore your youth, but the life you lead afterwards is a shallow one - an empty one. You start to lose the taste of things, the color starts to come out of the sky." "So you really have tasted the waters," Calvin said, something like incredulity betraying his words.
Anthony sighed. "Yes. When we defected, we took vials of water from the Fountain for ourselves. Not all of us, but a few. I was one of the lucky ones." He laughed. "Lucky. No, not lucky. Once I realized what it was that I had done, I spent years trying to find a way to undo it.
The steps I've taken haven't brought back my taste or brightened my eyes, but they have made me start aging again. Slowly." Calvin pulled the vial back out and looked at it for a moment. When he turned back to Anthony, the man was looking at him. "Back at the chateau, when Donna Taylor said you were lying about being afraid of death - what do you think she meant by that?" Anthony asked.
Calvin shrugged. "I don't know. I'm really not." He paused. "Or— well, I don't know. I'm not afraid of dying myself, but when I think about losing people, the ones I'm close to or the ones who look to me for guidance… something about that makes me feel sick." "Of course it does," Anthony said, smiling. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid of death, Calvin. It's the great unknown - and the fear of losing people to it has driven greater men to worse evils. Trust me, even I have succumbed to that fear before." He stopped for a moment, staring now at the edge of his knife blade. "The difference between us and the Foundation is that we can accept death's role in the natural order - as we can accept the natural order for what it is. The Foundation contains these monsters and miracles and researches them in the hopes of finding greater truths - all for the benefit of the Overseers. They claim to want to keep the power of gods out of the wrong hands, so they keep it for themselves. We deny the power of the gods at all." He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "It shouldn't exist, Calvin. Not like this. Our world wasn't made to sustain it." Anthony looked back down at the vial. "The decision is yours, Calvin, but if I were you I would destroy it and never think of it again, because I won't let you use it, and I don't want to kill you. I won't let you make the same mistake he made." Calvin didn't look up at him. "You said you've come and gone over the years - that you've used different names. Who are you?" Anthony smiled. "For you, right now, I'm Anthony Wright. I've been other people before, but all of those people died when I passed to the next name. The man I was when we defected hasn't been alive in decades." With that, Anthony turned over onto his side and within moments was quietly snoring from under his jacket. Calvin persisted a while longer, until he too was taken by sleep.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 THEN — - — Aaron Siegel sat in the back room of a bustling Somali warehouse. Through the cracks in the blinds he could see people moving to and fro; the first faint breaths of their new Insurgency. He thought the name was ridiculous — most of them did — but ridiculous was part of the equation.
Make them believe you’re incompetent. Make them think it’s not an act. Their footprint was small, but growing steadily. Already they had raided three Foundation storehouses in Africa, with another team preparing for a third. Make them think it’s not an act.
But Aaron Siegel sat uncomfortably. The week before, they got word that work had begun on a new facility in Italy. There wasn’t a sign on the door identifying it as a Foundation site, but all the signs were there. At the same time, three new unmarked ships were seen patrolling the waters near their Somali headquarters. Reports of task forces being deployed in the United States. Dark planes over the Antarctic.
He sat uncomfortably because these were not the choked final breaths of a dying organization.
Frederick Williams was dead, annihilated by the finger of God Himself. Most of the O5 research team, the senior leadership of the fledgling Foundation, had either been killed in the ensuing chaos or defected along with Aaron and Arians. Many others had left their posts to join them too, for any number of ideological reasons. The Chaos Insurgency. Yet even in the midst of their greatest defeat, the Foundation continued on. Their operations seemed untouched.
And Aaron Siegel sat uncomfortably.
The telephone on his desk rang out its piercing notice, and Aaron moved to answer it. He hesitated; the phone had only ever seemed to want to bring him bad news. Another shipment lost. Foundation sites increasing security. More sites under construction. Everything they had sacrificed, everything he had given up, would be for nothing if the Foundation and its efforts were not ground to a halt. The fear of failure, of the reckoning of his sins, stayed his hand for a moment.
But Aaron Siegel answered the phone.
“Can you hear the black wolf howl at the moon?,” said Arians, his rough tenor barely audible across their meager connection.
“Vincent,” Aaron sighed in relief. His friend’s voice was a welcome reprieve, even in spite of its tone. “You’re well?” “I’ve told you a thousand times,” Arians growled over the receiver, “finish the phrase. It’s a security measure. We cannot be compromised, especially not now.” Aaron’s heart dropped slightly. “What news?” Arians paused. “They’re moving to South America. The Broken God fanatics are involved in some activity there. The Foundation is shipping out en masse.” “How many?” Aaron felt himself ask.
“Two hundred, maybe three hundred men,” Arians said, “and that’s not including some other staff members they’re moving in from other sites in the region. It’s a full on escalation, Aaron.” Aaron sunk into his chair. The receiver of the phone felt heavy in his hand, and he heard a distance cackling that swept over him in waves. How could this be happening? They should be in ruins.
“Aaron?” Arians’ voice shocked him and brought him back to reality with a start.
“Yes, yes, sorry, I just… Vince, how is this happening? What did we do wrong?” Arians was quiet for a moment. “Maybe Sophia was just more resourceful than we anticipated.
Look, Aaron,” he took a deep breath, “all I know is what we’re being told, and what we’re being told is that the Foundation is mobilizing to Mexico. We need to have boots on the ground there to try and disrupt their supply lines.” Aaron nodded slowly to nobody but himself. “Yes… yes, you’re right. Of course. We’ll arrange transports for our agents in the region as soon as possible. Vince,” he began to say, hesitating.
“Yes?” “I… I think I want to go with you on this one. I want to go to San Marco.” “You… why?” Aaron’s eyes descended to his desk. Sitting on the middle of it, tied up with red thread, was a small roll of paper. “I want to see them. I just need to see them again.” “They’re not there. We’ve already had our agents in the area confirm that—” “I just… just humor me, Vince. I’ll leave Felix in charge, he can handle things here while we’re away. I won’t be gone more than two weeks.” Aaron could hear Arians’ discontentedness across a continent. “Fine. But you stay with me and my detachment, and you don’t get too close to whatever is happening in La Paz.” Aaron agreed, and then hung up the phone.
— - — That night, Aaron Siegel dreamed many dreams.
He is standing next to Frederick Williams as they opened the doors to a building labeled “Site- 17” on its door. He can see Arians beside him, beaming.
He receives a report of and categorizes a strange statue discovered in an ancient South American ruin. He is there when the truck containing it rolls past the gate. He can faintly see red and green paint.
He speaks to Sophia Light, who has taken to calling herself Sophia Nazarene, at a seminar hosted by Williams. She exudes confidence, and when she touches him on the arm he feels his hair standing up. That night, they fuck like animals. He asks about the scars on her wrists and the one on her side. She doesn’t answer.
He is standing with Frederick Williams and the rest of the Omega-5 research team. They pass around a glass of water, each taking a drink. Arians laughs. Aaron says, I bet you could live forever if you drank this stuff everyday. He notices Sophia stuffing a vial of the water into a bag. The next morning he wakes up without aches for the first time in a decade.
He is standing in a dark room. Twenty paces away he can see the stark, affixed face of Frederick Williams, illuminated by a thin, glowing, purple line in front of him. He is pulling on it with one finger. Every time he touches the line, the moon in the sky outside the window vanishes in a wink. Aaron Siegel calls to him, but he doesn’t look away. His eyes are black.
He is bleeding. He staggers against the wall, his hand clutching his side. He looks behind him and sees a man laying dead on the ground, his hand clasped around a bloodied, shattered golden sword. In the distance, a phone is ringing. He descends down an elevator. It feels like it goes on forever. A phone is ringing.
NOW — - — A gentle drizzle created an ambiance of soft pits and pats on the roof of the estate. The long, empty halls echoed the sound like constant, quiet thunder. One wing of the manor, long since burned and fallen into disarray, was naked to the elements, its furnishings ruined by looters or exposure. Standing in the doorway was a woman with lightly tanned skin and black hair that ran down behind her. She stared out across the wreckage, unmoving.
Her hand lingered for a moment over a picture frame, shattered on a long scorched end table.
The glass had bubbled and cracked and the frame was blackened with soot, but the smiling faces of the image’s subjects still beamed through. She brushed away the ashes and picked away the errant pieces of glass, and pulled the photo out. Her tears mixed with the rain that soaked her skin.
“I know you’re there,” she said quietly, to nobody in particular. “You can come out now.” Calvin emerged slowly from the shadows behind her, and Anthony from another corner. She didn’t turn to see them.
“I’m probably not who you’re looking for, huh?” she said, wiping her cheek with the back of her sleeve.
“No, you’re not,” Calvin said.
She nodded. “Whoever held my,” she gestured up and down on herself, “position, before it was given to me, ran afoul of the consensus.” She turned towards him, the picture in her hand clutched to her chest. “So I became the Ninth Overseer.” “Who are you?” Anthony said.
She smiled. “At one point, my name was Donna Taylor. I was a-” she sniffled, “-sorry, I was a geologist. I took over for, uh… well, I don’t know who, to be honest. But needless to say the Foundation offered me something I needed very much at the time, and I didn’t know better.” She looked down at the picture. “Quite the coincidence, don’t you think?” They didn’t respond.
She continued. “I didn’t seem to notice. I was glad to be employed, and the things they told me… work beyond my wildest dreams. I didn’t realize… it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, I’ve been thinking about this a lot these past few weeks. I knew my day would come here before too long.” “You know why I’m here.” Calvin said. It wasn’t a question.
She nodded again, wiping more tears from her eyes. “Yes, I… I do. I understand, I think. I don’t agree with you, you know, but I think I would see it different from your point of view.” She panned her eyes around behind him. “I thought there would be more of you.” “They’re following a lead,” Anthony said, slowly drawing his sidearm. “Looking for the Eighth.” She winced slightly. “They aren’t going to have much trouble.” He nodded.
She looked at the gun in his hand. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t- I don’t want it to go that way.” She reached into her pocket and with a flick of her wrist produced a switchblade. She held it out in front of her, her eyes fixed on the blade’s edge.
“You know, at one point I used to think that serving a higher cause would immortalize you,” she said. “I thought that- that maybe a life given in service to something greater than yourself would make your death somehow more meaningful.” She laughed, tears freely streaming down her face. “It doesn’t really matter where you end up, though. Any death can be meaningless.
Any life can be wasted.” Suddenly she locked eyes with Calvin, and he felt an intensity surge through his body like nothing he’d ever felt before. The gun in his hand trembled, and the hairs on the back of his arms stood up. In his mind’s eye, he saw the manor around him restored, its halls filled with magnificence and its rooms full of laughter. He saw a father and his daughters fishing at the lake behind the house, and two boys wrestling over a toy nearby. He saw Christmases, and happy faces, and long night hours of studying over immense textbooks. He saw Donna Taylor and her loving parents, beaming towards a photographer after earning her doctorate. Then he saw fire, and heard screaming, and then he saw her standing in front of him again.
She was older now, he noticed. Her posture was slanted and her hair was thinner. With every breath she drew he could see the years weighing on her. But her eyes scorched the air around them with their intensity, and he could see the last desperate clarion call of a life unlived. He felt anger and hate building inside of him, so much that he might suffocate in it- his entirety overcome by unbridled emotion. He gasped and stumbled as his vision grew blurry, as the pain in his chest split his skin and collapsed his veins. His heart groaned against the strain until it too caught fire and burst, and he was enveloped in flames.
And then she was standing in front of him again, her eyes dark. Calvin looked himself over, trembling in relief that he was unharmed. Anthony was grimacing from across the room. When Calvin looked up, he saw that the Overseer had collapsed into a burnt chair, and long streams of red were cascading down her wrists. She smiled weakly, her breath ragged and airy.
He holstered his gun and walked slowly towards her, careful to avoid the blood-stained knife on the ground. As he approached, she raised one pale arm towards him, and handed him the picture in her hand. He took it, and she relaxed.
“Why?” Calvin asked.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” She coughed, and blood pulsed out of her veins. Her eyes, hazy now and struggling to focus, caught his. “Are you afraid of death?” He paused. “No.” She grinned at him, her eyes closing as her consciousness began to drift away. She put one hand on his face, droplets of blood smearing across his cheek.
“You’re lying,” she said. And then she died.
- BACK - Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 THEN — - — In the stillness of the tiny apartment, Vincent Arians sipped his drink. A half-finished bottle and a loaded pistol sat on the countertop nearby. Thin bands of twilight peeked in through the slits of the blinds, illuminating the prone form of Aaron Siegel on the ground in front of him.
Arians sat the glass aside and took a long drag on a cigarette, his eyes squinting against the luminescence. A moment later, Aaron stirred. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, one hand wiping sleep and saliva out of his beard. His face, puffy and red, turned to face Arians.
“What happened?” he croaked. “Where are we?” He looked down at his hands. They were still trembling. “Did it work?” Arians took another drag of the cigarette. Smoke flowed slowly out of his nostrils, catching the light in front of him. He was barely visible behind the haze. “He’s dead.” Arians’ eyes focused on some point in the distance. “It worked.” For a long moment, Aaron did not move. Then — suddenly — he slammed his fist into the ground.
“Yes,” he hissed through his clenched jaw. “Yes.” Arians’ expression was distant. “We almost died, you know.” He dribbled ash on the carpet to his right. “Some of us didn’t make it.” Aaron staggered upright, then fell down with his back against the wall. He held out his hand; Arians passed him the cigarette.
“How many?” Aaron asked.
“You and I. Felix. Conrad. Ingrid.” Arians counted on his fingers. “Five total. Felix has already reached out to researchers at other sites. Some of them are reaching out to us. Everyone is scared shitless.” He took another drink. “Thought you might be dead.” Aaron rubbed his temples. “I don’t remember much.” He looked over at Arians. “You look younger.” “Yeah. We all do. That water will do that.” He finished his glass. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, Aaron. But before we start, you need to tell me why you did it.” Aaron shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s done.” “Fuck you. It does matter.” Something had changed; there was a distance between them. “We did things — I did things — that will haunt me till the day I die. But we did them anyway, because we were saving the world. You had the chance to destroy Abaddon. And you didn’t.” His voice grew hard and cold. “You told me to run the moment you activated them, the Children. You told me not to ask why. So that’s what I did. I trusted you, because you’ve never given me a reason not to. But now? I’ve got several. You need to tell me why you killed Frederick Williams.” They were silent for a good, long while. Aaron worked on finishing the cigarette; Arians poured himself another drink. As he leaned back against the wall, Aaron could see faint, pinkish swelling around Arians’ eyes.
“There was no Abaddon,” Aaron finally said. “There never was. It was bait.” Arians drew in a ragged breath. “How do you know?” “Because he told me, Vince.” “What?” “And when I didn’t believe him,” Aaron continued, “he showed me.” He let the silence speak for him; when he grew tired of what it had to say, he went on. “It was just before the Congo site. I was there, with him.” Aaron exhaled. Wisps of smoke swirled from his nostrils, climbing toward the ceiling.
Arians said nothing. Aaron examined the cigarette. “I don’t know what the hell he is. He was probably human, once. Maybe. But not anymore. He can do things — impossible things. When the site fell…” He closed his eyes. “I watched him level an entire facility, Vincent. One man.
That’s all it took. That’s all Abaddon was.” “Why would he—” Aaron’s eyes opened. “I think he saw in me a kindred spirit.” Then, softer: “I watched him press through concrete and rebar as if they were soft, wet paste. I watched a man exhale his own skeleton as a thick, yellow fog. I watched a woman’s blood solidify into crystal — as sharp as diamond and as brittle as chalk. He let me watch, because he knew no one would believe me.
He let me watch, because… I think he wanted to see what I would do.” Arians struggled to speak; his voice caught in his throat. “So you destroyed him.” Aaron was very still. “Yes. I knew I didn’t have the kind of power I needed to kill him, and…” He stopped and stood up, searching for another bottle. When he found one, he didn’t look at the label. He poured himself another drink.
“Maybe he wanted to see if I could — if I would. Maybe he just wanted to see that power himself. In some of his correspondence, early on, he would describe anomalies as ‘glorious’.
He talked about them like you might talk about a sunrise. I think… I don’t know. I don’t think it was ever enough for him. I don’t think anything was.” Aaron finished his glass in a single pull.
“He’s the cancer, Vince. It wasn’t Abaddon. It was the Administrator. He had to be destroyed.
The whole thing had to be destroyed. It was rotten down to its core.” He lifted the bottle to pour himself another drink.
Arians’ breathing was heavy and shaking. It took him a moment to speak again — and when he did, he trembled with a barely-suppressed sob.
“If you knew… this whole time — we could’ve stopped, Aaron. We could’ve — we could’ve spared them, we could’ve—” Aaron brought the bottle down hard. “No, Vince. We needed the Children. If we didn’t have them, I wouldn’t have been able to—” Arians’ voice swelled with fury. “We sliced them open and cut into their fucking brains!” Aaron grimaced. Arians reached for the counter, steadying himself. “I — I strapped children down to fucking operating tables, Aaron. I strapped them down and I helped you carve out every last inch of who they were. They screamed and screamed, and we kept carving. And then the screams got softer, and softer, until they were just tiny, broken sounds, little wet sobs you had to strain to hear, and then, one day they didn’t make any sound at all, and…” Arians’ voice fell into shaky, wheezing breaths. He closed his eyes and counted to ten.
“You said Dr. Williams just wanted to see if it could be done. But what about you?” He opened his eyes. “Why didn’t you stop it?” “I told you. We needed it to kill—” “I don’t believe you.” Neither spoke.
Arians pushed himself away from the counter. “Once the Foundation collapses, we’ll have a lot of work to do.” His voice was treacherously calm; like a razor-thin layer of ice spread across the surface of dark water.
“Felix is assembling the researchers and finding us a space to operate from. They all think the Administrator aligned himself with Abaddon. They think you’re some sort of hero. They expect you to lead. And that’s precisely what you’re going to do.” “Vince.” Aaron turned to him, his eyes glassy and wide — as if viewing something from a distance. “You saw it too, didn’t you? The moment that it happened — that it destroyed him.
That moment, you saw it. Didn’t you?” “Yeah. I saw it.” “Wasn’t it…” Aaron searched for the right word. “Wasn’t it…” “It was nothing,” Arians replied. “Just another body beneath the foundation.” NOW — - — Adam spat, wiping cobwebs from his face. “You know that I hate bugs, right?” Calvin laughed. “I can’t imagine they’re thrilled with you, either.” The thick morning fog seeped out between the trees. It gave the forest a dull, amber-gold luster. A chittering chorus of insects surrounded them both, as if to berate them for their intrusion. Dead leaves crackled beneath them with each step into the woods.
Adam kept mopping away at his mouth. “And magic. If I were writing a list of things I’d hate, that’s what the list would be. ‘Bugs and magic’. So you bring me along on the one mission that has both.” He paused to spit out another bit of webbing. “Why me? Why not Anthony, or Olivia?
This seems like their kind of deal.” “Olivia’s busy dealing with the Liar.” Calvin retrieved the journal from his pocket. He opened it and flipped through several pages. “As for Anthony, he’s getting intel on the Outsider.” “Okay. Fine. But this lady — she’s basically some sort of wizard, right? How are we going to deal with that? You’ve got some sort of plan, yeah?” “I’ve got several.” Calvin turned the page, reading as they walked.
“Well, what are they?” “Most of them consist of shooting her in the face.” “That’s…” Adam scowled. “That’s not a plan.” “It’s worked out pretty well so far.” Calvin looked up from the journal, casting a glance back to Adam. “And if things get heated, I’ve got… something. A weapon.” “What is it?” “Can’t tell you.” “Seriously? C’mon, that’s—” “No,” Calvin cut him off. “I mean I literally can’t tell you.” He closed the journal and stopped walking. “We’re here.” Adam’s scowl only deepened. He looked around the clearing. “I don’t see anything. How can you even tell?” “Listen.” Adam stopped. He listened.
Silence.
“You know how the Foundation contains some pretty intense anomalies, right? Things that, if left unchecked, could end the world?” “Yeah.” Adam leaned back against a tree, scanning the clearing. The quiet — the sense of stillness — it was overpowering. Breaking it almost felt vulgar. “Right.” “And you know how the Foundation has existed for, oh, I don’t know — maybe only around a century or two?” Calvin squeezed the journal into his pocket.
Adam nodded. “Right.” “Then here’s your history quiz: If the Foundation contains so many world-ending anomalies, and the Foundation has only existed for a century, who was containing those anomalies before them?” Adam tried hard not to roll his eyes. “No one. Anomalies didn’t exist before the Foundation. The Overseers created them to gain immortality. C’mon, seriously? This is kid’s stuff.” “But that’s not quite it. Because there are anomalies that predate the Foundation. And besides, how do you ‘create’ anomalies if they never existed in the first place?” Adam folded his arms across his chest and wrinkled his brow in thought.
“All that’s really happened,” Calvin continued, walking toward one edge of the clearing, “is that the number of anomalies has started to increase substantially. The Foundation didn’t create the problem — they just made the problem much, much worse.” “How?” Calvin reached his destination. Two young saplings stood, side-by-side. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and extended his arm out between them.
His hand vanished up to the wrist.
Adam’s eyes went as wide as saucers. Calvin pulled his arm back; his hand reappeared, unscathed. He turned around and held it out for Adam to see, wriggling his fingers. “They tugged on threads not meant to be tugged. They tried to use them — even harness them.” “What the hell is—” “A Way. A tunnel between worlds; a piece of frayed, unraveled thread.” Calvin faced the saplings, extending his arm again. “In order to pass through this one, you need to have the right Knock.” Adam walked toward Calvin, staring at the space where the older man’s arm terminated. “A — what?” “Something that opens the Way. Sometimes it’s just the time of day, or something you’re carrying; other times it’s a ritual, or a word, or a thought. In this case, it’s a piece of knowledge.
Something important to you.” Calvin looked back to Adam. “You’ll forget whatever it is when you press through.” “Uh…” “Think of some tiny piece of information you like knowing, but don’t have to know. Then step between the saplings. Also, just to warn you upfront — it’s a pretty intense ride.” Calvin turned and stepped forward. He vanished.
Adam stared at the space where Calvin had been for a good, long while. Then, he exhaled, closed his eyes, and stepped forward. Did he really need to know what THAC0 stood for?
It hit him all at once: Space and matter became as stretchable as taffy. The woods pulled away; air rushed to greet him. It was like he was accelerating through a tunnel at breakneck speed — a tunnel made of light and sound, extending out forever.
The world roared around him. He tried to talk, tried to yell, tried to scream — but every sound he made was torn from his lips and sent spinning back behind him into the void. Cold, distant stars watched from above and below.
And then — as if the universe was a rubber-band that had been released — everything snapped back into place.
Adam lunged forward, landing on his hands and chest.
“You alright? I told you, it’s pretty intense.” Calvin reached down to help Adam to his feet.
They were inside, now. The air was unusually cool; the floor was smooth, flat, and orange. As Adam stood up, he searched the space around them.
“This is…” Adam struggled to find the right words.
They were inside a massive office space, illuminated by dozens of long, narrow fluorescent bulbs. Dozens of refrigerator-sized mainframes hummed quietly along the room’s walls. Adam didn’t recognize the models, but if he had to wager a guess, he’d place them as something from the mid-80s. The sort that used record-sized magnetic plates for hard disks.
Several desks with large, bulky monochrome monitors were arranged around them. Adam even saw what looked like an old microfiche machine — the last time he’d seen one of those had been in his dad’s attic.
“—not what I was expecting.” Halls extended from all four sides of the room, leading into additional rooms — at a glance, they appeared similarly equipped. The hallways kept going, extending as far as they could see — or until a piece of equipment obscured their view.
“Hello?” Calvin started down one of the halls, but didn’t leave the entry-room. “Anyone home?” No reply — just the hum of countless mainframes. “There should be someone here.” “This place is, uh… what is this place?” Adam approached one of the mainframes, inspecting it.
Each machine had a sleek logo — the image of snake with brilliant emerald eyes and a silver crown. “These machines look older than me.” “They probably are.” Calvin frowned, glancing back to Adam. “This is part of the Library. The Foundation uses it to archive all the works of the worlds that came before. Art, literature, music — written works, printed works — any kind of information.” “On microfilm.” Adam did not sound impressed. “Wait, ‘came before’?” “Yes. We need to find a Librarian. This place is effectively infinite; get lost here and you’ll starve before you find another soul.” “A Librarian?” Adam was examining one of the computers more closely, now. “Hey, this one’s not running.” “Yeah, a Librarian. They’re part of the Library, they know where everything —” Calvin stopped, turning to face Adam. “Wait, what?” “This computer. It’s not running.” Adam had already pulled out an unfolding tool-kit, and was working on unscrewing the front panel. “It’s plugged in, switch is on, but it’s not making any noise.” Calvin approached. “Don’t mess with it.” “Why not? Hell, why not just destroy them?” Adam replied. By the time Calvin reached him, he had already gotten the fourth screw out, and was lifting the panel up.
“That would be very bad, Adam. They don’t just use these to archive lost worlds — they use them as backups for information on the anomalies they’re containing. If they lost these mainframes, they could lose critical information they need to keep anomalies—” The panel slid free. The interior was nearly empty; the wires had been stripped away, leaving only the hard disk’s magnetic plate. A dense, winding script of sigils were carved along its surface. As they watched, the plate slowly rotated — despite having no discernible power source.
“The fuck is that?” Adam asked.
Calvin grasped Adam by the shoulder and pulled him back. “Don’t touch it,” he hissed.
“What is it?” “It is of Daevite origin.” The voice came from behind them. They spun around — Calvin’s hand went for the pistol at his hip, while Adam gripped his screw-driver like a knife.
The creature stood over them both; narrow and slender, it wore a robe of shimmering silver. Its hood was pulled across its face, cloaking its features. Still, Adam could make out a hint of its skin — pale, with a slight emerald tint. It had a rough, scaly texture.
Calvin kept the pistol leveled at its chest for just a moment; then, he slowly lowered it. “A Librarian.” Adam lowered the screwdriver. “We’re looking for the Archivist.” “She is here no longer,” the Librarian informed them.
“Where is she?” Calvin frowned. “And what the hell is Daevite technology doing inside a Foundation server?” “Also, the hell is a Daevite?” Adam added.
“She has broken her pact with the Serpent, and partaken of forbidden knowledge. She has written herself into a story to which she does not belong. As for where she is now- if you seek her,” the Librarian told them, “I will take you to her — down below.” Then they descended. Long staircases led to long planes of endless rows of books, art galleries full of strange and terrible works, narrow hallways throughout which tinkling music could be heard. Every door they passed was another universe worth of knowledge, and still further they descended. Adam knew that time was passing strangely here; he could not say how long they traveled or how long they had been in this place. When he thought to look up, he realized he could no longer see the top of the Library, and yet still further they descended.
After a lifetime, the stairs ended. Their feet struck stone again, and the steps behind them disappeared into shadow. The dark was intense here; even the Librarian’s torch seemed dimmer and cast less light. They walked for a while in this dark place, through a massive cavern lined with titanic stone columns that extended up into the black above them.
“This is the foundation of the Library,” they heard the Librarian say, the first words they had heard in decades. “These pillars were forged by the Serpent itself in the eternity before time.
All knowledge rests upon them.” Adam coughed. “A snake built this?” The Librarian looked at him queerly. “The Serpent is called the Serpent in your world, because that is how it manifests outside of these halls. In here, and in the Dark Endlessness below here, the Serpent takes many shapes.” “Dark Endlessness? What’s that?” “You call the Serpent what you call it because that is how you perceive it, but that is not what it is. The Serpent is the avatar of one of the universal facets of reality: information. The idea that ideas can exist at all, or that all things have inherent truths about them.” It paused. “Below here is the emptiness outside of life and death, nothingness. The Serpent’s silent brother is the lord of that quiet oblivion. Anything that ventures there ceases to exist at all.” The Librarian stopped and turned to face them. “This foundation is a barrier between that which is, and that which isn’t. Beyond these doors,” it extended a hand, and in front of them they could make out two massive bronze doors through the darkness, “is the source of all knowledge, the center of the foundation on which the Serpent built the library. Within this chamber are three tomes that mustn't be disturbed. They are fundamental to our universe, and indeed, all universes. You’ll recognize them when they see them.” Calvin nodded. "Before we go in, I'd like to make a withdrawal." The Librarian nodded slowly, and pulled back its robe. From within it produced a short metal tube inscribed across its entire surface with runes. “When you brought this to us all those years ago, we were not certain you would ever return to claim it. But you are much different now than you were then, I think." The Librarian looked the cylinder over carefully. "There are very few things that exist that our Library has no knowledge of. The contents of this container are one such anomaly. I hope it brings you good fortune.” Adam took the tube and held it in his hands. When he looked up to speak, the Librarian was gone. The torch still hung in the air where she had been. The doors stood before them.
“Well,” Calvin said, pulling out his sidearm and checking the magazine, “let’s go.” They pushed the doors open and stepped inside. As they passed through the threshold, Adam felt the same nauseating rush as he did when they had first stepped into the Way. After a moment it passed, and he opened his eyes.
They stood at the top of a rolling hill covered in green grass. Above them was a blue sky dotted with white clouds. Below them was a valley, and in the center of the valley were two trees.
Under one of them was a woman sitting cross legged in a simple white dress. At her feet sat two books. A third was in her hand, and she read it as she quietly chewed on a red piece of fruit.
The woman didn’t acknowledge them as they entered. She had brown hair and wore glasses.
Adam guessed she was in her thirties. As they got closer he could see flecks of grey at her roots. The book in her hand was bound in leather with gold trim, and looked ancient. Something was written in small gold type on the front, but neither Adam nor Calvin could make it out. As they approached, Calvin spoke to her.
“You’re the Archivist?” he said.
The woman nodded.
Calvin nodded in response. He pulled his firearm and leveled it point-blank at her forehead, and fired three shots. The Archivist didn’t so much as flinch. After the noise had echoed out of the space around them, she raised her eyes slowly to look at him. Her face was clear of bullet holes.
“Do you read, Calvin?” she said.
Calvin pulled the magazine out of the gun and flipped it into his pocket, pulling another from a clip on his belt. “No,” he replied, “can’t say I’ve had much time for reading recently.” He cocked the gun and pointed at her again. “So what is this, some sort of incorporeal thing? Do I need sacred bullets to do the job, maybe something in silver?” He popped off three more shots. The Archivist didn’t look away from him.
“I read,” she said, closing the book in her hand and setting it on the ground next to a half-eaten piece of fruit. “In fact, I read very often. I’m a writer, you see, and the only way for a writer to perfect their craft is to write, and to read.” She leaned her head back against the tree and was looking him square in the face now. “Do you know how much you can learn from reading? I do. It’s a lot. In fact, you can learn so much from reading there’s almost no reason to do anything else. You can live a billion lifetimes just in books. You can learn everything there is to learn, just in books. For example, did you know there’s a book in this library written to teach the reader how to allow bullets to pass through their body as if they’re not even there? I know. I read that book. I read all the books.” She closed her eyes and began tapping her fingers against the top of the thick book next to her. “When I heard you killed poor Felix, I’ll admit, I was afraid. The concept of death is so foreign to us now, and it’s been such a long time since I’ve had to worry about it. My task becomes considerably more difficult when faced with the prospect of mortality. I’m a writer, you see, and I have to document everything that happens within the Foundation, and on Earth. I can’t do either of those things if I’m dead.” “I came down here because I thought I might learn the secret of immortality in one of these books. As it turns out, I didn’t need the books, not at first. Have you felt how time is different here? It’s a gift from the Serpent; you have all the time you need to learn what you need to learn while you’re in the Library.” She smiled. “I’ve been here for some time.” Calvin sighed. “So you’re going to keep reading until you figure out how to become immortal?” Her eyes popped open. “Oh no, certainly not. I’ve already figured that out. In fact, I’ve already done it.” She motioned to the trees behind her. “These trees are special. This one here, this is the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. That one, that’s the Tree of Life. The Tree of Knowledge grants knowledge, and the Tree of Life grants life. But the Serpent is wily. The Serpent made these trees, and cursed them. You can only eat from one if you’ve already eaten from the other. That produces a paradox then, doesn’t it? How do you eat from one if you can’t eat from it until you’ve eaten from the other, which requires you to have eaten from the first?” She uncrossed her legs and stood up. “I’ve been down here for a very long time. I knew there would be an answer here somewhere, some secret that I had missed. By the time I realized there was no secret, I had read every book in this Library. Every piece of knowledge contained here is contained within me.” She gestured lazily at the Tree of Knowledge. “I had wondered once about why this tree doesn’t bear fruit. It’s because the Library is the fruit. I had already consumed it.” She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders. “I knew the Serpent would come down here eventually. The Serpent knew that the only pieces of the fruit I hadn’t consumed yet were these three: The Book of Life and Death, The Book of Things That Have Been, and The Book of Things That Will Be. I imagine it would have very much liked for me to not read these.” Her back arched and they could hear something snap along her spine. “It doesn’t matter now. The Serpent is the keeper of the Library. The Serpent knows of all things within the Library. I know of all things within the Library. I am the Serpent.” They watched in horror as the Archivist’s skin began to split, starting at the base of her spine and creeping up her back. Her eyes bulged in their sockets and blood began to seep out of her like water from a sponge. Her mouth opened as if to scream, but instead a long, forked tongue appeared, and then the base of a fanged mouth. With a wet, thick tear, her entire body came apart down the center and a massive, writhing serpent appeared from within. It’s eyes were black slits, and across the ridge of its emerald back were gemstones that dazzled in the ethereal light of the meadow. Floating above its head was a pointed silver crown emblazoned with a dark ouroboros.
The Serpent coiled around to face them, the edges of its mouth turned up ever so slightly in a horrific grin. It blinked, and when it did they could see the Archivist’s jade eyes again for a moment.
“There is one thing that nags at me,” it said, lifting itself up to its full immense height, “is the contents of that tube you are holding, Adam Ivanov. What a queer thing, to be unknown to That Which Gave Birth To Knowledge. I’ll have to find out myself.” The Serpent’s mouth opened wide, its fangs glistening, and it lunged at Adam. The young man had only a moment to duck out of the way as the Serpent turned and came after him again, narrowly missing his feet as he rolled out of the way. Adam heard the familiar pop of gunshots, and look to see Calvin firing at the back of the Serpent’s head. The snake turned, its eyes dark again, and brought its tail down, nearly crushing Calvin in the process.
“I think the time has passed for shooting her in the face!” Adam shouted as Calvin reloaded.
Adam scrambled back towards his feet and produced his own firearm, emptying several fruitless rounds into the monster’s side. As he did, he noticed the tranquil valley around them beginning to come apart. Large fissures were forming in the ground, splitting the land and in some places falling away completely. In the exposed holes, Adam could see only darkness that extended on forever below them. Above them, the sky began to lose its blue, becoming a solemn shade of grey. The only color in the world was the gemstones on the Serpent’s back, and its dazzling silver crown.
Calvin fired again, and then again. The Serpent lunged at him as he deftly stepped out of the way. He caught the edge of the crown, which pealed like a bell and made the air around them vibrate. As he paused to steady himself, the Serpent’s tail came around and crashed into him, sending him sliding across the grey grass. Adam fired, and the bullets ricocheted off of the beast’s back.
The Serpent turned towards him, its tongue darting out between fangs as tall as he was. Adam stood stock still, his body frozen, and dropped his gun. The Serpent began to coil up before him, as if to strike, and he could feel the animalistic urges of his body begging him to run, to flee, to do anything to protect himself. But he did nothing.
Then he heard Calvin shouting from his right.
“Adam! The tube! Open the tube!” His shock was broken in an instant. With a swift tug and a hearty yank, Adam freed the cap of the canister, and opened it towards the ground. He felt a sudden weight on the tube as some long, thick, and heavy slid out from it.
It was a dark, smooth wooden shaft, inlaid with markings and runes burned into the wood. Near its end was a thick metal band, and at its fore was a fierce and menacing spearhead. Eyeing it over quickly, Adam could see the words “-is the non-believer, against whom divinity holds no sway-” before he had to duck out of the way again as the Serpent came at him. He drug the spear behind him, and shouted panickedly to Calvin.
“Hey, I don’t know what this is, but I don’t think it’s going to help!” he said. “I can’t even- fuck! I can’t even lift it!” At a word, the canister he had deposited on the ground began to spin and shake. Several interlocking sections began to unfold, and more canister seemed to materialize from nowhere.
As Adam scurried away from the striking Serpent, the canister behind him shaped and folded itself up into a large mechanical rack. Calvin noticed it first, and shouted to get Adam’s attention.
“There, look!” He gestured towards the rack as he reloaded his pistol. “It’s a harpoon! Put it on the harpoon gun!” Adam’s incredulity nearly cost him his life, as the Serpent came at him sideways and knocked him onto the ground. The Serpent struck at him, its fangs finding only soil as Adam dragged the spear through the grass. He heard the crack of Calvin’s weapon again and again, but kept his head down as he struggled to maneuver around the collapsing ground beneath him. Upon reaching the harpoon gun, itself a mess of gears, pulleys, and steel, he heaved the spear up on the rack and began to wind it backwards. With the spear in place and the gun loaded, he turned towards the Serpent and froze in panic.
The Serpent had Calvin wrapped tightly in its tail, the older man dangling precariously over the rent ground beneath them. The Serpent hissed and smiled again at Adam, and shook Calvin slightly.
“There, there,” the Serpent said, “let’s not be so hasty. You didn’t think I wouldn’t see how this would play out, did you? I’ve learned everything there is to learn, Adam. I’ve seen things that would turn your heart to ice. Heard stories of horrors so terrible the very thought would kill you in an instant.” Its eyes focused slightly. “I will admit, whatever magic you have in this weapon was tricky. I wasn’t able to see it before, but now that I do… well, you know it doesn’t matter, right?” “I can kill you right now,” Adam snarled, aiming the spear at the Serpent’s face, “it wouldn’t take even a second.” “Even if you could,” the Serpent said, its voice like velvet and smoke, “and you can’t, why would you want to? Do you even know what it is you’re doing? Do you even know what you’re trying to accomplish?” “Kill the Thirteen Foundation Overseers,” Adam said through gritted teeth, his finger shaking against the trigger.
“Why?” “You’ve twisted the universe to suit your craven desires,” Adam spat. “You’ve made a mockery of the natural order. Your influence is a cancer.” The Serpent seemed to sigh. “Fanaticism. Even with all the knowledge in the world, I’ll never understand you.” With a swift tug, it crushed Calvin and dropped him into the void.
Adam stood unmoving, his hand clenched around the handle of the weapon. The Serpent began to move towards him.
“You think you’re the first person with dreams of destroying the wicked and terrible SCP Foundation? Be realistic, Adam. I have lived a thousand lives and dreamed a thousand more.
I’ve seen this world turned over time and time again, and dutifully recorded it all. Do you think there’s anything you could do that I cannot foresee? Do you think there’s anything that would stand between me and my duty?” It flicked its tail towards the harpoon gun. “Put that silly thing away. I’ve eaten the fruit of the Tree of Life. I cannot die, not now that I’ve-” - Click - With a rush, the spear roared through the air towards the Serpent, which had gotten close enough as to be unable to move out of the way in time. The spear buried itself in the Serpent’s skull with a sickening crunch, and the monster recoiled and screamed. Smoke poured from the gaping wound on its head as it thrashed, and Adam had to fall to the ground to avoid being smashed as the Serpent’s tail swung around and flattened the harpoon gun.
The world around him began to vibrate, slowly at first and then building in intensity until the very air seemed to shake. The sky grew black and thick bands of light began to pour through cracks in it, and the ground below him undulated and churned and eventually fell away. The last thing Adam saw before he was plunged into darkness was the Serpent, silhouetted against the falling sky, with a shining silver spear protruding victoriously from its face like a serpentine unicorn.
When Adam came to, he felt cool grass beneath his head. His neck ached, and his limbs thundered their disapproval of his trying to move them as he sat up. He rubbed against his temples, trying to focus - how long had he been falling? - but opened his eyes with a start when he heard hoarse coughing nearby. Laying a few paces from him was Calvin, covered in sweat and blood and looking profoundly shaken, but no worse for wear. As Adam approached him, Calvin turned to look at the young man and smiled.
"Hey," he said, laughing through bloody teeth, "we didn't die." Adam laughed. Taking a moment to survey his surroundings, he found himself on the same grassy hillside from before, but the sky was once again blue and the grass was once again green. His eyes traced a path of blood up to one of the two trees on top of the hill, where a woman in a simple dress was skewered to one of them by a massive spear driven through her skull. Her face was unrecognizable, and her white dress was now stained with her own lifeblood.
There was a figure standing over her. It was tall and lean, like the librarian but simpler somehow. It too wore a robe that covered its face and obscured its features, but this robe was a much more vibrant green. The figure was stooped slightly, and from where he stood Adam could see it wasn't looking at the woman impaled on the spear, but the spear itself.
Adam helped Calvin to his feet, and together the two of them walked slowly and carefully up the hill towards the figure. As they approached, they became acutely aware of another figure, one they couldn't quite discern, standing behind the one in the green robes. Whatever that figure was hurt them to look at, and so save a few scant glances they avoided doing so. When they reached the top of the hill, the figure turned to look at them. They couldn't see its face, but something about it felt strangely familiar.
"Ah, you're awake," the figure said, its voice soft and smooth. "I had feared the worst. This Library contains a great many truths, but little is said about crossing the plane between That Which Is and That Which Isn't. In fact, unless I'm mistaken this is the first time a person has ever crossed that barrier and come back. That is no mean feat at all." The figure in green gestured to the dark figure behind it. "Fortunately for you, the powers that be seem to have determined that it is not time for you to slip these bonds. Not yet, anyway." It tapped a long, gloved finger against its head. "Yes, very rare." Calvin coughed and found his voice. "Who are you?" The figure in green didn't seem to hear him. "This thing you have here, this is a queer thing." It reached down and laid a hand on the spear embedded into one of the trees. "There is something strange about it. The Library decided to hold it for you, but the Library didn't know what it was. That is very rare indeed." The figure paused for a moment. "Do you know what this is?" They shook their heads. The figure nodded. "This is called the Spear of the Non-Believer. It is an ancient weapon, older perhaps than even this Library. There are legends that say it was forged when the first thinking being decided to deny omnipotence. To stand alone against insurmountable might. It is very, very strange indeed." The figure made a noise that might have been laughter. "In fact, I can't even see it. How strange." The figure looked to Calvin. "How you acquired this - someone gave it to you, yes?" Calvin nodded.
The figure stood back up to its full height. "Now that is peculiar." With a deft hand, the figure reached out and pulled the shaft free from the tree and, with its other, slid the broken corpse of the Overseer off the end. It held the spearhead up towards its face, studying it intensely. "Very, very strange. I feel as if this item doesn't care for me at all." The figure reached down and pulled the slim metal canister off the ground, and quickly slid the entire length of the spear into it, which disappeared entirely despite the disparity in length between the two. The figure turned and handed the canister to Adam, who reached out and took it.
"You know," the figure said, turning now to look at the woman laying in a pool of blood at its feet, "I had known her for some time. When she first entered these halls, she was not so different than either of you. However, her intentions - pure though they may have been - were what led her to this point. Your convictions do truly make you remarkable beings, capable of endless wonders and horrors." It looked back at them one more time, and Calvin became aware that he was being watched. "I wonder where your convictions will lead you?" There was a blinding flash of light and a burst of heat, and a moment later they were standing in the forest again.
- BACK - Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 THEN — - — “This,” the man at the front of the room said, revealing a slide covered in many colored dots, “is the Universe. Everything that ever has been or- or will ever be that we can reach is on this slide. So far as we know, this is it; the entire sum of existence.” He turned off the projector, and for a moment the room was dark. When the light came back on, the image was a painting of the Earth, as if taken from above and far away.
“This is us, obviously,” the man said, centering the slide. “Nearly every living thing that we’re aware of has been born and died on this rock.” He paused for effect. “Not such bad real estate, really.” He adjusted the slide again as the audience attempted meager laughter.
“And this… is an atom. Or at least, uh, a representation of one. Technology hasn’t caught up yet to where we can see these little guys, but we’ve got a pretty good idea about what they might look like. Now, the atom is a- a building block, the very most basic particle in the Universe. Or rather, it might be. There may be particles even smaller than that, and smaller particles that compose those. It’s difficult to say where this ends, but at the bottom of this has to be something fundamental… right? Something that doesn’t just comprise the other building blocks, but necessitates their being. That’s what we were searching for.” The lights came back up, and the man turned around. His white jacket bore the name “Felix Carter Ph.D.” in blue lettering. His round glasses sat perched atop a red nose, and his grey hair was combed neatly to the side.
“When we approached the uh, the International Academy of Existential Sciences, we came with a single goal; discover the reason why. We weren’t asked to provide an explanation, o-or deduce why the uh, reason why; our task was to find the part of the universe that determines why we are what we are. Today, I’m happy to announce we have done this.” He extended his arm, and another man came into view. This man was tall, with cropped brown hair and a black jacket. He smiled and waved politely at the enthusiastic applause and stood with his hands clasped in front of him as he was introduced.
“This is Dr. Frederick Williams, of the Royal Scientific Conservatory. It was with his assistance and financial backing that we uh, that we made this breakthrough discovery.” The two of them paused as the lights dimmed again, and the projector above produced an image. The image was faint, and full of static, but its focal point was clear: a single white line extending across the image, fading at both ends.
“What you’re looking at here is a thread,” Dr. Carter continued. “We’ve only just started calling them that; we had no idea what they would look like when we started. We were able to get this thread to manifest itself using a series of high energy pulses directed at a tiny piece of Ozymandium film. This method was borrowed from Dr. Adam Bright and his team in the United States, who have been working on a similar project in the hopes of eliciting what they’re calling tachyons, the uh, the fundamental building block of time, as it were. We discovered that, by tuning our equipment just so, we were able to make something that shouldn’t happen… happen.” The image changed. On the next slide, a nearby structure is seen being pulled dramatically towards the center of the thread. On the next, the thread is gone, and the building is crumpled and misshapen.
“This was what we witnessed. By causing one of these threads to appear for just an instant, one of these elements of the foundation of the universe, and then manipulating it ever so slightly, we increased gravity in the region by nearly seven-thousand percent in an instant. I will say that again: we have manipulated the physical laws of the universe using a bright light and a rock.” The assembled audience applauded again. After a moment, Dr. Carter held up a hand for quiet.
“The full manifest of our uh, our research will be available shortly, as soon as our sister projects have finished their studies. In three months’ time, we’ll present our findings in full to this assembly, and… and take our first step towards a more knowledgeable future!” — - — In the lobby of the auditorium afterwards, Dr. Williams stood speaking to a group of researchers alongside Dr. Carter and his team. Two men approached him, and one of them stuck out his hand.
“Dr. Williams,” the man said, “absolutely a pleasure to meet you. Vincent Arians, Oxford. I’ve been fascinated with your work, truly.” The taller man smiled. “Mr. Arians, of course. Always nice to meet a fellow alumni.” He looked towards the second of the two. “And your friend?” “Aaron Siegel,” the man said, following Arians’ handshake with one of his own. “Cornell.” Dr. Williams’ eyes grew slightly wider. “The renowned physicist. I dare say I half expected you to make this discovery before we did, Dr. Siegel.” Aaron smiled. “Unfortunately, our work as of late has taken a different turn. If we were going to solve atomics, we should have done what you did and figured out the geometry first. Your results have been very impressive.” Dr. Williams’ eyes were pensive. “Yes, Dr. Carter has done some exceptional work. It’s a shame he’s going to be discredited, he really has put so much into this project.” Arians did a double take. “Wait, he- what?” Before either of them could say anything else they were approached by a dark-eyed woman, slight, with short black hair and a blue dress with long black gloves. She came up behind Dr.
Williams and put a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ears. He nodded.
“Gentlemen, I’m afraid I am being called away.” He stopped mid turn. “Oh, please, forgive me.
Mr. Arians, Dr. Siegel, this is Dr. Sophia Light. She’s been working closely with Dr. Carter and the rest of our team here in London.” The woman smiled softly and nodded. “Charmed, I’m sure.” Aaron nodded back while Arians continued to process what he had just heard. Williams fiddled with his pocket for a moment, and then produced a white card with a three-arrowed emblem on it.
“This is my card, Dr. Siegel,” he said. “Have your office call this number here while you’re still in the city and we’ll arrange a proper meeting. Mr. Arians, you are certainly welcome to join as well. Our organization is on the very precipice of some truly inspiring work, and we’re looking for the brightest minds to lead us.” He shrugged. “Something to think about. Until later, gentlemen.” Dr. Williams donned his cap and coat, and followed Dr. Light out of the parlor.
NOW — - — “Once upon a time, a man awoke to find he had no memory of who he was or how he had gotten here.” Olivia snuck out to the studio’s balcony and plucked the pale, slim cigarette out from behind her ear. She was fishing in her pocket for a lighter when she heard the door behind her slide open.
“Y’know, those things’ll kill you.” Anthony Wright did not look like the sort of man who was accustomed to a suit and tie. He wore them as if they were prison fatigues. “I should know,” he added, showing her a half-empty pack of gum.
“Anthony!” Olivia’s slim figure slipped up against him with the grace of a small, elegant knife.
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. Despite having kicked the habit five years ago, the old man still managed to smell like tobacco.
Anthony dropped an enormous arm around her and gave her a comforting pat. They ended up leaning against the banister, side-by-side. It wasn’t quite morning, yet; below them, the city streets were cast in a tangerine glow. A cool, lethargic breeze drifted past them, carrying the ocean's scent.
“I’m glad you made it,” Olivia told him. She finally pulled out her lighter. It was a cheap hunk of neon green plastic she had picked up on the way to the exhibition. After a few swipes of her thumb, it only managed to spit out sparks.
“Here.” Anthony plucked the lighter out of her hand as if he was taking away a dangerous toy.
He produced his own; it was an old, tarnished thing made of brass. It had more dents in it than he did. “And I wouldn’t miss this for the world, lady. Even if it is Seattle.” Olivia rolled her eyes. Anthony's lighter produced a flame on the first flick; she dipped her head down to bring her cigarette to the fire’s tip. “Spare me. I know you think this is all artsy fartsy crap.” “Well, alright, can’t say I ‘get’ the Madonna made out of cottage cheese.” Olivia gave him a look. “You don’t like it?” Anthony did a brief double-take. “Wait, that one’s — yours? I mean, uh…” She grinned. “No. I’m kidding. That one’s shit; the guy who made it is a hack.” She turned back to the city, taking a long drag. When she exhaled, wisps of smoke whirled up from her nostrils and licked at the bottom of the balcony overhead. “How’s Calvin?” “Doing good. He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t come, but—” “Busy. I know. Fuck, I know.” Olivia closed her eyes. “There’s just so much going on, now.” “Yeah. I don’t think any of us really expected…” Anthony's voice trailed off. “They needed the Accountant more than we realized. Once they lost him, they lost all their funding — everything just started unraveling. Personnel started panicking, sites started collapsing — fuck, two Overseers ended up dead that night.” Something tugged at the back of Olivia’s mind; something she was forgetting. “How many sites are left, now?” “Still about two hundred. We decommissioned Site-173 last week. Nothing in it but corpses and cockroaches.” He shook his head. “Just ordinary cockroaches.” Olivia turned to him. For the first time in a long while, he looked old — old and tired. The wrinkles in his face were carved deep into his skin; his eyes were surrounded by dark, impenetrable circles.
She felt that tug again. “How are you holding up?” “It’s funny,” Anthony told her, still watching the city. “You spend your life fighting demons, putting out fires — thinking this is the hard part. This is the work that needs doing. This is the work that’ll kill you. But it’s not.” His eyes met hers. “Sweeping up the ashes — putting shit back together again. That’s the hard part.” She frowned. The tugging was harder, now.
“Don’t get me wrong. Things’re better, now.” He gave her a weary smile. “We don’t have to hurt people. We don’t have to kill people. We don’t have to mutilate children to hold back the nightmares.” His eyes drifted back to the city.
Olivia closed her eyes. “Anthony…” “I don’t know how the hell we did it, but we won. The world’s… it’s still fucked up. When I go to sleep, I still have nightmares, y’know? But every night, it gets a little better. The nightmares are losing.” She reached into her pocket and searched for something, pulling it free.
“Anyway, fuck — sorry, I’m just ranting. Listen, Olivia. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask y—” Olivia slammed all 4 inches of the sleek, razor-sharp crafting knife into Anthony Wright’s heart.
For one instant, the old man’s eyes were filled with raw confusion and shock. Then — stumbling back, numbly clutching at the hilt — his eyes were filled with nothing at all.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia whispered. She pushed him over the banister’s edge.
And the world ended.
NOW — - — “Suddenly, a voice spoke to the man: ‘Your second wish has been granted. Now, for your third — and final — wish.’” “-up. C’mon, c’mon, wake the hell up-” Slivers of light squeezed through Olivia’s eyelids. She felt a constant buzzing in her ears.
Someone was tugging at her arms.
“Wake up, wake up—” She popped her eyes open and immediately regretted it. Sharp, jagged sunbeams rushed into her pupils, forcing her to squint. Olivia squeezed one fist into her left socket and started rubbing away. “What… where am I?” The man stopped shaking her and slumped down into a chair. “Fuck. Thank God.” Olivia kept rubbing at her eye, letting her vision adjust. She was laying back on a bed inside of a cheap motel room. The overpowered AC rumbled to her left; above it, sunlight streamed in past the curtains. The room smelled faintly of coconut oil.
Adam was seated beside the bed. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His laptop was sitting on the nightstand, with a pistol laid out next to it.
Olivia blinked her way through the grogginess. “Adam? What’s—” “How much do you remember?” Olivia squeezed her eyebrows together; they grinded like cogs in some enormous adding machine. She tried to think her way through the events that had led her here. The last thing she remembered was… “I was having some sort of dream. Anthony was there, but it was — years from now. It was all wrong. Not real. It felt real, but…” Adam nodded. “Something was off, right?” “Yeah.” Olivia closed her eyes and coaxed the dream out from its hiding place in her subconscious. “He wasn’t smoking, but he had a lighter. We were in Seattle, but we could smell the ocean. And the more I thought about it…” “The more you realized it was a lie.” She nodded and opened her eyes. Adam was focused on his laptop.
“I don’t know how, but somehow I realized the only way out of it was to—” “Yeah.” Adam cut her off. He was taking great pains to not make eye-contact with her. “I know.” Olivia frowned, sitting up on the bed. “Adam? Do you… uh, want to talk about—” “It’s fine. We’re out of it, now.” He was pulling a file up on the computer. “You don’t remember how we got here, right?” Olivia shook her head. “No.” “Same here. Luckily, I think we planned for this.” He double-clicked something. The laptop’s screen was filled with a still-image of Calvin’s face. His stoic expression stared out at them; behind him, they could see what looked like an office. “Calvin loaded a video on Alexandra, along with instructions to play it if we found ourselves, uh… not remembering anything about how we got here.” Olivia scooted forward to sit on the edge of the bed beside Adam. He clicked ‘Play’.
A window popped up over the video, requesting two passwords. Over one was the name ‘ADAM’; over the other was the name ‘OLIVIA’.
“It’s encrypted?” Olivia asked. She frowned, staring at the screen.
“I guess. I don’t remember… I mean, there’s a password I might have used,” Adam said, typing something under his name. As soon as he hit enter, his name turned green. He glanced back to her.
Olivia bit down on her bottom lip, thinking.
“Olivia?” Something tugged at the back of her mind.
Without stopping to think, she snatched Adam’s pistol off the nightstand and buried three rounds directly into his skull.
And then the world ended.
NOW — - — “The man considered this for a moment, and — seeing no other choice — made his final wish: ‘Allow me to remember all that I have forgotten.’” “Olivia?” Olivia opened her eyes. She was laid back on a cot inside of a small, comfortable looking office. There was a bookcase stuffed full of leather-bound volumes; in front of it, there was a wide, polished desk.
Calvin was standing over her. He looked distant — when didn’t he? — but his expression carried a hint of concern.
Olivia immediately slammed her knee up into his solar plexus.
Calvin buckled, crouching forward. She rolled off the cot and stumbled toward the desk, fumbling for the hidden latch under one of the drawers. Olivia had been in this office a hundred times before; if memory served, there was a hidden space right… here.
By the time Calvin had managed to catch his breath, Olivia was pointing the pistol straight for his heart.
Calvin raised his hands up and took a step back. “Olivia…” “Shut up.” She narrowed her eyes. “Let me think.” Calvin said nothing.
“Someone’s fucking with my head. I’ve gone through two iterations, now. One with Anthony, one with Adam. Each time, they were trying to get information from me,” she said, talking her way through it. “Each time, I realized there was something wrong. A detail out of place.
Anthony's lighter. Adam’s computer — he calls it ‘Alexander’, not ‘Alexandra’. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized…” Calvin started to lower his hands. “Olivia, listen—” “I said shut up,” she snapped back. “Alright. Each time, it all started unraveling once I realized something was wrong. Each time, I realized the only way to escape was to…” Her breathing quickened.
Calvin took another step back.
“I have to kill you,” she whispered.
“Olivia. Just, okay, just take it easy. Let’s talk this through, alright?” “I have thought this through. Anthony, Adam, now you — you’re just another dream. Another…” She pursed her lips. “Lie. The Liar. You’re the fucking Liar.” “Olivia.” Calvin’s tone took on a building urgency. “Please, listen to me. You might be right.
Someone might be messing with your head. But it’s not me. I’m not the Liar.” “Then how the fuck…” Her finger curled tighter around the trigger.
“Listen. Just listen, okay? You were helping me with research. You fell asleep in my office. Now you wake up, and you’ve pulled a gun on me.“ Calvin kept his arms held high. “You said these things unraveled when you noticed something wrong. Have you…?” Olivia scowled. “Not yet. But…” Her eyes traced their way through the office. It all looked like it was supposed to; unlike the previous two dreams, this was all familiar to her. But did that mean…?
“You said it started with a dream about Anthony, then Adam. Think about it: If I were the Liar, would I really start with Calvin, next?” Olivia’s breathing slowed. Nothing was out of place; nothing felt off… “Once is happenstance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern,” Calvin told her. “I think the Liar is trying to trick you into killing me.” Her grip on the trigger loosened.
“You said he was trying to get information from you. What kind of information?” “I… with Anthony, I don’t know. He said he needed to ask me something. With Adam, it was a password, I think, but…” “A password?” Olivia lowered the pistol, but kept a firm grip. “Yeah.” She forced herself to breathe slowly.
“Okay. Okay. Just… give me a second, okay?” Calvin slowly lowered his hands, but kept his distance. “Alright. But yeah, this doesn’t make any sense. You don’t know any passwords that the Liar would want. He didn’t ask you about anything else?” He paused, then added: “He didn’t ask about your copy of the journal, right?
You still have it?” Olivia shook her head. “No, he didn’t — yeah. I still have it.” She reached with her free hand to touch the base of her wrist; the faint, familiar lump was still present. “The journal is right here.” The Liar smiled. “So it is.” And then the world ended.
NOW — - — “‘Funny,’ the voice laughed, granting the man’s final wish. ‘That was the first thing you asked for.’” Olivia’s mouth felt like it was coated in a thin layer of dissolving chalk. It left the faint flavor of peppermint lingering on her tongue.
She forced her eyes open, then immediately closed them. Bright, glaring lights beamed straight down into her retina — the throbbing pressure behind her temple intensified.
She was in a hospital room somewhere. Olivia didn’t even need to look around to know that; she could just feel it. She hated hospitals. Counting backwards from ten, she eased her eyes open and gave them time to adjust.
Yep. It was a medical facility, alright — and she was strapped down to the bed. Good times.
Several pieces of sterile, complicated equipment were placed next to her. Most of them were making beeping noises. She lifted her head as high as the nylon straps allowed, trying to get a lay of the land.
A nurse and a doctor laid face-down on the floor. Pools of crimson crept out from under them.
An older woman in an immaculate white suit was seated nearby; she held a gun. Her gaze was on Olivia.
Olivia blinked. She was wrong; it was a young man with a neon green mohawk. He wore a studded jacket splattered with something wet. In his left hand, he clutched a blood-soaked switch-blade.
She blinked again. It was a person of indeterminable gender; their skin was a deep shade of ochre, with a face full of piercings. They wore several leather straps around what looked like a charcoal binder. Instead of a knife, they held an aluminum baseball bat. It was coated with clumps of hair and meat.
She blinked again. A man with teeth like serrated steak knives and claws that could carve through steel. She blinked again. It was Anthony. She blinked again. It was Adam. She blinked again. It was Calvin.
She blinked again.
It was the Liar.
“How’s that cut feeling?” Olivia looked down at her wrist. A fresh series of stitches criss-crossed over a recently opened wound; it extended from the base of her palm to nearly the inside of her elbow. A distant memory tugged at the back of her mind.
She licked her lips and lied. “It… doesn’t hurt that much.” “Still. Make sure to keep it covered. Antibiotics, too.” The left side of the Liar’s mouth twitched upward. “They would have prescribed something for it, but I’m afraid I killed them before they had the opportunity.” “Who…” Olivia’s eyes fell to the figures on the floor. “What’s going on? Who are they?” “They worked for me, and we captured you,” the Liar told her. “You were brought to me for… processing. To discover what you knew; to determine if you had the journal. Or, at the very least, if you knew what was in it.” Their lips pursed with amusement. "You know, after all this time I had forgotten it ever existed. When the agent who penned it defected and told us what it contained, you'd have thought we might have taken steps to make its contents untrue. But… we are nothing if not creatures of habit." Olivia couldn’t remember anything after they killed the Accountant. The Liar must have noticed her confusion: “You’ve been amnesticized. Several times, actually. Did you know that’s my primary function within the Foundation? To maintain the veil. To make sure no one remembers anything they’re not supposed to.” They tapped the weapon against their thigh. “And, of course, to replace those gaps with convincing lies.” “Why am I still alive? Why are we even having this conversation?” “Because you and your friends accounted for this. Because you did have the journal. Or, at least, a small piece of it. A subdermal flash-drive, located under your wrist.” “I don’t understand.” The Liar smiled. Although Olivia could no longer recognize their features, she could still make out the weariness in their face. “Not all cognitohazards are anomalous.” The code-phrase flashed through Olivia’s mind. It was as if she had just found the piece of a puzzle she hadn’t even realized she was solving. An image surged into her memories; she now remembered everything.
“You used to be one of us,” she whispered. “You used to be part of the Insurgency. You were part of the third Delta - I've heard Anthony talk about you. Sam… Sam Biel - they always talked about how you were tortured by the Foundation for weeks for your secrets and never gave up a word. I don't… I don't understand.” The Liar closed their eyes and nodded. “That's true, but I didn't give up my memories because there were no memories to give up." They sighed. "I was deployed to locate an anomaly in the Bengal Sea. Our ship capsized in a storm and I was dragged into the ocean when my leg got caught in some netting. I drifted in the darkness where the eyes are empty and sunk into the Void. They found me, months later, and the Foundation recognized who I was - what I could do. They gave me to Green - that witch - and she gave me a new identity; a lie to believe in.” They opened their eyes and rose to their feet, approaching Olivia. “Your friend Calvin found out from the journal no doubt, that clever boy. Your copy only had that entry in it - the entry containing my name. Seeing it for the first time in so many years… it was like coming up from under water after so long.” The Liar began unbinding Olivia’s limbs. “I’ve cleared a path to the front entrance. It will be open for another ten minutes; once you’re out, you’ll find a grey van in the parking lot. The doors are unlocked; the keys are in the glove compartment. You’ll find instructions, a map, and a flash-drive.” “A flash-drive?” Olivia sat up, feeling her extremities tingle with the sudden surge of blood. Her forearm pulsed with pain.
“It contains crucial data — including the location of your next target. The Archivist.” The Liar stepped back. “Out of all of us, she may be the furthest gone. Tell your friends to be careful.” Olivia nodded, swinging her legs around. She sank to the floor. “…what about you?” “What about me?” the Liar asked, and then they laughed. “I'm not faultless in this. I may have forgotten my purpose, but it was still me in there making those decisions, doing the things I did.
There's nothing left for me out there - if the Foundation doesn't kill me immediately I'll spend the rest of my life running from them because of what I know - and I'm not about to run from the truth. The truth has set me free.” They sank back into their chair, laying their weapon across their lap. “Move fast. Your window is closing.” Olivia reached out to touch the Liar’s hand. They did not look up. Turning to go, she spared one last look at them; for a moment, she thought she might have recognized a face. Then, she made her way out into the hall and toward the exit.
It wasn’t until she reached the stairwell that she heard that single, lonely shot.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 ELSEWHERE — - — In a room devoid of light or sound, a man sat at his desk and read. There was a time when the darkness would have impeded him — but that time had passed. Now, he found it comforting.
Colors distracted him from his work.
He turned to the next page of the report — despite not needing to ‘see’ the words to read them.
Old habits, he supposed. With each successive sentence, his calm gave way to cold, calculated purpose.
The door opened. A blade of light pierced the room, illuminating the man and his desk. It cut across his forearm and highlighted an old burn scar. He instinctively moved his hand out to cover it.
He looked up. A woman stood at the doorway, hesitating. It was only then that he realized his face was twisted with rage.
He forced himself to relax, acknowledged her with a nod, and motioned her in.
She took two steps forward and spoke: “You’ve heard?” “Yes.” He closed the report. “Do we know who yet?” “Not yet.” She moved to approach, but stopped — as if a wind forced her back. “Whoever found the Pinnacle did so with the use of mnestics, and there’s a limited supply. We’re looking.” “And the Contract?” The woman didn’t respond.
He sighed. “Felix?” “We didn’t find him. If he fell, or was pushed, he might still be falling. We have to assume the worst.” The man stood, his eyes fixed on the backs of his own knuckles. “I don’t understand how this could happen. I don’t understand who would do this. Who could do this. Do they even know what they did?” He looked up at her. “This is bad.” Her expression did not change. “The rest of the council has been alerted. I just came here to make sure you knew.” She took another step forward; her hand fell to his desk. “Maybe… maybe if we just-” “Whatever you were about to say, don’t.” His voice was flat; something trembled just under the surface. “Whoever they are, they got lucky.” She frowned. He could see the weariness in her face. There was something she wanted to tell him; there was something she wanted to say. Instead, she just closed her eyes and nodded.
He reached for her hand upon the desk, taking it into his own. His palm was like worn, scraped leather. Hers was ice. “I know you’re tired. I know. God, I know. I’m…” He forced himself to stop. He took a breath, turned her hand over, and traced the scars along her wrist and forearm. She looked so frail, now. “We can’t stop now. We can’t give up now.” Her eyes were still closed. “I know.” “Go, now. Go back to the Garden. You know the way in. You’ll be safe there. I'm going to call up the task forces and we’ll figure out what this is. I’ll call you when it’s clear.” She squeezed his hand back. At last, her eyes opened. “What about you?” He smiled. “I just need to figure some things out, and then I’ll come for you.” He came around the desk and held her; she held him back. After a few moments of silence, she turned her head up to his. “I—” The phone rang.
He grimaced. His grip on her loosened. “I’m sorry. I…” Her expression hardened. She released him, nodding. “I know.” Without another word, she turned and left him alone.
He reached for the phone.
NOW — - — “The Accountant.” Anthony found the title amusing. “Do they only have one?” Olivia laughed. “That’s a lot of math. He must be some sort of uber-nerd.” “A dire nerd,” Adam offered, his eyes never leaving the screen of his laptop.
This comment drew blank stares from Olivia, Anthony, and Calvin.
“You know, like a dire wolf? From D&D? Or Game of Thrones? Or…” Adam looked up. He immediately scowled, then went right back to typing. “Fuck, you people are old.” Anthony took a drag of his cigarette and eyed Calvin from across the room. “Alright. So, how are you planning on finding all these fucks? I doubt they’re just hanging out at the local pub.
They’re probably holed up somewhere with enough anomalous ordinance to make Mordor look like the Shire.” He gave Adam a look, who — without raising his head — lifted two fingers in appreciation.
Calvin nodded. “Yeah. This is where it gets tricky. Our mystery agent wrote a lot about the Overseers, and a little bit about where they live, or where they’d be hiding, but a lot of it is situational and might not be helpful. That’s why we’re going after the Accountant first. He’s the one who pays the rent. Take him out, and the list of possible safe-houses gets that much smaller. ” Olivia leaned back in her chair. “Perfect. We just need to find this first one, then. The first one of these gods-on-Earth that know we’re coming for them. Do you even have a plan?” Calvin gestured to his right. “I’ve got Adam.” Adam leaned away from his computer. “Oh, yeah. Right. Yeah, I can find him.” Anthony snorted. “This’ll be good.” Adam ignored him: “The Accountant is, as far as we can tell, a mathematical prodigy who specializes in statistical analysis. He’s a data-sponge — he soaks up information, analyzes it, and finds hidden correlations no one else can see. Everything he does, he does based on these invisible relationships. His entire route — what he wears, what he drinks, his day-to-day activities — they’re all based on predictions derived from these correlations.” He turned his screen around to show the others. Several tabs were open in his browser; the current one was a graph of current stock prices. “Now, I probably don’t need to tell you what a person like this could do in stock markets. He analyzes data faster than computers; he can predict the boom and bust of a Fortune 500 based on a goddamn train schedule. And although his ability to see these correlations is anomalous, the correlations themselves aren’t — they’re just impossible for anyone else to understand or decode.” “Alright,” Anthony said. “But that doesn’t tell us how to—” “Train schedules,” Olivia cut him off. She was focused on one of the unopened tabs on the screen. “In Tokyo?” Adam grinned and nodded. He opened the tab, revealing a translated train schedule. “The journal mentioned it. I’ve been having Alexander crunching numbers for a few weeks—” “Alexander?” Anthony narrowed his eyes.
“It’s the name he gave his laptop,” Calvin replied. “What did you find?” “Basically, there’s some sort of weird correlation between international housing markets and train schedules printed in Tokyo on the fifth day of every third month,” Adam said. “And based on how deliberate this guy is, I’d be willing to bet money he goes to Tokyo himself to examine those schedules the day they’re printed.” “Hang on.” Olivia leaned in to examine the screen closer. “You said this guy is able to make predictions based on correlations no one else can see, right? Wouldn’t that lead him to realize he shouldn’t be where we expect him to be?” Adam cocked his head. “Are you asking me if he can see into the future?” “Well, yeah. Isn’t that basically what this is?” Olivia turned from the screen and focused her attention on Adam. “If he’s able to magically see connections no one else can, isn’t it possible some piece of information he’s encountered will tell him that we’re coming? Or even who we are?” “I don’t think so,” Calvin said. “I mean, the numbers can be wrong.” Adam shook his head. “No, she’s — well, mostly right. The numbers can’t be wrong. They’re just data. He can’t know anything for sure, though. He just makes predictions, and those predictions have varying degrees of certainty. That’s the hiccup, here: He can know there’s a 75% chance that today, someone will attack him. He can know there’s a 30% chance it’ll be five people, a 25% chance it’ll be four people, a 20% chance it’ll be three people… so on.” Anthony massaged his brows. “Look, do we really need to take a probabilities course to kill this guy? I get that he’s smart, but last time I checked, train schedules don’t stop bullets.” “But bullets won’t stop someone who isn’t even there,” Olivia replied. She turned back to Adam.
“So, basically, he can predict extremely complex systems based on seemingly random bits of data. Right?” Adam nodded. “Right.” Olivia gave them all a very crooked grin. “In that case, I think I know exactly how to beat him.” — - — The black car pulled to the side of a street in the Tokyo financial district. The man who stepped out was so extraordinarily unremarkable that, under normal circumstances, even his lack of remarkability failed to generate a remark.
His high end tailored suit and dark glasses blended with the well-to-dos of the region; his skin was a shade of amber-gold. Despite being aware of the time, he checked his wristwatch, closed the car door, then took three steps down the sidewalk. The vehicle drove away.
The Accountant was a man of precision. He slept for exactly seven hours; when he woke, it was on the hour. Each footfall was calculated — each step predetermined. He made no mistakes, took no chances, and accounted for every significant possibility.
That’s why, when he first noticed the young man approaching him from across the street, he took immediate action. The man was in his 20s; short hair, open coat — Slavic, if he had to wager a guess. Based on the color of the man’s shoes, the Accountant determined he was here to kill him. Based on the current market price of peaches, the Accountant determined he was not alone.
He took a step to the left. A crowd of businessmen had just emerged from a nearby diner; this put at least fifteen people between him and the would-be assassin. One of the fifteen was Japanese — in his mid-50s. He walked with a slight limp and was going bald. This meant the second assassin was in the third story window of the small wine-shop across the street.
The Accountant adjusted his watch, reflecting sunlight off its surface and into the window. The sniper was briefly blinded. Now that neither assassin could see him, he moved to enter a nearby office building.
“Fuck. Glare,” Anthony growled into his mic. “You see him?” Adam fought his way through the crowd, shaking his head. “No. Lost him. He’s anticipating everything we’re doing. I think — he’s gotta be in that building with the blue glass. Heading for it.” Olivia peeked out from around the corner and touched her ear-piece. “Calvin, should I go in with him?” There was a brief pause before Calvin replied: “Yes.” Olivia jogged toward the financial office. Adam pushed his way through several more people to follow her.
The interior was a sprawling three-story lobby framed with marble. A grand staircase extended up to each level, with glass elevators providing an alternate route. Adam’s eyes darted between the various levels.
“Which level?” Adam asked.
She yanked Adam by the arm and pulled. “Neither. This way.” The two of them took off toward the far-end of the building. An emergency exit led to an alleyway out back. Olivia shoved the door open and stepped through; Adam followed. As soon as they stepped outside, they were greeted with the sound of muffled gunfire.
“Shit!” Olivia shoved Adam between two dumpsters; she soon followed him, dropping to a crouch. She flipped out her compact mirror and held it out, using the reflection to search the alley ahead.
Two men in suits stood where the alley emptied out into the street. Between them, the Accountant checked his watch.
“Hm. This will work,” he announced. “We’ve got about a minute before I leave to catch my train.
So, what can I do for you?” Olivia examined the reflection in her mirror. Adam squinted at the image, frowning. “He’s just standing out in the open,” he whispered. “We could just—” She reached to touch her ear-piece again. “Calvin. Do we go for it?” Calvin’s reply came almost immediately: “No.” Olivia looked to Adam. “Keep him talking.” Adam nodded. He turned to the side of the dumpster and hollered: “You’re the Accountant, right?” “You know, I do have a professional title. And a name, if you’d rather—” “We know who you are,” Adam yelled back. “We’re here to kill you.” “Yes, I’m aware. Well, here I am. Go ahead. Take a shot.” Olivia gestured for Adam to keep going.
“Uh-huh. But do you know why we’re here to kill you?” “Twenty nine seconds. You’re very likely the ones I received word about, just this morning.
You’re responsible for terminating our contract with Death. I presume you want to murder me over some sort of ideological quibble.” “An ideological quibble?” Adam’s voice nearly hitched up an octave. Olivia reached to touch his shoulder. “You know how many corpses your organization is built on top of? How many people die every day just so you fucks get to run the show?” “I’ve never killed anyone. Of course, I’m certain you’ve killed a few. How many? A dozen? A hundred? Did you bother to learn any of their names?” the Accountant asked. He checked his watch again. “Were any of them children? Just curious.” Adam jerked against Olivia’s grip. She squeezed him, hard. “Don’t,” she whispered. “He’s trying to get a rise out of you.” “Fuck him,” Adam growled. His grip on his pistol was tight enough to force the blood out of his knuckles. “Like he hasn’t killed—” “Well, if you’re not going to try and murder me, I suppose I’ll just have to leave early,” the Accountant said. Again, he looked at his watch. “Seven seconds.” “We’re going to miss our chance,” Adam hissed. “I’m going to—” “No, Calvin said—” Adam was already lunging to his feet — and Olivia was lunging to tackle him. Her arms slammed into his legs, forcing him to buckle. In the next instant, a deafening pop rushed out to fill the alleyway. A fist-sized crater appeared in the dumpster behind them — right where Adam’s head had been.
Wisps of smoke swirled up from the hole. Adam and Olivia both stared at it, their backs pressed against the other dumpster.
“Shit,” Adam whispered.
“Sniper,” Olivia replied.
“One,” the Accountant announced. “Everyone down.” Several more pops echoed out through the street — accompanied by distant screams. Olivia and Adam caught the sound of glass shattering; the popping sounds were followed by additional gunfire.
Anthony’s voice boomed over the earpiece: “I’m covering you. Go.” Olivia and Adam ran for the door. In the distance, they could hear the sirens — along with the squealing rubber of the Accountant’s car as it drove away.
— - — Sometimes, the Accountant wondered what it was like to live in uncertainty; to exist in a world where you could not predict the most likely outcome based on the data in front of you. He imagined it was a dreadful, unbearable state — like being trapped in a nightmare where nothing made any sense. The thought often prompted a feeling of tremendous pity.
He felt no pity at this moment.
As he approached the boarding station, he checked his watch and revisited the alleyway in his mind. He had replayed the events that unfolded there twenty three times; each time, none of it made sense. None of it fit the model.
He correctly predicted the arrival of the two assassins; he also correctly predicted the arrival of their comrade. But his models had shown that, by standing out in the open and addressing them, there was an overwhelming likelihood that at least one would emerge and be immediately struck down by his stationed sniper.
Nothing was truly certain, he knew. Every rule had its exception; every absolute hid a sliver of doubt. Everything he understood was merely an approximation of something he did not.
But the chance of both assassins emerging from this conflict unscathed were, by his calculations, comparable in magnitude to a tornado arranging a deck into a house of cards — then back into the same ordered deck. It was beyond ‘unlikely’; it was nothing short of miraculous.
Was that what he had witnessed? A miracle of probability? An event as rare and near- impossible as the emergence of life itself?
He stepped on-board the train, providing his ticket. He moved to one of the private rooms, sliding the door aside and taking his seat. As the city began to slip past, he ran through the model for the twenty fourth time, then decided that he would simply need to let it go.
The sliding door rattled open. A not-quite middle-aged man with dark, faintly greying hair stepped in, taking the opposite seat. He casually reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a revolver, aiming it squarely at the Accountant’s heart.
The Accountant stared, uncomprehending. This wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be possible.
Two miracles? In one day?
“How?” he croaked.
Calvin reached into his pocket with his other hand, withdrawing a small, unremarkable coin. He perched it on top of his thumb and proceeded to flip it, before snatching it out of the air. He then showed it to the Accountant.
Tails.
The gears in his head started to turn. “You…” “You’re good at predicting complicated systems," Calvin said, "but only when they behave the way they’re supposed to. You can’t predict them if all their decisions are inherently unpredictable.” “But how did you know I would be—” “We overheard you say you had a train to catch. There were two train stations nearby. So I flipped a coin.” The Accountant closed his eyes and smiled. “How utterly boorish. You got lucky.” “Yeah. But it worked, didn’t it?” “So it did.” His eyes opened; he focused his gaze on Calvin. "Well. Now you've got me here.
What do you want?" Calvin laid a piece of paper in front of him and pulled out a pen. He slid them across the table between them towards The Accountant.
"Names," he said. "Locations. All of the rest of them." The Accountant sighed. "You want me to give up the names and locations of the other Overseers? What — do you want their PIN numbers, too?" Calvin tapped the revolver on the table. "This probably isn't the time to get smart." The Accountant sat back in his chair and loosened his tie. "I'm not going to do that. You used a funny trick to put me in a compromising position, and that's clever. But now that we're here, I know exactly how this plays out. Why would I compromise my associates when you're just going to kill me either way?" Calvin shrugged. "There's a difference between being shot and being dragged behind this train." The other man swallowed. "That's barbaric — and either way, it's not particularly likely. We're not too far from our destination, and there will be too many people around. The way I die is at the end of that gun." "That doesn't bother you?" The Accountant rolled his tongue across his teeth. "Of course it does. I haven't thought about the idea of dying in such a long time, and to now be sitting here looking at it, it's nothing short of horrifying. But I'm not going to beg for mercy from a terrorist." He leaned forward. "Do you truly understand what it is you're doing?” Calvin didn't answer. The Overseer sighed.
"Go ahead. We both know what you're going to do next." Calvin squeezed the trigger.
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DEPARTMENT OF CONTAINMENT THE FOUNDATION About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us TwistedGears-Kaktus Proposal » » TwistedGears-Kaktus Proposal SCP-001 Ouroboros Collaboration Collaboration Rating: +1243 ▽ [SECURITY COGNITOHAZARD EXECUTED] Life signs detected.
Memetic inoculation ascertained.
Welcome, Overseer.
Robert Bumaro, current leader of the Church of the Broken God. Date unknown.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Maksur Special Containment Procedures: Information on the relevancy of SCP-001 to the related anomalous objects are to be omitted from the respective objects' documentation. While connections with the Church of the Broken God can remain available, the origins of the items are to be omitted or obfuscated.
The inactive component of SCP-001 is to remain in its current location, and any shipping or diving is forbidden in that area. Civilian discovery of SCP-001 is to be suppressed, and amnestics are to be utilized in order to maintain classification. Persons affiliated with the Church of the Broken God who make active attempts to seek out the inactive component of SCP-001 are to be taken into Foundation custody and questioned.
Information pertaining to SCP-001, whether physical or digital, is to be confiscated and contained.
The inactive component of SCP-001 is expected to remain inanimate; however, should SCP-001 experience spontaneous reanimation, all active Mobile Task Force units at nearby Site-27, Site- 44, Site-90, and Site-101 are to be assigned to active countermeasures. Should this event (currently designated an 001-Apotheosis Event) occur in the modern world, it is believed that current means of information suppression would be insufficient. It is likely that an 001- Apotheosis Event would result in a SK-Class "Broken Masquerade" scenario , and likely following that, an XK-Class "End-of-the-World" scenario.
Extant active components of SCP-001 are not to come within 20km of the inactive component of SCP-001 under any circumstances.
Description: SCP-001 is a collection of anomalous items, formerly a single, massive mechanical entity assembled by members of the Church of the Broken God in late 1942 near La Paz, Mexico. Items include SCP-217, SCP-1139, SCP-882, and several internal components of SCP-629. A full list is available here.
Members of the Church combined the various anomalous objects in an effort to restore their deity. Upon activation, SCP-001 reportedly began to integrate metallic objects into itself while actively seeking other anomalous objects. SCP-001, and the resulting "001-Apotheosis" event that took place as a result of its assembly, was the cause of significant environmental changes in western Mexico, and required one of the most widespread use of amnestics to date. Post- event, the active components of SCP-001 were taken to Foundation sites for containment, while the inactive component of SCP-001 remained on the bottom of the Gulf of California, at approximately 23.807269, -108.418369.
1 2 3 Addendum 001.01: Collected Information Describing SCP-001 Transcription of statement by Father Jorge Castillo, August 1945 Fernand was the first… I think, the first who contacted me after they had found the heart. The way they described it, the fervor that was in their eyes, it captivated me and I knew then. I knew that they had done it.
I went to meet with Anthony and Salvador the weekend after my sister's confirmation… when they showed it to me I was taken aback. It was little more than a pile of gears, pistons, ticking pieces of clockwork and lubricated metal parts, all dutifully churning along without a power source. Within it I saw the heart, just as they described.
It spoke to me. Not like you and I would speak to each other, but… with images, and feelings. And pain. It was in so much pain. Like the spark that had given it life had made it realize what it was, or what it wasn't, and it desired only to be whole again.
Desire is a strong word, perhaps. Not desire, more than it was impulse. Something within the creature drove it forward towards some unthinking, unfaltering end. The creature they presented to me was not like the other artifacts I had found and blessed. This one was different, there was something wrong with it, and I did not know until later what they had done… I begged Salvador to take it back to that beach and undo it, that it was not right, but they would hear nothing of it. It started moving before I left, shaking enough from side to side that it could achieve locomotion. It hobbled over a wrench, and the wrench became part of its body. They said to me, "Our God is unbroken!" I never saw them again.
Excerpt from an interview with Francis Bollinger in 1946 It didn't use words, or any kind of language. It would make metallic sounds but at the same time… Images and concepts would come to mind when we were around it.
Have you ever felt, when you have a thought or idea— and it's all there, born whole in your mind— you still had to think the words for it, despite knowing the sentiment before you finish the sentence? It was like that, but from an alien mind. Truly the words of the divine.
Addendum 001.02: Interview with Excommunicated Church of the Broken God priest Father Dolorous Randall, June 1945 Excerpt from an interview in 2007 with Trixie Silva, agent of the Unusual Incidents Unit There were a few Wolves — wait, you know what those are, right? They're like… like hunters, they work for the Horizon Initiative. They confronted us near a church in Santa Margarita, wanted us to turn in the stuff that we had collected for the Church of the Broken God, like the Abrahamic stuff we handed over.
We deliberated on whether we should give it to them — our stance with the HI has been a bit shaky, moreso in recent memory. While we have been on good terms with the local Broken Churchgoers, the Wolves were more… well, are more aggressive. We looked over what we had, and while we did, this woman walked up.
I don't know where she came from. She dressed like a hippie; thin, iron chains for hair, but she seemed distant the whole time. The look in her eyes, her abnormal smile, like she was hardly there.
She looked at what we had and said she only wanted this, uh. I don't actually know what it was. A metal box, it whirred and clicked, and put out this little beam of light on one end when I picked it up. Felt lighter than I would have thought. I asked why that was important to her, and she said that it'd be easier to show me than tell.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She didn't move or speak after that, so I closed my eyes as well. She brought her forehead to mine, but kind of offset. We stood like that for a second, foi muito estranho, before she suddenly moved her chin down, made me jerk down slightly.
The world dropped beneath me and I fell. Something clicked in my mind, an image of two gears, formerly meshed together, now broken away. I felt the teeth of my spine arch out as I bent over, one step and I clicked along on the multidimensional cog that was the planet. It spun around the furnace of the sun, tethered to it by the chain that was gravity, and we hurtled together through an oily cosmos with all the power of an infinitely unwinding spring… …S-sorry. It was an experience. No, it was not a religious experience, but… yeah.
She told me to pick the box back up and it felt a lot heavier than before. I couldn't tell if it actually had more weight, or if it felt more… significant. I gave it to her and wouldn't hear anything otherwise from the Wolves or my teammates or my superior.
Image taken from Church of the Broken God information repository. Believed to be early incarnation of SCP-001.
[EXTRANEOUS DIALOGUE REMOVED] Williams: Alright. You mentioned the heart earlier. Were you there when they found it?
Randall: No, not at all. I was out of the country at the time, working with a new mission in Panama. I only heard about Ezekiel after the fact.
Williams: Who was Ezekiel?
Randall: One of Bumaro's agents. Before he was made leader of the church, Robert would keep a number of them around, these individuals who were in tune with God and could feel its presence, speak to it. Ezekiel had discovered an artifact of some value, and Bumaro took him on afterwards. These agents were the first to experiment with the augmentations, as well. As you can imagine, many of them died.
Williams: But not Ezekiel?
Randall: No. He was very close to Bumaro, and I don't know if he would have risked Ezekiel's well-being. It doesn't matter, Ezekiel didn't need augmentations to speak to the God. He was just… capable.
Williams: So what does Ezekiel have to do with the heart?
Randall: You heard Avery tell you that they had a stockpile of artifacts, right?
Anything that one of these agents touched, if they felt something they would have it shipped to La Paz with the rest of it. Most of it was worthless, but every now and then they would find something legitimate. The purifier, the one— whatever you call it, one of the agents discovered that near Nepal. They had tendons and ligaments and everything else, but they were all just parts. They would move on their own, but they didn't do anything together.
Williams: How do you mean?
Randall: The texts refer to the God reassembling itself once the pieces are brought before its heart. All you need do is to feed the heart a limb, and the God will have a limb. But they couldn't find a heart. There were (pauses) a couple of agents who had claimed to have found one, but they were all the same useless piece of machinery as the rest.
Williams: Where does Ezekiel figure into this?
Randall: Ezekiel was the one who told Bumaro that, if they could not find a heart, maybe they could build one of their own. This, at the time, flew directly in the face of the Church doctrine. The leadership, if they had known, would have excommunicated him. But it was quickly becoming clear that the project couldn't last through to the summer. I was sent in with my mission to resupply them after Ezekiel had left, and their supplies were nearly exhausted.
Addendum 001.03: Recovered Video Transcript, November 1942 Williams: Our records indicate that the heart was something they discovered. Is that not true?
Randall: Of course it isn't true. You can't preach to a congregation about God giving parts of himself to you and then turn around and tell them that the most essential part is something you conjured up out of nothing. Worse than nothing, though. The details of what they did to create that heart and make it live were never revealed to me, but you can draw conclusions from evidence. There was a drought that year, and the polio crisis hit an all time high. Thousands died, all of natural causes. A freak event, never accurately recorded because of the attention on the war. Dios mio, but who can say.
Williams: You think the two are related?
Randall: I think the timing is too coincidental. And knowing what I know about what that thing became, I think the answer is clear. That was not the heart of God, agent.
That was something altogether different.
[EXTRANEOUS DIALOGUE REMOVED] Addendum 001.04: Taped Phone Conversation with Robert Bumaro Video recovered from local documentary film crew.
Shot begins on a destroyed home, the wreckage centered around the garage. Metal fragments and strips of rubber trail down the driveway and onto the asphalt, and go down the street. Pieces of various automobiles are strewn across the street and sidewalk. The trail leads to SCP-001, which is integrating a truck into its chassis.
SCP-001 continues to the nearest house, where it begins consuming the gutters.
Residents of the area flee the scene, several injured by discarded shards of glass and twisted metal discharged by SCP-001. Lights produced from various parts of SCP-001's body focus on the various prone figures. A section along the undercarriage of SCP-001 alters and drops away from the main body, which continues down the street in search of more sources of material.
The ejected subsection continues alterations, forming a vertical pod somewhat resembling a human spine and rib cage. Pod collapses in various areas, the rib-like protrusions extending outward as the rest of the pod changes into a humanoid form roughly three meters tall. Light is produced from the head, which is focused on a nearby civilian.
The metal humanoid picks up the civilian, who appears to be dead, and places it into a small chamber between the humanoid's ribs. The ribs vibrate as the humanoid approaches a second civilian, who is attempting to crawl away. She attempts to struggle as the humanoid lifts her and places her inside its chest cavity.
The humanoid turns away from the camera to approach a third civilian, and what appears to be the woman's dismembered hand falls to the floor.
A growth on the humanoid's back slowly expands as it continues to gather bodies, the body of the humanoid decreasing in size as it does so. By the sixth consumed body the growth is larger than the humanoid, and it is unable to continue bipedal movement. The limbs recede into the body and the ribs extend to allow it to scuttle onto the roof of a nearby house.
It remains in place for twenty minutes. The bulbous exterior cracks and is torn away from within, revealing three humanoids. They each appear to be symptomatic of SCP-217, and exhibit physical characteristics of the six captured civilians. One, a female with chains extending from its scalp, shakes another, which appears to be dead. The third, a male with clockwork limbs, examines itself before jumping from the roof, landing on its stomach. It does not appear to be damaged by this, which seems to cause it distress. It then pursues SCP-001, which is consuming another vehicle farther down the street.
The female humanoid notices the camera crew. It begins to wave, but quickly stops.
It looks toward SCP-001 before jumping into the backyard, and out of the camera's view.
Note: The following is audio from a taped phone conversation between an agent of the Church of the Broken God (name unknown) and Robert Bumaro. The call was recorded in December of 1942, and was collected by Foundation personnel during a raid on a Church stronghold in 1966.
0:00 0:00 / 2:23 / 2:23 [CALL BEGINS] Bumaro: Hello?
Agent: Bless you father.
Bumaro: Dmitri?
Agent: No.
Bumaro: Ah, of course. Bless you, child. How is the little lord?
Agent: Stronger every day. We had to move him from the back of our office into a warehouse nearby.
Bumaro: He's being fed?
Agent: As you required.
Bumaro: Good. When will you be moving to Peñasco?
Agent: Within the week. We are only waiting for the next train.
Bumaro: It may need to be sooner. There was a raid in La Paz two weeks ago.
Three of our men have not been accounted for. There is growing Foundation activity nearby— (cuts out momentarily) Agent: Father?
Bumaro: (To someone in the background) Tomorrow, tomorrow.
Agent: Father?
Bumaro: Yes. We had expected them to head north, but they've come west instead.
A minor setback.
Agent: What about the safehouse? There are nearly a hundred other artifacts there, and— Bumaro: (Cuts off) A minor setback. They don't know where it is, and even if they did, that isn't their priority right now. Their eyes, and the eyes of the rest of the world, are on Europe. As their gaze settles there, they will not realize our accomplishment until they are powerless to stop him.
Agent: That was, uh, something else I needed to ask you, Father.
Bumaro: Yes?
Agent: Our God, uh… is ravenous. We cannot seem to satiate him, the supplies we were given are not— Bumaro: (Cuts off again) What is the issue?
Addendum 001.05: Escalation Report, December 1943 The following is an interview conducted with Foundation Commander Mark Peterson of Site- 74. The director, who prior to the 001-Apotheosis Event was stationed in Mexico City, was on- site with Foundation personnel in La Paz during the Event.
Agent: Father, our… the Lord is eating its own housing. We cannot convince him to stop, he cannot be reasoned with, it— Bumaro: Nonsense. The heart of the devout may speak directly to our God. Can you not hear his words when he reaches out to you? Do you not feel the machine moving inside of you? Or do you need more proof other than the living, breathing God before your own eyes?
Agent: No! Father, it is not that, it is— Bumaro: I will hear nothing of it. For years, we have prayed and asked for our God to be unbroken before us. And now, he has presented himself. We know that the divine will speak to the heart of the devout. If you are telling me that there are none among you who are devout enough to commune with our Lord, tell me now so you can be replaced.
Agent: Our faith is strong, Father. Please, forgive my insolence. I am only misguided.
Bumaro: See to yourself, then. I worry for your faith. Have one of your brothers, one who is stronger than you, have him speak to the Lord and tell him of the necessity for secrecy. Our Lord will understand, no doubt. The Unbroken God is a reasonable god.
Agent: Yes, bless you Father.
Bumaro: Bless you, child.
[CALL ENDS] Mexico, before and after the 001- Apotheosis Event.
Director Cornwell: Start again from the top, we're recording now.
Commander Peterson: Alright. The first reports we got about Church activity in Mexico were in '41, but it was all pretty minor at the time. We had just finished field operations near the border up north and were preparing to move our assets to Atlanta for deployment to France. We had just gotten our orders to retrieve a series of sensitive objects that they didn't want to get into the hands of the krauts, and they were going to move our entire division to get it done. Leadership wasn't sure that Roosevelt would make the call to move in enough time for us to blend in with the Americans, so we were going to have to go in separately. The whole thing was a mess.
Director Cornwell: What kept you in La Paz?
Commander Peterson: I was there on accident. One of our trains had taken the overland route to La Paz, probably to pick up some of the armaments we had there.
Turns out that train was supposed to head north. So all of a sudden most of the leadership south of the Rio Grande is in La Paz, which in retrospect probably did us a lot of good as far as the overall effort is concerned.
Director Cornwell: When did you first hear about the 001-Apotheosis Entity?
Commander Peterson: (Laughs) Jesus. Is that what they're calling it now? The machine, I guess, we first heard through the grape vine of increased activity in the area in… I guess it would've been a little over a year ago. We ended up in La Paz in October of '42, so… yeah, that sounds right. The first concrete evidence we got that something was wrong was when a train of… refugees? Seems kind of silly to call them that, but I guess that's accurate. They showed up in La Paz near the end of October, talking about how their entire town had been mulched. They didn't really elaborate much, just kept saying "la máquina, la máquina," you know, "the machine". That's why we were calling it that, by the way. We had no idea what it was supposed to be.
Director Cornwell: What about your first interaction with the entity?
Commander Peterson: Well, the rail stopped running, if that's what you mean. We got word from the local authorities that there had been an accident up north, and that the trains weren't heading to the border anymore. It wasn't a huge issue for us, since we could've taken a couple of vehicles and headed east until we hit one of those little towns at the foot of the mountains. Most of them were hooked up to a separate rail line entirely, and we could've gotten out that way. But the big stuff, the stuff that the train had been sent to La Paz for, couldn't just be moved. So we were going to wait it out. Then DeMarco had the bright idea to send a party up the rail- line to see where the hold up was, and see what we could do to clear it. He led the expedition himself.
Director Cornwell: What happened to Agent DeMarco?
Commander Peterson: You know damn well what happened to him, Bill.
Addendum 001.06: Collected Foundation Correspondences Note: The following are excerpts from written correspondences by Foundation personnel stationed at La Paz, recovered from the temporary site in the wake of the 001-Apotheosis Event. Names have been omitted.
Director Cornwell: For the record.
Commander Peterson: Fine. We didn't hear back from them after three days, and were going to send the rest of the leadership east anyway so they didn't have to wait, but then after five days one of DeMarco's guys showed up at our camp. He was delirious, talking about the "world eater", and how the rest of the guys had gotten mulched. And they had, hadn't they? I know it wasn't as big then as it ended up, but it wasn't something to fuck around with. DeMarco… Director Cornwell: Are you alright?
Commander Peterson: Yeah. He tried to kill it. He probably knew then what we wouldn't find out until later; that we couldn't contain this thing. There wasn't a hole in the world big enough to put it in, or a box that it wouldn't eat its way out of. But it didn't matter for him, or anyone he went with. The Machine didn't care.
Director Cornwell: When did you first see it?
Commander Peterson: December. Once we'd hunkered in, I was part of an expeditionary team that flew up there to get a good look at it. It was already… I mean, you saw what it did to that side of the country. I've never seen anything that big that could move. It was like a mountain of moving parts, blackening the sky as it burned through whatever it was shoveling into its chest. And it was small then! It was… I don't know. We all had XK-Event preparation training, but this went above and beyond anything we had trained for. It was inevitability. We knew that we were going to die, and this thing was going to kill us. It was just a matter of when.
Dear ███████, I don't even know if this will get to you. None of the trains are running, but our commander says that we can still get letters out. I hope it does, I'd like you to read it.
The skies down here have been dark for weeks. Smoke from up north every day, makes it hard to breathe. They still don't have indoor plumbing here, and nobody but the other guys in our company speak English.
We still don't know what we're down here to do, either. I keep hearing we're here to fix the rails, but why aren't we going north? Aren't the breaks in the rails up north?
SCP-001. Image recovered post-event, and is heavily damaged. Photographer unknown.
Addendum 001.07: Interview with GOC Lieutenant "Revenant" Note: The following is an excerpt of a post- event interview conducted with a GOC lieutenant, codenamed "Revenant". The recording of the interview, and all transcripts thereof, were collected by Foundation agents during a negotiated information exchange in 1992. To date, the identity of "Revenant" is unknown.
A man came into town today with damn near half of his face cooked off. He was like a dead-man, didn't respond to anybody. He got towards the middle of town and collapsed. When he finally woke up in the infirmary later, he was delirious. Telling a story about a machine the size of a mountain that spoke to you. Said there were people jumping out of their homes and running, just to throw themselves in it. Said they were shredded, like jumping under a lawn-mower. Then he died, and nobody knows why.
The mountains crumbled before our own eyes. We saw a figure rising through the smoke, slow and lumbering but with terrifying momentum. It didn't crawl like a beast or walk like a man, but was propelled forwards by the turning of a million cogs, like an iron centipede. Its body extended upwards, into the smoke, higher than we could make out. Within its chest we saw fire, like the furnaces of Hell. It came to the mountains north of us and did not stop, or go around, but went through, and devoured them. It reached out with a long, pulsing arm, and pulled an entire village into its maw. I saw men leaping to their death as their homes were swept away, into the same inferno as the rest. And it howled, not just through the grinding of the gears and the churning of the machine, but in our minds. I could hear it in my heart. It was screaming.
Directive: Central Command, Site-001 Courtesy of: █████████████ Temp site lost. La Paz in ruins. Mechanical entity contained. Massive geological alterations. XK avoided. Requesting amnestic support.
Addendum 001.08: Recovered Video Transcript Note: The following is a transcript of recovered video footage, roughly thirty seconds in duration. The transcript of the clip was authored shortly after its recovery, though the video has since degraded and is no longer legible. The footage's audio is in acceptable condition, and is available for access below.
Recovered Audio: Warning: The following audio snippet is at a high volume.
0:00 0:00 / 0:29 / 0:29 There's this story that gets told among Foundation agents, something that the grizzled veterans will tell the greenhorns during the long nights of guard duty on some cell block or another. I don't know who started it, but I know they still tell it.
It's been a half-century, and they still get it right. You can give them that much credit.
They say, "Don't you know? The GOC killed God." But the greenhorns will say, "No, that's not true. God is in a cell at site-whatever.
The GOC didn't kill God." And they're talking about that type green they've got locked up somewhere, the one who thinks he's the Christian god. Then the vets will smile and shake their heads, and won't say anything. Because they all know.
They know that in 1943, in the midst of the Apocalypse, the Foundation could do nothing but watch the end while the Allied Occult Initiative, a poorly funded, undermanned, inadequate predecessor to the Coalition, saved the world.
The metaphorical gun was found on an island off the coast of Greece. I can't even remember what it looked like, all I get is that sort of fuzzy recollection the amnestics leave you with. But I distinctly recall it wasn't as heavy as you'd think.
Why the amnestics? I was with the detachment deployed to the area, and apparently one of the pieces had some mind altering effect to it. I have a vague sense of feeling something wrong, so I'll take their word for it. I don't remember what it looked like, I can't recall how it destroyed that much land. Hell, I barely remember when it happened and the only reason I know where is all the before and after maps. But I can still feel it, in my gut, that that wasn't how things were meant to be. We stood before what looked to be an angry and vengeful God, and all it did was beg us to kill it.
We were all too happy to oblige.
Early image of SCP-001, during the evacuation of a nearby town.
Addendum 001.09: Neutralization of SCP-001 On July 17th, 1943, agents from the Allied Occult Initiative contacted Foundation directors stationed at La Paz, Mexico, and requested assistance with transportation towards the site of the 001-Apotheosis entity.
Foundation operatives moved quickly to dispatch a plane to retrieve the AOI members.
After arriving, the agents described a unique anomalous artifact they had in their custody, and how it might be used to slow the advance of the 001-Apotheosis entity.
Three days after arriving at La Paz, on July 24th, 1943, the Allied Occult Initiative dispatched a single agent to the site of the 001-Apotheosis entity, with the anomalous artifact on their person. On the morning of July 25th, 1943, as the 001-Apotheosis entity approached the shore of the Pacific Ocean another massive, mechanical construct appeared overhead.
The origin of this entity is currently unknown.
Records of the event following the appearance of SCP-2399 are incomplete and likely inaccurate. The result of this engagement was the annihilation of SCP-001. SCP-2399 disappeared and was later discovered in low-Jupiter orbit in a state of disrepair, though the reason for this is currently unknown.
00:01: Recording opens on a town. Many buildings are collapsed or engulfed in flames. There is significant seismic activity present.
00:03: Video pans to show SCP-001. Size is indiscernible in the video, but the entity takes up the entire frame. It is slowly moving forward.
00:09: SCP-001 is seen moving large amounts of earth into itself. Occasional flames erupt from within the entity.
00:15: Air raid sirens become audible as the sky lights up, as if by lightning. The clouds directly over SCP-001 part momentarily. SCP-2399 is visible, its underside slightly damaged. Foundation mortar fire is seen passing overhead.
00:20: One such mortar strikes SCP-001. No damage is visible.
00:22: The underside of SCP-2399 is glowing blue.
00:24: A bright beam of light erupts from SCP-2399 and strikes SCP-001. SCP-001 violently reacts and reaches towards SCP-2399.
00:26: There is an explosion. Nothing can be seen on video.
00:30: As nearby people scream, video ends.
4 The remaining inactive component of SCP-001, a massive, unassembled group of machine parts, remains at the bottom of the Gulf of California. Upon removing SCP-882 from the inactive superstructure, the remainder collapsed and became wholly inert.
Following the 001-Apotheosis Event, a massive amnesticization of individuals in and around the area now known as Baja California took place. These efforts were aided by the quantity of thick, black smoke that accompanied SCP-001, and current historical records describe the event as a forest fire. Significant effort was made to adjust maps of the area, as well as relocate displaced civilians. Because of the need for a widespread amnestic regimen, several experimental neurotransformers were used , and because of their poorly understood side effects, it is estimated that no fewer than two million people across the world died in the decade following the 001-Apotheosis Event.
Addendum 001.10: Collected Allied Occult Initiative Documentation Note: The following document was given to Foundation personnel by POI-004D/001 (See Addendum 001.12). It is currently unknown how the document came into POI-004D/001's possession.
5 ATTN: General Darius Artifact Collection Report Authored: Lieutenant Van Pelt C.O: Colonel Baghram Report Length: 57 pgs Summary of Report: On December 30th, 1942, a rogue humanoid entity, anomalous in nature, was sighted by a patrol near a small island off the coast of Greece. This entity, who claimed no name and did not communicate readily in the English tongue, was carrying a small, cubic artifact no larger than a baseball. The entity appeared to be feminine and had a number of steel chains extending from its scalp.
Entity was originally willing to give up possession of artifact (classified AR-213), but became hostile shortly thereafter and began speaking. Entity made threats on the lives of the squad, and subdued two officers before being incapacitated by Sergeant Dixon. Entity made reference to the west of the Mexican country, demanding to be freed so that the artifact could be taken there.
Further research has uncovered increased SCP Foundation activity in that area, as well as some minor geological disturbances. On the orders of Colonel Baghram, 2nd Platoon was ordered to ship to the site of the disturbances with the entity (classified EN-340) in tow. After boarding the ship bound for America, EN-340 became passive, albeit obviously uncomfortable and disturbed.
Recommending further psychological evaluation of EN-340 upon return prior to termination. Once analysis of AR-213 is completed, artifact will be shipped to Zurich for incineration.
REPORT IS ATTACHED FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION Lt. R. Van Pelt 2nd Platoon Allied Occult Initiative Peacekeepers Addendum 001.11: Agent Ruberson's Statement, January 1944 Inactive pieces of SCP-001 being transported for processing and containment.
Note: Agent Aaron Ruberson was on-site during the collection of SCP-001 artifacts. As the most senior member of Foundation staff assigned to the collection effort, he was required to submit a post-event statement.
This report was filed at Site-17, until it was added to the other classified material related to SCP-001. It is unknown whether any other individuals had knowledge of this report, or if any copies were made. The following is an excerpt from that statement.
0:00 0:00 / 3:26 / 3:26 We took what we could from the shores first. Little things, gears and pulleys and pistons, things like that. A lot of it was garbage, but they were still twitching, spinning, turning. They still had life in them. The small stuff sort of died off after a couple hours, but I heard that the bigger pieces were still churning weeks later. Like cutting the head off a chicken.
The important parts, the ones we knew were actual Church artifacts, we managed to bag and get moved to the train in La Paz for transport. I counted, Christ, maybe a hundred? Individual anomalous artifacts. Some of the boys at the train station joked that they'd have to build a whole new site just to keep it all.
We kept casualties low, fortunately. Mostly guys just being dumb around machinery, acting like it still couldn't take their arms off. Rodriguez got his hand crunched, and we had to help move him to the local clinic. I think we only had one death the entire time. One of the locals we hired to help dive down into the bay and get straps around the heart so we could pull it up. I didn't see it, but I heard about it. Said they found him with his head smashed between two moving pieces. Said it looked like he'd shoved it in there himself.
But I don't know, I didn't see it. I did see the tags, though.
You know, when a place manufactures something, and in order to identify where the part came from, they'll get a big piece of metal with their name on it and stick it on the side of the part? We saw plenty of those on other parts, the stuff that it had collected while it was eating its way to the sea. None of the Church artifacts did, though. They all buzzed along like everything else, but they weren't marked. You could feel something when standing next to them, like serenity. The whole project was like that, it felt calm. Like relief.
Except for the heart. When we finally got it out of the bay, we had to keep it on the shore for a day because of the weather. Some of the locals started to get itchy. Said they were hearing voices, wouldn't go near it. Didn't matter how much money we offered them. Had to wait to bring in more support from the base up north just to get it loaded on a ship.
I… man, I don't know. I've seen all kinds of things, but my memetic resistance is pretty high. I had to pass a handful of tests just to get this assignment, and everything was clean. But I can't deny getting another kind of feeling around the heart. I don't know if I'd say I was hearing voices, but… Right, the tags. It was as we were leaving and loading it on the ship that was going to take it north that I saw them for the first time. I didn't even think to say anything then, didn't even pass my mind until I started looking into some other files. Then that ship crashed in the storm, and they lost the heart, and the whole time I kept thinking about those goddamn metal tags. I realized it then, I think. That wasn't a Church artifact, Johnny.
They said "Property of The Factory ".
6 Addendum 001.12: Interview with POI-004D/001 Note: The following is an excerpt from an interview in 2009 with POI-004D/001, who claims to be part of a previously unknown sect of the Church of the Broken God. Contact was made with the cooperation of the Unusual Incidents Unit, who had interacted with POI-004D/001 as detailed in Addendum 001.01.
So, tell me what you think you know.
I see.
Interesting.
Well, you're not entirely wrong. And that's commendable, in this day and age. There are a few key details I feel you may be overlooking, and you may be overvaluing information handed to you by a self-admitted amnesiac.
Let me set the record straight.
The GOC did not kill Yahweh, as they may so proudly proclaim. And that was not the Broken God they destroyed. It was a piece of it, surely, but would you show me a camshaft and call it a car? Oh, so you have some parts together. An engine, perhaps. But not a car.
God is much simpler than that. God is everything. From the biggest star to the smallest particle. Each tiny parts, completely insignificant on their own. Doing whatever it is they're meant to do. Meshing together, gnashing at each other. All a part of a cosmic machine.
The machine aspect was, at some point, likely simply a metaphor. An idea. But as I'm sure you know, ideas are powerful. They make things from nothing, or change things already there. And with a small spark of the divine, a symbol becomes real.
Have a planet with as much life as there is here, you generate a lot of ideas.
And you may ask me, "Why is it called the Broken God?" There are a few possible answers. Something as simple as translation issues. Reinterpretations made physical by the devout. Is "Broken" simply a poor translation of some more nuanced word? Was God a being that broke in the Big Bang? If so, why did it break? And what will happen if it's repaired?
I can answer none of the questions save the last, but you already know the answer.
Whatever God once was doesn't matter, ultimately. What matters, to you, is that it must remain as it is. "Broken." God knows that. The more powerful parts, the mechanical components the more conventional sects may label as holy, they know they are not meant to be one solid thing. And even when forced together, a foreign force driving them, they know what they really are. Bits of the monster will work to destroy itself, deploy smaller entities to do the job. The GOC didn't kill it, they took the gun from its own hand and claimed credit when they pulled the trigger.
The problem is that humans are too small a part of God to remember. Remember what it was like before. And so those like Bumaro will invent new ways to push us toward a singularity.
Because that's what will happen. Did you see the underside of the destroyer? It was damaged even before the encounter in '43. And if you looked very closely, you might have seen the scars were getting closer and closer to the power core. It even managed to damage whatever lets it slip between the layers of reality this time.
Eventually the monster will win. It will destroy the destroyer, devour it, and with its power consume everything. And I mean everything. God will return to being one gestalt being, a singularity, and then break. Only this time it may have some outside force within it. The rust of The Factory. The blood of a Daevite king. The Fifthists, Wondertainment, some random person on the street with enough spark in them to be a reality bender. They will have a hand in remaking the universe, and close the secondary loop of all this.
No, that doesn't concern me. It's an eventuality, it's meant to happen. Who's to say it hasn't already happened, and your people were the winner? Maybe humanity itself was the winner. But that doesn't mean I'd be against putting it off, allowing the primary loop to continue.
Yes, it's possible. I know you couldn't damage the monster last time, and that the destroyer may not be able to repair itself by the time it is needed. But who's to say you can't aid it? Or mimic those who will seek to rebuild God, and acquire outside help? Working together, nothing is impossible.
Apart, we are Broken. But united, we are God.
Footnotes and References . The Maksur classification was codified in 1981 by the Foundation's Containment Committee, in conjunction with the Overseer Council, the Site Directors Council, and the Foundation Ethics Committee. Until such time that the Maksur-class was codified, SCP-001 was classified as "Neutralized," and the Maksur-class was created to replace this improper classification (See Classification Committee Records CA-10931, "Relevancy of the Neutralized Classification in Non- Standard Applications" and CA-10945, "Proposal: Maksur-Class").
. SK-Class scenarios will automatically trigger a backup of all sensitive Foundation information to maximum security data servers within self-contained, "deep well" sites (currently 117, 118, and 119). All non-essential personnel will receive mandatory amnestic treatment, and all major regional sites will go into a state of extended lockdown. Within current models, this state is indefinite.
. This was discovered after the containment of SCP-629 via collaboration with Broken Church contacts. It is unknown how these components were initially collected by Doctor Wondertainment without knowledge of the Foundation or its liaisons within the Church of the Broken God, and SCP-629 itself is unaware of its legitimate connection with the Church.
. Later classified as SCP-2399 and given an appropriate cover story for its Foundation file.
. Specifically the U-Class, the UN-Class, and the UO-Class amnestics, all of which have been discontinued.
. Due to the difficulty of close examination of SCP-882, these claims have not been verified.
Footnotes and References 1.
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6.
▽ ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"TwistedGears-Kaktus Proposal" by djkaktus, TwistedGears, from the SCP Wiki.
Source: https://scpwiki.com/twistedgears-kaktus-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY- SA.
Filename: mexico.png Authors: demis.nl, djkaktus License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Derivative of: Wikimedia Filename: transport.jpg Name: Fotothek df ps 0005862 Werften ^ Schiffswerften.jpg Author: Richard Peter License: CC BY-SA 3.0 DE Source Link: Wikimedia Filename: bg.png Author: Jorge Elías, djkaktus License: CC BY 2.0 Derivative of: Wikimedia Filename: broken1.jpg Name: Gears, HB&T Railway Bridge over Buffalo Bayou, Houston, Texas 0911101452BW (5005746168).jpg Author: Patrick Feller License: CC BY 2.0 Source Link: Wikimedia Powered by Filename: mindkill.png Name: (if different from filename) Author: Andrew Magill License: CC BY 2.0 Source Link: Flickr Name: bumaro.jpg Author: Jacob Piatt Dunn, djkaktus License: Public Domain Derivative of: Flickr Name: b2.png Author: N/A, djkaktus License: Public Domain Derivative of: Link TAGS↴ 001-proposal 7th-occult-war audio autonomous broken-god co-authored esoteric-class factory global-occult-coalition horizon-initiative illustrated k-class-scenario mechanical robert-bumaro scp telepathic unusual-incidents-unit Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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rating: +825 + – X SCP-001 Captain Kirby's Proposal SCP-001 » Captain Kirby's Proposal Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be confined to a specially modified containment facility that is to appear similar to other Foundation Sites. The main differences between this facility and existing Sites are that it is to be outfitted with living arrangements for the entire Overseer Council. This is to disguise the nature of SCP-001's containment. Additionally, all rooms in the facility are to be equipped with security cameras. It is also to be equipped with three failsafe nuclear warheads which shall be detonated should SCP-001 breach containment. This site is to be named Site-01.
One member of the O5 Council is to partake in a regimen involving mnestic drugs. The individual undergoing the regimen (henceforth referred to as the Archivist) is to maintain a journal of all information gathered about SCP-001, as well as any events of note involving SCP-001. At the end of an individual's tenure as Archivist, they are to convene a special O5 meeting to assess the state of SCP-001's containment and update this file. Tenures will last at most four months at a time, however, an Archivist may resign sooner should the mnestic regimen's side-effects grow too intense.
As of this writing, the only O5 members with proper tolerance to mnestic drugs to take on the role of the Archivist are O5-1, O5-8 and O5-12.
No member of the O5 Council (including SCP-001) is permitted to leave Site-01 without an approved accompaniment from MTF Alpha-1 ("Red Right Hand"). Access to this document 1 SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in is to be restricted to non-anomalous members of the O5 Council and safeguarded with a memetic kill agent.
Description: SCP-001 is the entity known as O5-13. The exact nature of SCP-001 is not yet known. How SCP-001 came to be in the position of O5-13 is still under investigation. Due to the current lack of understanding of SCP-001, it has been deemed necessary to keep SCP-001 unaware of its containment.
SCP-001 is known to take on the appearance of a 1.9m tall male human of Latin American descent. Whether or not this is SCP-001's true form or a disguise is still under investigation.
SCP-001 was classified as anomalous following the Caesar Incident. While details of the Caesar Incident are under investigation by the O5 Council, the following events are understood to be the result of the Caesar Incident: The death of all previous O5 Council members, except for O5-13.
The destruction of the previous Site-01.
The loss of all documentation regarding SCP-001 prior to the Caesar Incident, had such documentation existed.
It is also understood that SCP-001 caused the Caesar Incident through manifestation of its anomalous properties. Due to the lack of information about the Caesar event, it is currently believed that one of these properties is antimemetic in nature, although this has not yet been confirmed.
As of this writing, the investigation of SCP-001 has been delegated as follows: Assigned Members Task O5-1, O5-8, O5-12 Amalgamation of investigation results O5-4, O5-7, O5-10 Identification of SCP-001's origin O5-2, O5-6, O5-9 Investigation of the Caesar Incident O5-3, O5-5, O5-11 Identification of SCP-001's anomalous properties - SCP-001 Conference #1 Opening Remarks by O5-1: O5-1: Hello everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why Thirteen isn't here today. I'll get to that, but first I want to publicly address something I'm sure you've all noticed by now. After talking to you for the past week or so, I've noticed that we've all been inducted onto the Council almost at the exact same time. All of us, except Thirteen that is. In fact, Thirteen probably conducted your orientation.
Council members nod.
≡ O5-2: It's good to know that wasn't just me. I would've expected the last Two to run me through things.
O5-1: Indeed. In fact, I asked Thirteen about it, but he refused to say much. Of course he pled ignorance, but I don't believe that. So, I messaged the Administrator.
O5-6: You got in contact with him?
O5-11: I thought he was entirely off the grid. Either that or just fake.
O5-1: I spoke to the previous One a while back. He mentioned something about a wish list he wanted to send to the Administrator. I did a little digging, sent a letter to the north pole, and got a response.
O5-4: I have a hard time believing that's all it takes.
O5-1: You're right, there's more to it than that, but I'd rather discuss the process another time. But back to his response: as you might guess, the previous twelve O5s did not retire at the same time. They were killed. In fact, this building isn't even the original Site-01. That was destroyed. I think you can see where this is going.
O5-3: So, we have a dead O5 council, a missing Site-01, and somehow none of this is on our records.
O5-2: And only one suspect.
O5-1: I would like to designate O5-13 as one of our SCP-001 projects. Of course, this will be kept secret from him, but we need to investigate this entire ordeal until we figure out what happened, how it happened, and why O5-13 is the only one left standing.
Conference Minutes: The following is a summary of additional items discussed during the meeting.
Creation of current containment procedures Assignment of O5 members to necessary roles.
Appointment of O5-1 as the inaugural Archivist.
- SCP-001 Conference #2 Caesar Incident Update: Due to the lack of information about Site-01, including its geographical location, there has been difficulty in establishing who, if anyone, survived the incident. A number of personnel who transferred into their current department during the week following the Caesar Incident were interviewed, as it was believed that these individuals had originally worked at Site-01.
≡ Unfortunately, all individuals who were identified as survivors had little to no memory of the event. Below is the transcript from one such interview. Contact the current Archivist for a copy of all transcripts.
Survivor Interview Transcript Preface: The following interview was conducted over a secure telephone line. The interviewer used standard voice modulation to deter probability of being properly identified. The interviewee was not informed of the identity of the interviewer.
Interviewer: O5-2 Interviewee: Dr. Henry Pollick Pollick: Hello?
O5-2: Hey, I scheduled to talk to you briefly around now?
Pollick: Oh, you're my three o'clock. What's up with your voice?
O5-2: Just standard procedure for my department.
Pollick: Ok… O5-2: Anyways, I want to just ask you a few questions about what you remember regarding the events of May 13th of this year.
Pollick: Sorry, uh… not sure I remember all that well. It was a few months back and all.
O5-2: I would think it'd stand out. It was just before your transfer.
Pollick: Oh shit right! Yeah yeah… O5-2: You remember why you got transferred?
Pollick: Yeah. Containment breach went off at my old site. Really fucked me up bad, but I don't know many of the details. They're probably classified and all that.
O5-2: You know what Site you were working at?
Pollick: Site-5.
O5-2: Alright. Well, do you remember anything else about the breach?
Pollick: Sorry but I don't think so. Probably had something antimemetic in it that got to me. Either that or I'm just blocking it out.
2 ≡ O5-2: Alright, thanks for your time.
Origin Update: Below is the transcript of the Origin Team's status report from the Conference, as well as the relevant, recovered materials from their investigation.
Conference Transcript Excerpt O5-9: But we can't confirm any connection if we don't know who it is!
O5-11: Or what it is.
O5-1: Speaking of which, we should probably move onto the update on the anomaly's origin.
O5-10 looks at O5-4 and O5-7. O5-7 shakes her head and shivers slightly.
O5-4: You handled most the information yourself Ten.
O5-10: In such case, I shall present. Our investigation started where most would, at the beginning. We examined the database for documents detailing O5-13's induction into the Council.
O5-2: I assume they got wiped?
O5-10: Fascinatingly enough, no. The O5 personnel dossier, which is woefully out of date might I add— O5-4: Ten… O5-10: … still contains a section for O5-13. I could not discern if it has been tampered with, since the edit history has been erased.
O5-8: So, there's a 99% chance it's inaccurate instead of 100%.
O5-4: Or Thirteen wanted to hide something about the other O5 members.
O5-10: However, if we assume that this is accurate, the dossier implies that the previous council understood that Thirteen is indeed an anomaly.
O5-13's Personal Dossier Physical Description: Male. Latin American descent. Late 50s. No unusual appearance.
Induction Vote: 12 in favor. 0 against.
Purpose On Council: O5-13's special connection to the anomalous gives him a perspective no other council member could begin to fathom. While ≡ Normalcy Confirmation meetings require eleven members for quorum, no meeting is allowed to proceed without O5-13's attendance.
Anomalous Property Measurements: Observed Property Method Result Within Baseline Appearance In-Person Observation Consistently appeared as a humanoid as described above Yes Temperature IR Security Cameras 37.3 °C Yes Skeletal Structure X-Ray Security Cameras Resembles Homo Sapiens Sapiens Yes Corporeality In-Person Observation Exhibited corporeal properties when in contact with both inanimate and animate objects.
Yes Induced Emotional States In-Person Observation and Self Reporting Mild dread, and curiosity Yes O5-1 Statement on Previous Council: O5-1 recorded in the Archivist Journal, and discussed with the O5 Council his interaction with the previous O5-1. Below is an excerpt from the Conference Transcript: O5-11: We can't make any assumptions about the previous council. We don't know what they did and not understand about Thirteen. Hell, every message I got from them was sent through an intermediary. Even the emails.
O5-6: Actually, I believe One has spoken to some of the previous council in person.
All members turn to O5-1.
O5-1: This is true. However, I only spoke with the previous O5-1 once.
O5-11: What about?
O5-1: It was after my promotion to Site Director. The initial briefing is usually delivered by the previous Director but… well he was killed during a containment breach, which was the reason for my promotion. O5-1 elected to brief me instead.
O5-6: So you discussed mostly Site-23 specific details?
O5-1: Mostly. He asked me at the beginning something peculiar though.
He said, "What shit hole are you escaping from that makes this hellscape 3 4 ≡ of a job worth taking?" I asked him to clarify and he responded, "I guess we're all fucked up differently. I'm fucked up from the neck down. You're just fucked in the head." He went on about modifications that had been made to his body to increase longevity. After that, we talked about philosophies regarding how containment of anomalies should be handled, which circled back around to briefing me on Site-23.
O5-11: So he didn't say anything about Thirteen then.
O5-1: He did not, but I didn't sense any sort of unease when he spoke of his fellow council members. But then again this might have been before the current Thirteen's appointment, it was nine years ago.
Conference Minutes: The following is a summary of the items discussed during the meeting not covered above.
Discussion of containment procedure modifications to allow for more stringent monitoring. This was later vetoed by the Ethics Committee for privacy concerns .
Decision for next steps for each subgroup.
Caesar Incident Team: Locate previous Site-01 SCP-001 Origin Team: Investigate possibility of ties with Groups of Interest Anomalous Properties Team: New methods of analyzing SCP-001 Appointment of O5-8 as Archivist.
- SCP-001 Conference #3 Notice from O5-8 Conference #3 was cut short after an intense exchange led to enough people leaving the meeting for us to lose quorum. We archived all of the material covered up to that point, as well as the efforts made to de-escalate tension between the members. However, this also means that information herein was not properly vetted by the entire Council before being uploaded, so we erred on the conservative side.
If you need to see the full proceedings, please contact the current Archivist.
Caesar Incident Update: Investigation of Previous Site-01 Report Location: The geographical location of the previous Site-01 (henceforth referred to as Site-01-P for the purposes of this report) is not recorded anywhere within the Foundation Database. Therefore, we expanded our search to see if any unexplained phenomena occurred on May 13th that might have originated from the Caesar Incident. While the majority of oddities that occurred on that day could be attributed to a known anomaly, one incident could not be explained.
5 ≡ Location of Site-01 circled on a map of Greenland An earthquake measuring 6.6 on the Richter Scale originated from an uninhabited island off the coast of Greenland. Greenland is known to have glacial earthquakes, but those generally register around 5.5 on the Richter Scale and occur more often in the summer. An aerial inspection of the island revealed that this was, in fact, the location of Site-01-P.
Exploration: Aerial photographs of the area surrounding Site-01-P shown that it had been completely decimated. Almost none of the original structure was intact.
Additionally, measurements taken by the same aircraft discovered that the area emitted radiation at levels similar to that of nuclear fallout sites.
Between this, and the site of the explosion as indicated by the Richter Scale measurement, it appears that Site-01-P detonated its on-site nuclear warhead as part of the Caesar Incident.
A team of four agents was selected to explore the wreckage of Site-01-P.
This team was equipped with Hazmat Suits, SCRAMBLE gear, and a number of measurement devices. Unfortunately, the team could not reach the site, as after they landed on the island, the team was approached by GOC representatives demanding they vacate the premises. The GOC had set up a hidden outpost on the island that did not appear in earlier photographs.
Further investigation revealed that the only O5 member who was previously contacted about the GOC taking control of the area surrounding Site-01-P was O5-13. This has not been brought to O5-13's attention for fear of raising suspicion of our investigation.
Origin Update: The Origins Investigation team attempted to retrieve information pertaining to SCP-001 from Groups of Interest, since Foundation databases have been tampered with. Below is a summary of their results: Group Of Interest Information of Note Result ≡ Global Occult Coalition Described O5-13 as a short woman of Asian descent. Made note of an ornate walking stick.
Consistent with O5 Information Security Policy.
Manna Charitable Foundation Described O5-13 as an unremarkable male of Latin American descent.
Level of ambiguity is consistent with 2013 Body Double Protocol.
Marshall, Carter and Dark Ltd.
Described O5-13 as an unremarkable male of Latin American descent. Has a lead on how to find additional information.
Possesses general information regarding O5 Council members.
Level of ambiguity is consistent with 2013 Body Double Protocol/Inconsistent with O5 Information Security Policy Unusual Incidents Unit Described O5-13 as a short woman of Asian decent. Made note of an ornate walking stick.
Consistent with O5 Information Security Policy.
Premature Adjourning: During the review of the Origin Team's investigation's results, the following exchange took place. It is recorded here for posterity.
O5-1: Excuse me, Four. I believe some clarification regarding the exchange with Marshall, Carter and Dark is necessary.
O5-4: How so?
O5-1: It mentions here that you performed an exchange. It is important for the records, and for our general information security that we know exactly what information was exchanged.
O5-4: Yes, that does make sense. I'm sorry, I did not write that section of the report.
O5-10: If my memory serves me well, Seven was responsible for the Marshall, Carter and Dark reconnaissance.
O5-1: Well, Seven, could you elaborate?
O5-7 looks at O5-1, and swallows.
O5-11: You know, the rules are pretty tight on this. Why did you give them anything in the first place?
O5-3: Eleven makes a good point. Don't we have our own spies working some of the transport routes?
O5-7 nods and then begins going through her belongings.
O5-3: Could you at least tell us what kind of information you gave them?
O5-7 pauses, thinks to herself for a moment and then motioned to the entire Council.
≡ O5-11: Wait, you gave them information about us?
O5-7 shakes her head, pauses again, and then nods her head yes. She holds up a finger and then goes back to looking through her files.
O5-11: But that's— No. I don't believe this. We can't let people know about us no matter the situation. Imagine if word got out that the old Council had been killed. I bet cults across the planet would have a hay day.
O5-4: I doubt that she said anything actually important.
O5-11: Oh really? I've only dealt with the merchants once or twice, but they know how to appraise anything, especially information.
O5-7 holds up an index finger and then continues looking through her files.
O5-11: Are you just going to ignore the issue then? Just going to hang us out to dry?
O5-8: Eleven, you need to calm down.
O5-11: We're all waiting on you. [under his breath] Dumb bitch.
O5-7 looks up at O5-11, and then puts her files away. She gathers her things and leaves the room.
O5-11: Can't take being called out, I see.
O5-1: Eleven, I will need to speak with you following this meeting.
O5-11: You can talk to me now. I'll be in my office.
O5-11 leaves the room.
O5-4: Eight, I'd like to go after Seven to make sure she didn't actually do something stupid.
O5-8: That's fine. I believe that would drop us below quorum, but I believe this meeting has fallen apart anyways. One, Twelve and I will make the next update ourselves. This SCP-001 Conference is dismissed.
Update Regarding Information Security Concern: Following the official ending of the meeting, O5-7 distributed the summary of all information exchanged with Marshall, Carter and Dark. The information was pulled from the out-of-date O5 Dossier. The current explanation as to why it was accepted by the Group of Interest is that it would have confirmed any information they had gathered previously about the O5 Council. As part of the ≡ exchange we have received a tip as to where to find more information on SCP- 001, which the Origins Team will investigate for the next conference.
O5-7 later clarified in a written statement that she had left the meeting simply to retrieve the file detailing this information, since it was not on her person. O5-7 insisted that she does not need an interpreter, due to information security concerns. A discussion was scheduled between her and O5-1 to reduce communicational issues at a later date. O5-11 issued a formal apology.
I hope that this will be the cessation of any internal conflicts. We are working together, and therefore require that a trusting relationship has been established between all members. As Abraham Lincoln once said, "A house divided against itself, cannot stand." -O5-8 Conference Minutes: The following is a summary of the items discussed during/after the meeting not covered above.
Decision for next steps for each subgroup.
Caesar Incident Team: Revisit investigation into possible survivors SCP-001 Origin Team: Follow up on the lead from Marshall, Carter and Dark.
Anomalous Properties Team: Consider additional tests to perform on SCP-001 Appointment of O5-12 as Archivist.
- SCP-001 Conference #4 Caesar Incident Update: Conference Transcript Excerpt O5-12: Two, why doesn't your team start us off.
O5-2: Alright, sure. We did make some nice progress.
O5-8: Always good to start a meeting on a high note.
O5-2: You all remember those four survivors we talked about last meeting, right? We got back in touch with them and did a more… thorough interview. More intense techniques, lie detector tests, heart rate monitoring, the whole shebang.
O5-3: Do you have transcripts?
O5-2: I do but, spoiler-alert, they're not very different from the first round.
O5-9: So, we're now convinced they genuinely don't remember.
O5-11: How far does Thirteen's antimemetic side reach?
≡ O5-2: Slow down there. We're not quite done. You see, as part of our second round of interviews, we also did a physical examination and some tests to see what messed with their heads. And we found they all had a little scar, right on the side of their necks. Right where we inject amnestics.
O5-8: I mean, while I understand what you're implying, we tend to administer amnestics fairly liberally. Last meeting was essentially just a prolonged reminder of how much we value InfoSec.
O5-2: True, but we keep good records of who we use with that stuff, how much we're using, if we're using the pills or the syringe, etcetera. However when I went to look up if any of our "survivors" had ever taken the injectable amnestic, all my results came back negative.
O5-6: I also took the liberty of checking out Red Right Hand. The entire squad's got injection scars, and we rarely wipe those guys.
O5-2: Whatever happened… I think we covered it up ourselves.
O5-1: When you say "ourselves" do you mean— O5-2: Oh, no I just mean the Foundation. If we were actually involved, then everyone here would have those scars, but Six, Nine and I definitely don't have them, so that leads me to believe they didn't drug us. It would be an all-or-nothing deal.
O5-12: Good work. Sounds like Eight needs to have a talk with our Amnestics Department.
O5-8: Wait, wait. Sorry, I'm still trying to keep all details in order. You said they were injected?
O5-2: Yeah.
O5-8: See, that's what I don't get. We used the injections like, ten years ago? We moved onto the pills since you can miss a vein. Also, I checked our amnestics supply right after the Caesar event, and we didn't see any variation from our normal usage.
O5-6: Maybe the records are off? We've found that whatever Thirteen did, he's good at covering up his tracks.
O5-8: I don't think that's it. Because you know who does still use those injectable amnestics? The GOC.
O5-12: I see we'll have to schedule another meeting with our good friends at the UN as well.
≡ Origin Update: Member of MTF Alpha-1 was chosen to follow up on the lead O5-7 had bartered for with Marshall, Carter and Dark.
SCP-001 Origin Interview Transcript Preface: The following interview was conducted in person by a member of MTF Alpha-1 in place of an O5 Council member.
Interviewer: Agent Tennison, MTF Alpha-1 ("Red Right Hand") Interviewee: Unknown (Referred to as PoI-001) Tennison: Afternoon.
PoI-001: Afternoon indeed. God, the weather is atrocious today. All overcast, no rain.
Tennison: I was told you knew something about a man in a mask?
PoI-001: In a mask? No, he didn't wear a mask, but I know who you're referring to. I met with him back in May.
Tennison: What did you two talk about?
PoI-001: Not much surprisingly. I just wanted to meet the man. He was told I had information too. Funny how much that motivates people.
Tennison: So, you have nothing for us.
PoI-001: I wouldn't say nothing. Like, I could tell you I saw him on the 13th of that month.
Tennison: [begins taking notes] Anything else?
PoI-001: I could tell you, he came alone, but he didn't leave alone.
Tennison: What do you mean?
PoI-001: Bunch of guys came by, UIU I think? They came and picked him up. Surprised the hell out of both of us. Though I'm even more surprised I was able to get out of there.
Tennison: What did he look like?
PoI-001: Hispanic guy. Mid sixties? Nothing much of note really.
Tennison: I see… Anything else?
PoI-001: Of course there is. But just one more thing: it wasn't originally my idea to meet up with them. Nah, it got passed along to me through one of my contacts.
≡ Tennison: Contacts? What contacts?
PoI-001: Nope, that's all you get.
Tennison: But I at least need a name from you.
PoI-001: A name? Oh, you must've learned by now that names aren't just something people hand out. Besides, I'm nobody of note.
Anomalous Properties Measurements: Below is a transcript from the Anomalous Properties Investigation Team's presentation during the conference. The results are summarized within the transcript, however, access to a more detailed report is available upon request.
Conference Transcript Excerpt O5-3: Ok… so everyone here has the records of our measurements, although I can tell you now, they are not particularly insightful.
O5-10: Do you have too many leads to choose from?
O5-5: Quite the opposite actually. We have nothing. Nothing abnormal with regard to radiation, humes, radio frequencies. Thirteen is almost impressively normal.
O5-2: Are you sure we're not going about this wrong? I mean, I know we've kind of quantified some of our anomalies in the past but, as a general rule they're not supposed to follow the rules, right?
O5-3: That is what I was beginning to suspect, although it is troubling that he can just hide it from us entirely.
O5-5: Or there's the other option - we're not only barking up the wrong tree, but we're in the entirely wrong forest.
O5-4: You saying he's not even anomalous in the first place?
O5-3: It's either that, or we're dealing with a god. And a god who knows the Foundation better than even we do.
O5-1: Let's continue to discuss the non-anomalous option, since it appears that there would be very little we could do about the other case.
O5-9: So, that would mean that he's probably an inside man for the Insurgency.
O5-11: Or Serpent's Hand.
O5-3: No, not the hand. They don't operate like this.
≡ O5-2: He might be a Fifthist fanatic.
O5-9: That too.
O5-1: Or maybe he's with someone else. We've seen quite a bit of the GOC and UIU popping up in this.
O5-10: My apologies, but I do find it difficult to believe that a single insurgent would be able to detonate the on-site nuclear warhead from half-way across the globe, if we believe our previous information.
O5-3: I'm not sure we can though. It sounds like he spoke to our regular body double.
O5-5: Maybe his anomalous property is that he can create body doubles?
O5-11: But what are we supposed to do with that?
O5-12: Excuse me, but I would like to return to the earlier line of discussion about Thirteen being unable to perform the assassination due to possibly meeting with our point of contact, because I am beginning to believe that he actually did meet with Thirteen.
O5-5: So, you believe that he was able to blow Site-01 sky high from halfway across the globe? I mean, if we're going with the god theory I could see it.
O5-12: No, I'm saying he had help. Or at least more than one man helping him. Remember how our request to install additional security cameras was denied by the Ethics Committee?
O5-6: Did you finally talk to them?
O5-12: I did. I met with Mr. Huang to demand an explanation. He refused and told me it was above my security clearance.
O5-11: Above your security clearance? You're on the Council, there simply aren't things "outside of your jurisdiction". You run the Ethics Committee for goodness sakes!
O5-12: That's not quite accurate. I am not in charge of the Ethics Committee, I'm simply the O5 ambassador to it. They need to be a separate entity to eliminate bias in various cases.
O5-1: So, you believe that Thirteen is in league with the Ethics Committee?
O5-3: Or the Administrator if it's set above your security clearance.
O5-12: Or both. Whoever it is, they are trying very hard to stop us from seeing him in private.
≡ O5-11: Someone should just let us give him a full physical. He's probably baseline, this would let us confirm that.
O5-2: Yeah, but if we're wrong and our "god theory" is correct, he'll blow our asses sky-high like the last council.
O5-1: I believe that we need to adjourn here, so we have enough time to prepare for our next full Council meeting to avoid suspicion. Although we do need to expand our search further. I will consider speaking to Thirteen before the next conference, but I will only do so if I believe it will not result in a second Caesar Incident. Are there any objections to this?
The council is silent.
O5-1: Then I believe this conference is dismissed.
Please Enter Security Credentials: ************ ACCEPTED. Welcome O5- 13. You have (1) Message Hello Thirteen, I’m sure you’ve been keeping tabs on your fellow Council’s progress. They’re growing closer than either of us wanted, but I’m not surprised. When you get enough smart people together, they tend to surpass your expectations.
You’re probably hoping this is going to end soon. I’m sorry you’ve gone through this, it obviously wasn’t in our plan for you when we inducted you into the council. But, if you could keep up our gambit a little longer I would be appreciative. I’m unconvinced your cohorts are ready to know what happened to their predecessors, and I don’t want to ask Al Fine and Johnson to help clean up another May 13th. I don't even want the thought of pulling a Caesar Event in their heads. The GOC and the UIU already have enough dangling over my head as is.
But if they do approach you, and confront you about the situation, I’d rather you have a direct answer. Also, transcripts tend to be more convincing than recall.
I’ve attached here the transcript from the O5 meeting before the "Caesar Incident". It’s part of the last-minute backup that Site-01 performed as part of Stage 3 Containment Breach Protocols. If anyone asks where those backups are stored, you can tell them the same thing I told you – it’s beyond their clearance.
-The Administrator O5-1 is present in the O5 Council Conference Room. He is working at a laptop in front of him, beside which sits a cup of coffee.
≡ Computer: Access Granted. You have five minutes to complete an action before the session automatically shuts down.
O5-1: [to himself] Fucking unmutable reminders… Two minutes pass before the remaining council members except for O5-13 enter the room. O5-1 is already present, and O5-13 is missing.
O5-1: You're all here! Great, wouldn't want one of you to be off-site for this.
O5-4: One, what’s this about? I know you’ve been going through a phase lately, but emergency meetings demand a real emergency.
O5-1: Oh, it’s an emergency alright.
O5-8: Then spit it out. We have a breach? New XK level threat?
O5-1: No, it’s more of something under Two’s jurisdiction. We have an internal affairs issue.
O5-1 motions to the coffee.
O5-1: One of you bastards thought I would actually drink this.
O5-11: Someone didn’t give you enough sugar?
O5-1: No, too much arsenic.
Computer: You have three minutes to complete an action before the session automatically shuts down.
O5-8: [motions to computer] Do you want to finish with that?
O5-1: That pain-in-the-ass can be patient.
O5-4: Wait, wait. You think one of us tried to kill you with your… coffee.
O5-1: Oh, don’t act like that’s below you or some bull shit. I know you’ve all been out to bury my ass.
O5-5: One, calm down. I know we’ve had our differences but— O5-1: But what? It’s not like this is the first time one of you has tried to fuck me over. I know your guys once tried to infiltrate one of my transports.
O5-5: Infiltrate? He was assigned to fill in for— O5-7: It’s no use, Five. The man can't think straight anymore.
≡ O5-1: Oh really? Who’s the one here with his head so far up Marshall’s ass he can taste the caviar?
O5-7: You’re accusing me of selling out?
O5-1: No, no. I’m accusing all of you of selling out, or being out for yourself or some shit. You’ve all gone soft. It used to be ”if it don’t make sense, throw it in a cage”. Now it's “let’s measure it, look into it, figure out what we know, then make sure it doesn’t bother anyone”. That’s not containment. That’s sitting idly and hoping the public doesn’t find it. My god, we’ve started outsourcing to pet shelters!
O5-4: You know, if this is a problem we can just calm down and rethink our stances on a few things.
O5-1: That won’t change shit. Half of you are under someone’s thumb and the other half of you are so fucked up you need a cell of your own.
O5-7: Says the man who suggested we drink from the Fountain of Youth.
O5-1: Well, Seven you’re right. I’m about as far from baseline as the rest of you. Like, goddamn it, anomalies are essentially running this organization. Ten’s learned how to do magic from the library. I need to take a whole cocktail of drugs just to remember Eight exists.
Computer: You have two minutes to complete an action before the session automatically shuts down.
O5-1: [to the computer] Shut up goddamn it!
O5-10: We're getting off topic. You said someone poisoned you. What about Thirteen? He’s not even here!
O5-1: That’s because I sent him to talk to Nobody.
O5-10: Why?
O5-1: Because he’s the only one I trust. He’s the only one I don’t need to have this chat with. He’s the only normal person on this whole fucking Council. We plucked him off the streets, and just started asking him “do you think this is weird?” I’m not worried about someone whose movements we’ve been able to monitor since he came out of the uterus.
You fuckers— I don’t know what you all did before you showed up here.
For all I know you’re just eldritch abominations waiting for the chance to kill me dead.
O5-4: One, slow down.
Computer: You have one minute to complete an action before the session automatically shuts down.
≡ O5-1: And you know what? We’ve always been pretty liberal with containing anomalies. Now we might have twelve of them on the Council.
O5-12: One!
O5-1: What?
O5-12: Your session! Just finish it already. It's distracting as all hell.
O5-1: You know… you're right. I should just finish it already. There's not much more for me to do.
O5-1 resumes his work at the computer.
O5-1: Aside from containing you, like the inhuman aberrations you are.
Computer: Emergency Stage 3 Containment Breach Protocol Activated.
Nuclear warhead will detonate in 5… Footnotes 1. Excluding restrooms and personal quarters, by order of the Ethics Committee 2. Site-5 does not exist 3. As opposed to distinct individuals reporting different observations while observing the entity concurrently 4. The responses were determined to be natural reactions 5. Members of the committee were not informed of SCP-001.
Cite this page as: "Captain Kirby's Proposal" by Captain Kirby, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/captain-kirby-s-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 BACK Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 DeCIRO Catalogue Number: SC-001/13-001/01 Document Type: Summa Modus Operandi Dates Received: N/A Operation Status: Closed Foreword: We, the Delta Command, do hereby set in motion the principles of this document, the Summa Modus Operandi of the Chaos Insurgency.
We hold the following to be inescapable truths: The Foundation Overseers have altered the fabric of reality for the benefit of their own wicked desires.
These alterations are the source of all supernatural activity in our universe.
These grievances we hold against them: THE THIRTEENTH OVERSEER - Has blasphemed the natural order in his foul contract to stay the hand of Death, and has usurped the fragile balance of life and given an impenetrable shield to the horrid adulterers of the Foundation.
THE TWELFTH OVERSEER - Has stolen the wealth of the world to benefit the Foundation’s insidious designs, and has taken the fruits of many millions for the purpose of turning those labors against the laborers.
THE ELEVENTH OVERSEER - Has spun a circle of lies around the people of this world to protect the Foundation’s interests, and has cast a dark eye onto the void to gaslight and pervert true human understanding.
THE TENTH OVERSEER - Has kept a dubious record of the Foundation's malfeasances and altered history to suit them, and has mocked truth and reason for the sake of maintaining the Foundation's cruel legacy.
THE NINTH OVERSEER - Has betrayed the trust of their fellow man and sworn allegiance to the cancerous council, and has time and time again turned away from opportunities to strike them down to prolong their greed-riddled intentions.
THE EIGHTH OVERSEER - Has committed wicked acts against the ignorant public with their careless use of nuclear weapons, and was one of the first to breathe life into an organization that should have been butchered in the crib.
THE SEVENTH OVERSEER - Has manipulated innocent populaces to create chaos and destruction for the Foundation’s benefit, and has shown nothing but contempt and malfeasance against the innocent and unwitting.
THE SIXTH OVERSEER - Has surreptitiously used the might of the American military machine to crush the Foundation’s enemies and wrought a tale of neverending violence and bloodshed that has forever stained this world.
THE FIFTH OVERSEER - Has warped the very boundaries between space and time to extend the Foundation’s cruel reach and taken dark and horrible secrets from those far-off places to use them to fuel the Foundation's death machine.
THE FOURTH OVERSEER - Has lulled the nations of the world into believing that the Foundation means them no harm while working alongside the same treacherous intentions that would see this planet laid to waste.
THE THIRD OVERSEER - Has used mankind’s own technologies against them to act as the all-seeing watcher of the Overseers, spinning a web of eyes that has eroded every last shred of human privacy and decency.
THE SECOND OVERSEER - Is complicit.
THE FIRST OVERSEER - Has established a council of monsters and demons that answer at his beck and call, all so he may sit on his foul throne atop the putrid wound of the Foundation and lap like a dog from its seeping, pustulent orifice.
The Overseers’ cancerous anomalous influence on the world is a wound on the fabric of the universe.
A wound that festers cannot heal until the irritant is removed.
The Thirteen Foundation Overseers are the irritant in the wound on our reality.
The Thirteen Foundation Overseers must be removed.
By order of The Engineer, and of Those Who Stepped Down, we stand in defiance of this aberration.
We stand in opposition to this blasphemy against nature.
We stand insurgent against this chaos.
Our path is clear, our vision unclouded. We must clean out the wound. We must let our universe heal.
We must destroy the Thirteen Foundation Overseers.
Hereafter, we of Delta Command document the Summa Modus Operandi as transcribed by the Engineer of the Chaos Insurgency.
1. STEP 001/13 CLOSE FILE O5-13 - The Other Overseer Formerly Dr. Felix Carter. Caucasian male. Date of birth unknown. Was once a doctor for a research consortium named the International Academy of Existential Sciences.
Early conspirator of O5-1 and the individual called "The Administrator". Supposedly was a bargaining chip used in a deal made with Death Itself to allow Death a seat on the council while it grossly prolonged the lives of the Overseers. Presumed extremely dangerous. Location is only speculated and considered impossible to reach.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Thirteenth Overseer 2. STEP 001/12 CLOSE FILE O5-12 - The Accountant Previous name unknown. African male. Appears to be in his forties. Well known figure in financial markets, though rarely spoken of publicly (if ever). Dresses in expensive, tailored clothing with similarly expensive jewelry. Wears dark glasses. Apparent mathematical genius, supposedly capable of running the calculations for probability itself in his mind. Likely anomalous influence. Maintains Foundation financial accounts.
Manipulates trade markets in order to accrue wealth for the Foundation and, by extension, himself. Supposedly has members of his own staff seated at high-level positions on financials boards for all major world governments.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Twelfth Overseer 3. STEP 001/11 CLOSE FILE O5-11 - The Liar Date of birth unknown. Unknown descent. Unknown origin.
Unknown gender. Incredibly difficult to identify. Single identifying mark is a small scar on left temple, usually hidden by hair. Generally appears as a wealthy woman in lavish outfits. Primary disinformation entity within the Foundation. Oversees teams that maintain cover stories, amnestic supply. Supposed connection with the gargantuan aquatic entity in the Bay of Bengal. Possible reality bending properties. Extremely dangerous.
Notably, no records seem to exist of the appointment of O5-11. Unlike all other members, who were either chosen by O5-1 or voted onto the council after the death (and non-recovery) of one of their colleagues, O5-11 seems to have simply appeared on the Council one day.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Eleventh Overseer 4. STEP 001/10 CLOSE FILE O5-10 - The Archivist Formerly Diane Walters, a librarian. Caucasian female.
Appears to be in her late forties. Possible strong connections to the Wanderer's Library. Extensive knowledge about the Foundation's involvement in previous end-of-the-world scenarios. Supposedly maintains a constant record of every activity taken on Earth from the moment she took her place on the council forward. These records are used extensively in the application of the machine beneath Yellowstone.
One source identified O5-10 as being the most bloodthirsty member of the Council. According the source, she is obsessed with the perceived divinity of herself and the Council, believing herself to be above any natural laws. In her eyes normal humans are fodder, a means to an end in reaching some greater understanding of universal truth.
Some sources indicate a possible obsession with the idea of omniscience. This has not been verified.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Tenth Overseer 5. STEP 001/09 CLOSE FILE O5-9 - The Outsider Adult female of Maori descent. Appears to be in her late- thirties. The only current member of the Council believed to be recruited from outside the Foundation. Despite some irregularities, bears a striking resemblance to Donna Whetu Taylor, a noted geologist who apparently took her own life in 1985 after a massive scandal involving severe academic misconduct was revealed, professionally ruining her credibility and involving her in a number of lawsuits for fraud and the misuse of public funding.
Due to her scientific background, O5-9 is perhaps the most focused research mind on the council. She maintains several major projects at any point in time, several of which have gone on to produce technology used by the Foundation in major applications, such as the Kant Counter.
One of the more secretive members of the council, The Outsider is rarely seen outside of Overwatch Command. Notably, her inclusion on the council is a point of issue with several other members, who see her as needlessly shortsighted.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Ninth Overseer 6. STEP 001/08 CLOSE FILE O5-8 - The Lesser Caucasian male. Age unknown. Possibly former American industrialist Baron Leeman Hoadley, who was believed dead after a train owned by his company, the B.G. Hoadley Group (later acquired by Kervier International), derailed, killing nearly everyone on-board.
According to many sources, O5-8 originally held a significant amount of control on the early council due in no small part to the massive financial holdings he had access to through his brother, Garrison Hoadley.
After his brother's death, and the sale of his company, his authority diminished considerably, and he was eventually ousted as the defacto leader of the Council in favor of O5-7.
In the time since he has maintained his council vote, but his influence is all but non-existent. Supposedly became obsessed later in life with modifying his body and soul with anomalous technology and artifacts. Paranoid. Obsessed with the idea that other council members will want to kill him.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Eighth Overseer 7. STEP 001/07 CLOSE FILE O5-7 - Green Caucasian female. British/German ancestry. Appears to be in her early fifties. The first member of the Council voted into it, rather than appointment by O5-1, after the previous O5-7 was determined to be no longer useful by the rest of the Council. Is believed to have at one point been a site director, though any records of this have long since been modified or outright removed. Regardless, it is believed that O5-7 has been working within the Foundation nearly her entire life, having joined as an administrative aid when she was only 14.
Has become the apparent leader of the council, and controls a considerable amount of authority in that position. While a veto from O5-1 could theoretically subvert her assumed control, that veto has never occurred.
Perhaps the most often seen member of the Council, she attained the name "Green" due to her nearly always being seen in green pantsuits. Some high-level sources within Foundation staff have another name for her: Flytrap.
Often described as the most sinister member of the council. While other members might have diabolical intentions or ulterior motives, O5-7 alone has the authority to make everything she intends to happen come to pass. She is often described as working towards some end, though her goals are a mystery.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Seventh Overseer 8. STEP 001/06 CLOSE FILE O5-6 - The American Caucasian male. Spanish ancestry. Appears to be in his mid-fifties. The least subtle member of the Council, O5-6 is former American Union Brigadier General Rufus King. After fighting for the North in the American Civil War, O5-6 was appointed as Minister to the Papal States. Believed to have first met the individual called The Administrator while in Rome. The source of his longevity prior to the supposed deal with Death Itself is unknown, and if the current understanding of the Council is correct, then despite his appearance he is by far its oldest member.
O5-6 is believed to have founded the first Mobile Task Force, Alpha-1 "Red Right Hand", whose original purpose was strictly to find and destroy members of the fledgling Chaos Insurgency after their formation. Since then, he has administered all matters of the Foundation's executive arm, the Department of Applied Influence, encompassing all tasks forces, naval groups, and air superiority groups.
While not originally advocating for its formation, O5-6 supposedly drew up the original organizational information for MTF Omega-7 "Pandora's Box" at the behest of General Bowe.
Has gone by several different names within modern military circles, and is believed to have held an office at the Pentagon since its construction. His standing within the American military is unknown, though at least three major sources have confirmed that many military leaders consider his authority second only to the sitting United States President, and several believe he supersedes it.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Sixth Overseer 9. STEP 001/05 CLOSE FILE O5-5 - Blackbird Male. British/Moroccan ancestry. Age uncertain. Generally regarded as the most jovial members of the Council, is not afraid to be seen joking in public. Has often commented that he believes the "dark curtain" between Overwatch Command and the rest of the Foundation, as well as the "unnecessary seriousness" of the Council itself, are a preposterous and often detrimental joke.
Despite this, there are several incongruities surrounding O5-5. Some sources have indicated that they believe they have heard O5-5 talking to himself as if he were having a conversation, while others have described conversing with O5-5, and then speaking to him again shortly afterwards and feeling as if they were not talking to the same person. In the debriefing of the neutralization of SCP-1730, one source described how a rescued member of the Site-13 staff was able to identify a picture of O5-5 as a member of the Global Occult Coalition in their world.
Aside from forming the Department of Paranormal Organization Review, O5-5 has apparently led considerable research into the existence of alternate realities, and is known to personally review anomalies that interact with other dimensions as they arise.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Fifth Overseer 10. STEP 001/04 CLOSE FILE O5-4 - The Ambassador Persian male, Iranian/Armenian ancestry. French heritage.
Appears to be in his early-thirties. Some sources have provided records indicating that O5-4 was, in his youth, French actor Jean Lemieux Betrand, born Jean Ebrahimi.
Since most evidence of O5-4's exploits were apparently destroyed shortly after his appointment to the Overseer Council, little is known about his professional career.
Commonly called "The Ambassador", O5-4 is called to action whenever the Council needs a pretty face. Often described as being incredibly attractive and anomalously charismatic, he has acted as the Foundation's salesman whenever required. Sources indicate he was first tasked with drawing American attention away from Mexico during the Second World War, likely due to the severe anomalous activity taking place there at the same time.
Despite being well-spoken and appearing generally well-educated, O5-4 is not an academic, nor is he particularly interested in the prospect of managing an organization. He is well known for delegating any duties he might accrue, in order to maintain as little responsibility as possible. This lackadaisical attitude towards leadership was manipulated by O5-7, who convinced the Ambassador to give her an unofficial "automatic vote" for anything she might support.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Fourth Overseer 11. STEP 001/03 CLOSE FILE O5-3 - The Kid Unknown age. Unknown gender. Unknown ethnicity. Very little is known about the actual nature of O5-3. Often described by sources as not being human at all, and instead being an artificial intelligence designed to create other artificial intelligences. He has not ever appeared physically outside of Overwatch Command, instead appearing through avatars on screens, and speaking with a digitally constructed voice. The single image a source was able to find of O5-3 is of a very young Korean child in traditional Joseon apparel, which is unsupported by any other claims about the Overseer.
He is supposedly the direct report for Maria Jones, the head of the Foundation's Recordkeeping and Information Security Administration, having seized that authority from The Archivist when those records became digital.
Notably, Foundation AIC units (such as the Alexandra and Thorn units) are incapable of discussing O5-3, despite evidence that information about him accumulates in their databanks as they learn over time.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG Journal Entry: The Third Overseer 12. STEP 001/02 CLOSE FILE O5-2 - The Nazarene Female. Middle-eastern descent. Appears to be in her twenties. Extremely little information exists about the individual called "The Nazarene"; even the origins of her name are unknown. The only source able to provide any information about her insists on two things specifically: that she is never seen without O5-1, and that she has changed over time.
Early Foundation documents mention O5-2 as being the head of the Foundation's Department of Morality (now the Ethics Committee), though it does not appear as if she ever served in that role.
One source indicated that her name perhaps comes from the fact that she is never seen without a pair of dark gloves, which she never removes in public, leading some to believe she's hiding scars on her hands or wrists from her crucifixion as Jesus of Nazareth, though where this rumor began and what would lead anyone to draw that conclusion in the first place is unknown.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG 13. STEP 001/01 CLOSE FILE O5-1 - The Founder Caucasian male. Appears to be in his late thirties. Believed to be Aaron Siegel, a physicist who attended Cornell University in the early 1900s. Became involved with Frederick Williams, the individual later known as "The Administrator", shortly after the turn of the century.
Led the first research team of what would eventually become the SCP Foundation, along with O5-13, O5-10, O5-2, and several others.
The events that led to him founding and assuming command of the Foundation proper are currently unknown.
Despite once being fairly active in the day-to-day running of the Foundation, O5-1 has pulled away in recent years and has not been seen in public for the last few decades, leaving O5-7 to manage the entire organization. While his death has been assumed on a number of occasions, one very high level source confirms that he continues to vote during council meetings.
While nearly every other Overseer maintains a private residence, O5-1 is believed to live at Overwatch Command. The location of this facility is unknown.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE: ACCESS LOG EPILOGUE: OUROBOROS TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Powered by Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation The Foundation Office of the Overseer About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III djkaktus's Proposal III » » djkaktus's Proposal III SCP-001 Ouroboros djkaktus djkaktus Rating: +1345 EARLIER — - — The proceedings came to order in the back room of an abandoned Somali warehouse.
Calvin sat at the head of a long plastic folding table, quietly picking at a fingernail. At the other end of the table were huddled the seven members of Delta Command, the high council of the Chaos Insurgency. Calvin had almost rolled his eyes when he’d been ushered into the room - for all their soaring rhetoric, they were still unable to come up with anything more substantial than dusty old buildings and cheap plastic furniture to conduct their business in.
Delta Command, he knew, had been formed by the Engineer to bring together the seven squabbling branches of what had once been called “The Insurgency”. Each of the seven groups sent a representative to Delta, and together they formed the larger resistance. The name was a joke, of course. According to legend, the Engineer had nearly given up trying to coordinate the bickering factions by saying “never in history has a more chaotic insurgency been mishandled into existence.” The name stuck, though Delta thought that “Chaotic Insurgency” wasn’t nearly distinguished enough. Thus, the Chaos Insurgency.
None of these people liked each other, nor did they care for Calvin. He’d had a distinguished career as a CI agent, first supporting and later leading larger attacks on the Foundation. He, like all those within the Insurgency, knew their place in the world; the purpose of the Insurgency hadn’t ever been to destroy the Foundation, just act as a check against it. A constant thorn in their side, never allowing the Foundation to become too complacent. If they were focused on the Insurgency, the logic followed, they wouldn’t be able to do as much damage elsewhere.
Thus far, this strategy hadn’t panned out.
But Calvin was exceptionally good at his job, and was less a thorn and more a hacksaw in the gut of the Foundation. His contributions to the Insurgency’s goals had brought him swiftly through their ranks, and at one point in the recent past he had been considered as the next member from his faction to join Delta. Shortly beforehand, however, he was accused of mishandling Insurgency resources - limited though they were - in a raid on a Foundation site holding several potentially magical texts.
Although the investigation against his actions hadn’t amounted to anything of note, the incident came at the absolute wrong time, and he was passed over for ascension to Delta in place of a mid-level bureaucrat who had previously been a junior congressman for the state of New Jersey, Howard Kowalski.
Coincidentally, it was Howard Kowalski who spoke first.
“Good afternoon, uh, Calvin,” the portly man said, balancing a pair of thin glasses on the end of his pointed snout. “We appreciate you, uh, making the trip out here. As you know, we’re in the middle of uh, renovations, to Delta Command Headquarters-” This was, of course, a joke. Delta maintained that their former command center, the one built by the Engineer himself, was being renovated, necessitating the empty warehouses and dingy back-alley gatherings of the group. It was a public secret that the building had been leveled by the Global Occult Coalition nearly three decades prior, though Delta refused to acknowledge this.
“-so this will have to do, I think. Yes.” He nodded, and tapped a stack of papers against the desk. “I guess what we’re most curious about here, Calvin, is this uh, well, this document we hear you’ve recovered.” He leaned forward, the glare from a lamp catching his glasses as he peered over the stack of papers. “The journal. Do you have it?” Calvin nodded. “If you allow me a moment of your time, I promise, we’ll talk about the journal.” One of the other members of Delta, a tall, long-haired woman named Norris, made a sound in the back of her throat. “Don’t test our patience, boy. It’s bad enough that we had to suffer the journey out here, but I swear to god if we did it so you could bullshit around with some fake book, I’ll have your job.” Kowalski laughed nervously as Calvin raised an eyebrow at the outburst. “Now now, Priscilla,” Kowalski said cautiously, “let’s just hear what he has to say. Calvin has uh, really done a lot for our organization, I think we can all agree-” grudging nods were had all around, “-and I think he deserves the uh, the benefit of the doubt, here.” He motioned Calvin to go on.
Calvin picked up his own sheaf of papers and opened it up. “Alright, so what you’re seeing in front of you is something I’ve been working on with a few people over the last few months - call it a statement of purpose. We’ve been working in conjunction with Dr. Vernon Alderman’s lab in Sydney, and the results of his team’s work has been… troubling. The Foundation’s continued testing of unnatural entities and phenomena has exacerbated the problem caused by those same entities - they’re itching at a wound. Couple that with the knowledge we gained from Lieutenant Horver’s team regarding Scranton Anchor calibration shifts in the last few years, and the evidence is clear.” He paused, and flipped to the next page. “We’re quickly reaching a point of no return.” He scanned down further on the page. “Now, our current models estimate that we might not make it out of the 2020s without a major, public, supernatural event, and then not even another five years past that before we start seeing things too big for even the Foundation to deal with.
That’s not good, and is the reason why we need to address this now - if we wait any longer, we might not be able to do anything of any value.” Sylvester Sloan, the oldest member of Delta, hacked out a queer cackle. “Our value comes in inhibiting the Foundation’s efforts. What it sounds like you’re about to say is that you intend to interrupt them entirely.” Calvin leaned back slightly. “More than that. I intend to uproot the Foundation, leaf and stem.” A thick silence plopped down over the group, as if someone had just thrown a rotten egg into an elevator. Herman Van Gandry, another one of Delta’s veterans, was the first to laugh. The rest followed in quick succession.
Kowalski tried to keep a straight face, but even he was rubbing his eyes before too long.
“Calvin, look, I know you mean well, and you know you’ve got a lot of respect from all of us, but come on. That’s a fool’s errand.” Priscilla sneered down at him. “When you can come up with the money, men, and equipment to destabilize the world’s most powerful, secretive, influential agency, you come let us know and we’ll make you King of Shit Mountain. How’s that sound?” Calvin raised both eyebrows this time and took a deep breath as he flipped further forward in the stack of papers in front of him.
“To this end,” he continued, “I’d like to cite the procedures established in the Summa Modus Operandi.” Delta fell silent. A few of them looked towards each other, confused. Sylvester Sloan’s eyes suddenly became very sharp. “Is that so?” “Hang on now,” Dane Blank said, flipping hurriedly through his own papers, “what’s that? I haven’t heard about that. That sounds important, is it important?” Desdemona Vance, the youngest member of the group, pulled a thick, filthy binder from a bag sitting beside her. Cracking it open, she leafed past the introductions to a spot a few pages in, and began reading. “We hold the following to be inescapable truths…” Calvin held up a hand. “I’ll save you the trouble. This document was written by the first Delta Command at the behest of the Engineer himself. If we take this document at its word, then you don’t need to destroy the Foundation to destroy the Foundation. You just need to destroy the Overseers.” Priscilla barked out another laugh, one that was not shared with her fellows. “Yes, of course, that will be so much easier. Thirteen immortal demigods that have no doubt long since buried themselves in spells and witchery. How simple.” But Sylvester Sloan was still watching Calvin very closely. “The Thirteenth Overseer has assured immortality for the others, so long as he sits on the Council. You’d have to find him first… well, you’d have to find all of them at some point, which would be itself impossible, unless you had…” his eyes narrowed, “unless you had the journal.” Calvin nodded, and reaching into a pocket inside the chest of his jacket, produced a small, blue, leather bound book partially wrapped in brown paper.
“Holy shit,” Kowalski said, “where did you get that?” Desdemona peered at it quizzically. “What is it?” “Years ago,” Kowalski said, “we received a report that one of the Coalition’s finest agents, some fellow with a weird codename, had been putting together a report about the Foundation Overseers - where they live, places they frequent, their habits and activities. In other words, if you wanted to find the Overseers, it would be the perfect place to start.” “I still don’t understand,” Priscilla said, “don’t we keep tabs on the Overseers? We know where they are, don’t we?” Sylvester scoffed. “No. We tell our agents we do, and every now and again we’ll get some report of one of them passing through and somebody getting a glimpse of them. If we really had to, we could probably come up with the real-time locations of maybe half. A few more if we got lucky.” He extended a crooked finger towards the journal. “But those Overseers aren’t why that’s important. It’s important because it supposedly contains the location of two Overseers - including the Thirteenth - who have never been seen before, ever. Until that book was written, nobody was sure if they actually existed.” Kowalski was furiously rubbing his temples. “Ok, ok. Slow down, let me- let me think.” He looked over the sheaf of papers in his hands again. “Alright, so say you can find them. That’s great, that’s a, uh, that’s a good start. But there’s more to it than that. The contract - they’ve got a contract with Death, and as long as they’ve got the contract they can’t die. That wasn’t true when the Summa Modus Operandi was written, so that’s why it’s always been seen as more of a guideline than a hard and fast protocol, because you can’t kill Death.” Calvin nodded. “You’re right. You can’t kill Death. I don’t think you have to kill Death, though, you just need to break the contract.” Sylvester leaned forward, responding now with carefully chosen words. “If you wanted to break the contract, you’d need something that could steal someone back from Death. You’d need… well, you’d need something that hasn’t existed in a hundred years.” Calvin fished back into his pocket and pulled out a small, glass vial of clear liquid. He set it on the table with a pronounced thunk.
“If you could break the contract, what then?” Whispers surrounded Calvin. He was suddenly aware of the presence of something great and terrible; something whose furious attention he had immediately gained. In the stillness of the warehouse, behind arcana and beneath the world above, the presence passed through — and then it was gone.
Then, as they had so many times before, Delta dissolved into chaos.
“Holy shit Calvin, how did you-” “What is that—” “The Fountain was dry, they emptied—” “-doesn’t matter, even if he-” “It knows, It knows, we have said too much already, we-” “—it would become possible to destroy the Thirteen Foundation Overseers.” “It would be possible to fulfill the Summa Modus Operandi.” Kowalski had given up maintaining any kind of order to the stack of papers, and laid them out idly around him. “Where in the world did you come up with that?” Calvin returned the vial to his pocket. “When we were moving against the Foundation storehouse in Bangladesh, when I was told I was misappropriating Insurgency resources,” he glared at Kowalski out of the corner of his eye, “this is what we were looking for. It wasn’t there, granted, but this-” he held the vial up to eye level, “I found this the same way I found that journal. Luck.” Sylvester nodded slowly. “If that is what we all here think it is, then I think you’re right, Calvin. I think that would do it.” He stroked the handful of wiry hairs on his chin. “Do they know you have that?” Calvin hesitated. “No.” Desdemona leaned forward. “So what’s your plan?” Calvin slid the journal forward and set the vial next to it. “We find every single one of those rotten bastards, using this-” he pushed a finger down on the journal, “starting with the Thirteenth and working forward. Once they’re in the ground, the Foundation will be without governance and will fall apart. We sweep up the pieces, and with the Overseers removed this world can begin to heal.” He leaned back. “Someday down the line, we all wake up one day in a world no longer under threat of the supernatural. A world free to choose its own destiny.” Kowalski continued to flip through the papers Calvin had stacked in front of him, more slowly now. He paused on one passage, and then looked up.
“Alright. I’m convinced. Our resources are limited - if you’d wanted to attempt this like, twenty years ago, we might’ve been in a better spot to help you.” He drummed a finger on the table.
“Of course, you didn’t have that journal before now, which is really the game changer here.” Kowalski turned towards his colleagues. “Any of you in opposition to this? If we do this, we have to do it - there’s no half-assing it. I’ll be the first to admit we’re wildly outmatched, but if what Calvin says is true we’ve at least got surprise on our side, which counts for something.” He nodded. “All in favor?” They all spoke in unison. “Aye.” Kowalski turned back to Calvin.
“What do you need?” NOW — - — He had asked for three individuals - specialized and experienced agents each. The logic was straightforward enough: the Foundation was a massive, inexorable machine. Moving the means of the Insurgency against it would fail, as it had time and time before. The Insurgency had never quite recovered from being shattered by the Foundation all those years ago, and the squabbling factions and schisms within that group were only barely held together by Delta.
Trying to turn that disorder into action would be disastrous.
But a group of four, a group small enough to sneak past the all-seeing eye of the Foundation, might make it work. The Insurgency had resources, enough to create distractions where they were needed and reinforce the team if necessary. But Delta had made it very clear: their reach had limits. If the group passed beyond Delta's ability to support them, they would be on their own.
The first of them was Anthony Wright, a well-seasoned British agent of the Insurgency in his fifties with a kill-list nearly as long as his list of accolades. After Delta came into power, the Insurgency had still only been little more than a handful of groups of beleaguered and chaotic idealists - but throughout their history, Anthony had been a voice of reason and direction. He had maintained the original goals of the Insurgency and had been looked to for guidance for as long as anyone could remember. Whenever Delta had an opening, it was often thought he would take a seat at the table, but he had always refused the position.
The second was a woman, younger slightly than Calvin but not much. Her name was Olivia Torres, and until a few years prior she had been known within the anomalous community as the famed anartist "Ivory". Her installations were well known, especially in the Three Portlands that she had called home. The Foundation, long believing that she was active within AWCY? circles, had pursued her relentlessly. When they finally closed in, she fled to the Insurgency and had started fresh there.
The last was Adam Ivanov, which caught Delta by surprise. Adam was young, inexperienced, and was not a fighter. He was good with computers - a prodigy, even - but was next to useless with a gun. Calvin, however, was adamant in his decision. He knew about Adam before Adam had known about him, and had made a series of actions over the past several years that led Adam away from the Ukrainian separatist group he had been involved with into the waiting arms of the Insurgency.
Calvin had history with Anthony and Olivia - he had trained with and fought alongside Anthony for the better part of the last decade, and Olivia had been assigned to him on a handful of raids before his exile. Both responded to his request eagerly. Adam, though, was hesitant. He had taken some convincing. Even still, Calvin could sense a desire in his heart. Adam had spent his youth as a Foundation D-Class assigned to SCP-610 by virtue of his parents being Ukrainian political prisoners. A raid on a Foundation labor camp had liberated him from the horrors of his captivity, and Anthony had carried him out of danger himself. When the young man heard that his savior was among those he would serve alongside, he quickly submitted to the request.
Thus it was that a scant three months later, their small ship wrestled against the waves towards a jagged black spear that pierced the stormy waters of the southern Atlantic, looming with silent malevolence. Calvin stood on the ship’s prow as the tower came into view. He could feel the mnestics burning in his mind; he could see the shimmering glow of the tower’s anomalous nature. A scar, he thought.
“What is it?” he heard Olivia say as she took her place beside him. “It’s magic, right? A cognitohazard, maybe?” “No, not a cognitohazard. It’s an antimeme. The Foundation didn’t build this. Something else did, a long time ago. Whatever they built it for isn’t there anymore, so the Foundation has repurposed it.” He laughed. “How do you escape a prison you don’t even realize you’re in? Or in our case, how do you find something that isn’t on any map? That can’t even be on a map?” Olivia shrugged. “I was wondering the same thing. How’d you find where this was?” Calvin produced the small blue journal. “This was the personal journal of someone who had studied the Overseers and their methods for decades." He flipped it over and back. "It sat in a box for years before somebody realized what it was. When Skitter Marshall picked it up, he realized he’d struck gold.” “So how much did it cost?” Calvin shrugged. “Nothing. I stole it.” Olivia nodded and looked back toward the tower. “It’s beautiful, in a way. Otherworldly.” “It is.” A wave smashed against the side of the ship, surging up in front of them in a blanket of freezing sea foam. Calvin instinctively reached out to shield her. Olivia stepped back, but gave him a smile.
The muted whine of the foghorn rose up behind them. Calvin turned and hurled himself up the stairs of the wheelhouse. There, Anthony Wright gruffly tugged at the wheel — in-between taking long, hard puffs from the fat stogie that dangled out the side of his mouth.
“This is stupid, Calvin,” Anthony said, furiously chomping on the cigar. “There’s nowhere to land. I haven’t even been on a ship in sixteen years. This was your plan?” Calvin squinted at the tower. Their mnestics would only last so long; afterwards, they wouldn’t even be able to perceive the tower. This had to be quick — and the seas were not helping.
“The entrance is above,” Calvin pointed towards an opening in the rocky face. “Think you can get us up there?” Anthony looked at him like he was mad. “I’ll get something up there. I hope you don’t need the boat afterwards.” Calvin slapped him on the back and grinned. “There are always more boats.” Anthony rolled his eyes and spun the wheel, bringing their ship around. “The next swell, we’re going to gun it. Tell them to hold on down there, because the only way we get this done is by wrecking the boat. You get that, right? This’ll wreck the boat.” Calvin nodded.
“Alright, then. Let’s wreck the boat.” Calvin scurried down the stairs to find the others. Olivia and Adam were in the hallway; Adam looked ready to vomit. He grabbed them both and pulled them toward the galley, shoving them toward a pillar. “Stay here and hold on!” He turned to go back up — just as the ship slammed into a massive wave with the force of a thunderclap. The whole vessel lurched down, up, then forward. For one instant, Calvin could feel his guts squeezing up out of his throat, pressing behind his clenched teeth. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, the ship’s hull was screeching. Iron and wood grinded across harsh, merciless stone.
The hull went on to make several undignified creaks and pops, then came to a stop. Calvin stumbled up to the deck; the boat was now fully docked inside the tower’s entrance. Behind them, the ocean continued to rage.
Adam was the first to crawl out behind Calvin, but only so he could heave the contents of his stomach over the rails.
Anthony — who, by some miracle, remained mostly dry — walked down past Adam, unlatched the anchor, and threw it over the side. It made a dull, metallic thunk as it slammed into dry rock.
“Land ho,” he announced.
Adam wiped spittle away from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Madness. You are mad.
This is madness. I can barely… urk… this whole place makes me dizzy.” He tried to stand, stumbling backwards. “You people, you old people, you’re on your way out. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me, and you crash us into the side of a mountain. Very considerate.” He turned back to the railing and heaved again.
Calvin patted Adam on the back. “Patience, Adam. You’ll stay here with Olivia and Anthony. I’ll go alone.” He looked back to Anthony. “Make sure nobody follows me.” Anthony nodded. “Remember what I told you. Don’t trust a word. They’ll say anything — lie through their teeth. Be careful.” Calvin reassured the older man with a clap to the shoulder. “I will. I’ll need you — all of you — very soon. But this part… I can handle this alone.” Calvin leapt over the railing and down to the stone below. The entryway narrowed into a tunnel; he followed the passage into the darkness ahead.
It ended at a freight elevator after forty meters. He could still hear the distant roar of the ocean echoing off the smooth stone walls. In the dim light, Calvin could barely make out deep cuts in the stone — almost like lacerations. He pulled the iron railing open, stepping inside and hitting a button. Just before it started down, it occurred to him that the entrance looked like it had been smashed into the tower — rather than cut.
He could not say how long the descent took. After a few minutes, the smooth metal of the shaft gave way to rock. The elevator’s interior grew cold; he could make out the faint sound of something beating below. Calvin reached into his pocket and touched the vial, reassuring himself that it was still there.
The elevator stopped. The carriage shuddered, and — with a groan — the gate slid open. He had arrived at a massive chamber lit by torches, each burning with a smokeless emerald flame.
The walls were carved with ancient runes that spiraled up into a yawning darkness; the same darkness yawned beneath his feet. Nothing stood between it and him — save the elevator, and a steel, segmented walkway extending out from it.
The walkway reached the center of the chamber. There, a column of stone rose up out of the pit. When Calvin took a step toward it, a pebble glanced off the side of his boot and fell below.
He waited to hear it land.
Two minutes later, he stopped waiting.
He crossed the chasm across the walkway. His footfalls were the only sound he heard, save one — the soft beating that came from below. As he drew close to the dais, he could make out its solitary occupant: Seated on a small, plain metal folding chair — bound to it by thin, gold chains — was a human corpse.
Calvin opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a sound. It was like a stale rattle — a horrid, empty noise. It filled the room like a chorus, echoing off the walls. It was laughter.
Mocking laughter.
He approached the corpse, examining it. Hollow, rotted sockets were all that remained of its eyes. Despite this, it stared at him with a fierce intensity. He felt the familiar chill again; suddenly, the beating below stopped.
“A visitor.” The corpse’s mouth did not move; nevertheless, a voice creaked out from it like a draft through a tomb. “How peculiar. I don’t often receive guests.” Calvin hesitated. “You’re O5-13, correct?” That wretched laugh spilled out again. “In a sense. This body was once that of Dr. Felix Carter; The Meddler. He was the Thirteenth. I reside here, in his place.” Calvin nodded. “So yes, then. Good - you will commune with me. I have come to renegotiate your contract.” Something flashed across his vision. He saw endless fields of corpses; fire and blood. He saw a parade of red horrors, — and a silent figure watching from above. Calvin shook his head and looked away. When he turned back, it almost looked like the corpse was smiling.
“You have no authority here, Calvin Lucien.” Calvin stepped back in shock. “Yes, I know your name. Yours is not one of the thirteen penned on the contract. Your hand cannot break it.” Calvin collected his nerve. “You’re right. It’s not. But humor me, if you would. Your contract — what are its terms? What were you promised?” Somewhere inside the corpse, something growled. “Fine. No harm in humoring the soon-to-be- dead. The contract offered an escape for the Thirteen from the hand of fate. Life everlasting.” “They already had the Fountain of Youth. Why did they need you?” “The Fountain had run dry. Even then, it could not save them from me, only keep me at arms length. When they began to die, the First came to me to bargain. I offered to stay my hand — in exchange for a seat at the table.” The rotted voice laughed again. “It was a simple negotiation.” Calvin walked behind the corpse. His eyes traced the sigils along the walls that surrounded them. “And as part of the contract, they gave you this man? Gave you his life?” “No. His life was insured, as part of the contract. They gave me his body. He lingers on the edge of death eternally; his mind is given to the sublime ecstasy of near-death.” Calvin cocked his head sideways. “He’s not dead?” The corpse scoffed. “No.” Calvin pulled the vial from his pocket and pulled out the cork.
“Good. Drink up, you crusty old bitch.” He reached out from behind the corpse, seizing it by the chin; with just a squeeze, he forced its mouth open. With the other hand, he emptied the contents of the vial into the pit of its throat — taking care to ensure not a drop was wasted. When the vial was empty, he released its face and stepped in front of it.
“What was that?” its voice hissed. “Where did you get that? How did-” The change was immediate. Color rushed back into the corpse’s face; blood surged through its body. Fresh pink tissue filled the gaps where its skin had flaked away. Glistening knobs of white swelled up into its sockets. The emaciated torso spasmed, then expanded; the corpse lurched upward as it took in a gasping, choked breath. A violent, painful coughing spasm forced ages of collected dust to evacuate its lungs. Its arms lunged down to grab its chair.
In a span of only a minute, the corpse had become a nude man. The convulsions began to settle. His eyes — hazel-gold and now filled with fear — darted back and forth.
“What have you done?” he shrieked, his voice hoarse from disuse. “What have you done?!” Something dark and silver began to seep out of the man’s eyes, nose, and mouth. It was like smoke, but thicker. It shimmered in the air above him like a cloud. His eyes rolled back toward the shape; he cried out like a panicked animal.
“No! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Don’t-” Calvin leveled his gun at the man and squeezed the trigger. He buried one slug in his temple, then another in his heart.
Dr. Felix Carter jerked away with a final gasp. His body slumped into the chair; his head fell back. He stared into the darkness above.
Calvin grabbed the back of the metal folding chair and dragged it to the edge of the dias. With a firm shove of his foot, he pushed the chair — along with its occupant — into the pit below.
There was a brief clatter of chains; then, nothing.
Calvin felt the presence again. When he turned, he found a silver woman draped in darkness standing alongside him. She peered into the abyss. Her eyes looked sad.
“The living body of the Thirteenth,” she said. “The contract is invalid. I am released from my obligation.” Calvin swallowed and nodded. “Should fatal peril come to them, you will no longer stay your hand against the other twelve?” “I will not.” She did not look away from the pit. “They are free to die.” Calvin sighed. “Good. That is enough.” He turned back to the elevator, taking a step. Something made him pause. He looked back to the pale figure, struggling with the question he wanted to ask.
“Why didn’t you stop me? You have the authority and power to do so. Why did you stand by and do nothing?” At last, she turned and regarded him. Calvin felt an overwhelming swell of solitude — of melancholy — rush through him. “Something festers at the heart of the council. Something that will not die. I thought that, perhaps, if I had a seat at their table, I could find it, make it die. But I couldn’t. There are things in this world beyond even my reach, Calvin Lucien.” She turned back to the pit. “Perhaps you will fare better. Perhaps not.” — - — Delta Command sent another ship to fetch them. Shortly after they boarded, Calvin was approached by Desdemona, who handed him a briefing.
“Did you have any trouble?” she asked.
Calvin shook his head. “Getting here. Getting in.” He looked back to where the tower had been.
“I can’t even see it anymore. Like it was never there, and yet…” He reached into his pocket, pulling out the journal. “This guy knew about it a decade ago.” The young woman laughed. “Yes. Well, I’m sure your mystery agent had his own way with things. Just like we need you to have yours. All of our plans are in motion now, Calvin. They all rest on you performing your duty.” She nodded in the direction of the absent tower. “With any luck, the rest of them will be as simple as this.” Calvin laughed and shook his head. "That's unlikely. We got a good first lick in while they weren't looking, but there won't be any surprise next time." - BACK - Powered by TAGS↴ 001-proposal aaron-siegel action adventure agent-lament black-queen chaos-insurgency concept doctor-clef esoteric-class ethics-committee fantasy hard-to-destroy-reptile illustrated mystery reality-bending scp spy-fiction the-administrator the-engineer wanderers-library Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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qntm's proposal SCP-001 » qntm's proposal rating: +549 + – X by qntm Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept locked along with all data pertaining to it inside the Primary Archival Vault on Sub-Level 1 of Site 10. The Vault is a custom-manufactured, reinforced concrete and steel, vertical octagonal prism (see Appendix U for full schematics) with a 2000-kg, 0.9-m-thick, time-locked access portal in the ceiling. The time-locking schedule should be classified and available only to Dr. Y.
Mirski. Access is conditional on three-factor authorization (e.g.
keycard+fingerprint+passphrase). SCP-001 is among the safest artifacts in the Foundation's possession and these measures are primarily intended to prevent theft.
Description: SCP-001 is a smooth, black, perfectly ellipsoidal (~15.1 cm x 15.4 cm x 16.5 cm) onyx gemstone with a mottled white pattern. Wrapped around its exterior, encompassing its equator and both poles, is a complex and layered fractal filigree of gold metal. The gold is sculpted into broad strokes at what is now usually agreed to be the lower or "south" pole of the object, but with increasing "latitude" the pattern becomes progressively more intricate. Near the "north" pole, also called the "lock" or "singularity" (see acquisition report, below), the pattern complexity progresses beyond the capability of optical or electron-beam microscopes to resolve. Further investigation is pending advances in microscopy technology.
The gemstone continuously emits a small quantity (~34.5007 to 34.5010 mW) of thermal radiation in the microwave range. As a result, the gold filigree is warm to the touch. The white mottled areas emit fractionally more radiation than the black onyx areas.
Other than this, SCP-001 is totally inert. It is opaque to all forms of electromagnetic and hard radiation, and, so far, indestructible (see log for Project Pluto, below). Its onyx/gold composition is guessed from visual inspection, since the taking of samples for chemical analysis has proven impossible.
Project Pluto Master Log SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in The following experiments have failed to open SCP-001: conventional lockpicking brute force assault with hammer, chisel, sledgehammer, bolt-cutters, welding torch, bandsaw, etc.
sustained heating to 5000 degrees Centigrade in industrial furnace (artifact reflected all thermal energy, did not increase in temperature) direct application of industrial cutting laser (~160 kW/cm concentrated on the "lock") (artifact reflected all energy) compression in vice, car crusher, hydraulic diamond-face press (all destroyed) application of corrosive acids and other highly-oxidizing compounds (no reaction) detonation of plastic and solid explosives up to 0.5 kt TNT-equivalent at point blank range (no effect) detonation of a 15 kt TNT-equivalent atomic warhead at point blank range [authorization granted retroactively by Dr. Mirski] (no effect) Project Pluto is to be immediately terminated. - Dr Hack Project Pluto is ongoing with the full support of Foundation resources. - Dr Mirski SCP-001 Acquisition Report The earliest record of SCP-001 is in the handwritten journal of the minor Scottish aristocrat Sir Edwin Young, 3rd Baronet (1611-1677). As was customary at the time, Young kept a "Cabinet of Curiosities", a small room of artifacts of undetermined provenance such as sculptures, preserved creatures, and trinkets. Young's journal includes references to his acquisition in 1654 of "ane bouned jew'l of onycs and filigree gold, of fineneſs beyond rational ſtatement" while travelling across the Mesopotamian desert. The journal indicates that SCP-001 was found buried in the ruin of "a bitter, blaſted place, older than days", or what Young took to be a temple to "a fearſome death god". SCP-001 was found encased in stone at the centre of four enormous runic stones. Young's journal includes a sketch of the most readable side of the most well-preserved stone, but he was unable to read the runes or find a scholar who could translate them.
Young's account of his journey to the location of the ruin is incomplete. It has not yet been located.
Young's "ſelections of curious provenance" lay in storage for several centuries after he died. In 1805, his descendants donated SCP-001 to the Scottish National Museum in Edinburgh. The curators of the museum regarded SCP-001 as an ancient, fragile, and priceless example of ancient Sumerian metalworking. They therefore failed to discover its anomalous warmth, its indestructibility, or its impossible microscopic-scale construction.
They were, however, able to identify the runes in Young's sketch as Tertiary Sumerian Cuneiform, circa 3400 BCE. Only a partial translation is possible: 2 ≡ with loss and ????? we/I ?????? [a noun] Apakht [probably a proper noun] on this ending/finality ?????????? joy + permanence [possibly 'protection'] Mr. McCandlish, who performed the translation, noted: This appears to be some sort of incantation or "spell of containment".
"Apakht" is the name of whatever is imprisoned within the gemstone.
SCP-001 was finally placed on semi-permanent display in 1949.
In 2003, Foundation staff observed that the mottled white patterns on the surface of SCP- 001 resembled the cosmic microwave background, a pattern of microwaves encompassing the entire observable universe, as mapped by NASA's Wilkinson Microwave Anisotropy Probe earlier that year. Closer inspection showed the two patterns to be identical. SCP-001 (along with Baronet Young's journal) was immediately purchased by a Foundation front organization and transferred to Site 10 where Dr. Q. Hack and Dr. Y.
Mirski performed initial routine analysis.
Research continues under the auspices of Dr. Mirski, Dr. Hack having recently left the Foundation.
Young's journal also includes several detailed sketches of SCP-001. In one of the sketches a small ornate object resembling a key is shown fitted into its "north pole". The key has not been recovered.
Cite this page as: "qntm's proposal" by qntm, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/qntm-s-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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D. Ulysses Foole's Proposal SCP-001 » D. Ulysses Foole's Proposal rating: +494 + – X Redirecting… As per the ongoing priority restructuring brought about by Project Beluga, SCP-001 has been designated Irrelevant/Beta. Those who have been assigned with SCP-001's containment have already had their duties issued privately.
This article bears more immediate importance to the orders in your inbox.
Remember: We cannot afford to be distracted in the face of this crisis.
Item #: SCP-UBU Object Class: Tiamat Special Containment Procedures: SCP-UBU must be neutralized by any means necessary. Neutralization efforts are ongoing via Project Beluga. All non-critical resources have been diverted into Project Beluga as needed. Further information & strategic resources are restricted to Project Beluga staff.
Description: SCP-UBU refers to a violent and extremely hostile humanoid entity that appeared in Kangaatsiaq, Greenland, on May 12th, 2588.
The sudden materialization of SCP-UBU coincides with an ongoing ΩK/A-class Augmented "End-of-Death" scenario . This was believed to be a separate phenomenon until the stream of regenerative lambda waves was triangulated to SCP-UBU.
This event also coincided with the following phenomena: A mass loss of function for all SCP-2578-D, SCP-3319, and other objects operated by the Three Moons Initiative.
The cessation of all further SCP-2922 communications.
The severance of the extradimensional space known as the Wanderer's Library from Earth. A representative of the Serpent's Hand cited "irreconcilable security concerns" in the decision.
1 SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Several incidents in which a representative of Marshall, Carter, & Dark, having gained access to the O5 Council's personal contact information through unknown means, desperately tried to sell the Foundation large amounts of the company's stock.
The place that must never have the same name twice SCP-4000 losing all anomalous properties. A small parchment note reading "Good luck!" was found in the entryway.
SCP-3008 being anomalously bought out by an unknown proprietor and slowly converted into a shelter.
In addition to anomalously high physical strength and speed, SCP-UBU has reality- bending capabilities to an unknown extent — usually triggered by screaming or slapping.
Defensively, it has remained unscathed from the following damage sources: Blunt force trauma.
Sustained heavy-caliber machine gun fire.
Temperatures of 1,600 Kelvin.
Sustained artillery fire.
A direct energy discharge from SCP-B7B8.
██ simultaneous direct nuclear strikes.
The only lasting damage to SCP-UBU occurred on 8/14/2784, when the entity chewed off its left thumb out of apparent curiosity. This resulted in SCP-UBU emitting a single scream that lasted seven days, after which it went into a month-long fit of crying and sobbing. The thumb completely regenerated after thirty years and fourteen days.
Anatomy: The entity is 4.3 meters in height; an exact estimate of its mass remains unknown, but measurement attempts during its brief containment displayed a minimum recorded weight of 15,399 kilograms. Though its anatomical composition remains unknown, SCP-UBU's bodily shape is consistent with an obese, androgynous humanoid. It is covered in hairless, pure white skin that bears a similar texture to that of a dolphin or other small whale.
Despite being devoid of eyes, ears, or nostrils, SCP-UBU is fully capable of vision, hearing, and smell. The only apparent sensory organ on its body other than skin is a .5- meter-wide humanoid mouth with a prehensile tongue of indeterminate length. There is a cloaca on its lower body for expelling waste.
Behavior: SCP-UBU does not appear to understand speech in any known language. While it is capable of vocalizations, the majority of them are used for screaming, laughter, and intrigued babbling.
Ever since its arrival, SCP-UBU has been devoted to causing as much destruction as possible. Though SCP-UBU will attack anything indiscriminately, SCP-UBU shows preference in assaulting and devouring human beings in densely populated areas. It takes an infantile and curious approach to violence, often "playing" with its victims for hours on end.
2 3 ≡ The regenerative effect brought about by SCP-UBU's presence has eliminated the possibility of doing permanent damage to anything other than civil infrastructure and property. Ergo, whether there is any greater motive to its rampages other than sadism is unknown.
SCP-UBU Timeline 5/12/2588, 0533 GMT: A four-kiloton explosion accompanied by an electromagnetic pulse destroys the town of Kangaatsiaq, Greenland. Survivors recall a "pale green light" enveloping the area.
0615 GMT: ΩK/A-class scenario begins, triggering widespread panic.
0846 GMT: O5 command holds an emergency meeting to address a potential ΩK-class scenario.
1105 GMT: First sightings of SCP-UBU reported.
5/15/2588, 1200 GMT: In order to properly address the regenerative effect, the Foundation's veil is lifted as per the Broken Masquerade protocol. O5-1 makes a statement to the UN.
5/20/2588: SCP-UBU arrives in St. John's, Newfoundland, beginning a two-year rampage throughout the city.
5/21/2588: Mobile Task Force Nu-7 "Hammer Down" engages SCP-UBU in St. John's.
7/4/2590: 90% of the onsite personnel have been mutilated and regenerated at least five times. As such, MTF Nu-7 deserts St. John en masse in protest of "anomalously poor working conditions". SCP-UBU uses the opportunity to break through the defensive line.
10/10/2590: Project Beluga is founded as a joint effort between the Foundation and the Global Occult Coalition for the purpose of neutralizing the threat posed by SCP-UBU.
12/29/2590: SCP-UBU reaches Columbus, Ohio. It spends the next year on the following project: Digging a two-kilometer-deep hole in the center of the city, Gathering 2.9 million people to throw into the hole, Repeatedly leaping into the upper stratosphere and stomping into the hole, and Drinking the resulting squeezed juices.
It eventually grows bored with this and moves on to Lake Erie.
1/5/2592: SCP-UBU assaults several cargo ships in Lake Erie. Twenty ships are thrown out of Earth's gravitational pull. Two of them land on the Moon.
[truncated for brevity] ≡ 6/10/2670, 0600 GMT: SCP-UBU is finally contained at Site-59.
6/10/2670, 0602 GMT: SCP-UBU breaches containment; subsequent retrieval attempts fail.
9/9/2673: SCP-UBU spends 73 days rubbing its crotch against the Statue of Liberty while howling. (It should be noted that SCP-UBU lacks any sort of visible genitalia.) 2/10/2674: The Schenectady Agreement is signed between NATO powers, the Russian Federation, the People's Republic of China, the Foundation, and the Global Occult Coalition. As such, due to environmental concerns, further nuclear strikes are prohibited against SCP-UBU. Shortly after signing, SCP-UBU breaks into the ceremony and makes a bead necklace out of a few lengths of woven rebar and fifteen still-living foreign dignitaries.
4/30/2674: SCP-UBU assaults Site-19 — + Relevant excerpt from Experiment Log T-98816-OC108/682 10/30/2685: SCP-UBU breaks into Armed Containment Area-179 and swallows SCP- 2317 whole.
3/5/2686: Following SCP-UBU's assault, SCP-2000 has been reclassified "neutralized." [truncated for brevity] 3/15/2750: Former film star Nash De Groot publishes "the Zonk Manifesto", a book built on the following thesis: immortality and SCP-UBU's rampages have made life on earth intolerable, and the only solution is to enter an eternal coma via guided meditation & hard drugs. As such, a social movement known as "The International Zonk" gains traction.
6/24/2790: After a lengthy battle with Project Beluga forces in China, SCP-UBU grows bored and retreats into the Bay of Bengal. This marks a three-year absence of SCP-UBU, save for continual underwater seismic events during that time.
2/15/2792: Cuddletopia, the largest Zonk Pile so far, reaches its initial goal of five million residents and counting.
7/10/2793: SCP-UBU flings SCP-3000 from the ocean, leaving it beached on Indian soil.
Several cities are destroyed in the process. After spending a week pointing and laughing hysterically at SCP-3000, SCP-UBU grabs the end of its tail and begins dragging it across Asia.
8/1/2793: Still carrying SCP-3000, SCP-UBU crosses the Bering Strait into Alaska.
8/29/2793: SCP-3000 and SCP-UBU arrive on the eastern coast of Brazil. SCP-UBU drags its cargo into the ocean once again.
8/30/2793: SCP-169 emerges. Reports that SCP-3000 had been "tied around its neck" have yet to be proven.
6 7 ≡ [truncated for brevity] 12/10/3020: The fight between SCP-UBU and SCP-169 ends when the former slaps the latter in the same way as SCP-682. SCP-169 has been reclassified "neutralized." 12/11/3020: A ten-year period of inactivity from SCP-UBU begins. At this point, despite global immortality, the resulting collateral damage has rendered the surface of the Earth uninhabitable and entirely underwater. Civilization carries on in a single archipelago of floating cities made from ships and debris.
5/28/3028: The archipelago is deserted. The Foundation's SCPS Naismith contains the only 140 remaining humans who haven't moved to New Zonkland .
1/14/3030: SCP-UBU sighted in the water off the port bow of the Naismith. It vocalizes mockingly before swimming in the direction of New Zonkland. The O5 Council calls an emergency meeting… Meeting Transcript — Re: SCP-UBU sighting Date: 1/14/3030 Time: 0105 GMT Location: SCPS Naismith, Conference Room A <Begin Log> O5-2: Calling roll. O5-1?
O5-1: Present.
O5-2: O5-2, that's me. O5-3?
O5-1: Missing.
O5-2: O5-4?
O5-4: (Remains silent.) O5-2: O5-5?
O5-1: Missing. So's Six through Ten. Hurry it up!
O5-2: Eleven?
O5-11: Hmm.
O5-2: Twelve and Thirteen?
O5-4: Blew their heads off. …again.
O5-2: (Exasperated sigh.) Well, when they get up, tell them we need to conserve that ammunition.
8 ≡ O5-1: What we "need" is a fucking plan!
O5-4: You don't say. If only someone would hold a meeting about it.
O5-1: You know what I mean!
O5-2: One, that's enough.
O5-1: Yes. It is.
O5-11: We haven't exhausted all of our anomalous options for neutralizing UBU. Where's the Corncrake?
O5-2: We've been over this, Laurence! Throwing the Corncrake in this mess is only going to - O5-4: It's anchored 57 klicks due southeast.
O5-2: …Four, why the hell did you tell him that?
O5-4: Because we're out of wine. Goodbye, everyone.
(O5-4 pulls out a pistol and shoots herself in the right temple. Chunks of her skull land on O5-1, who brushes them off in disgust.) O5-1: Not the time or place, Four!
(O5-4's free hand raises a middle finger.) O5-11: Well, friends? It seems the Omega-K has had us up and about so long that our personalities have run out of the fuel we were given from birth. In all likelihood, we'd see better professionalism and teamwork in New Zonkland.
O5-2: …as a matter of fact, that's a good segue into what I was about to propose.
(O5-11 stands up.) O5-11: Then frankly, I hope you find the nicest, cleanest spots in the mass grave.
O5-1: Where are you going?!
O5-11: That depends, which way is southeast?
<End Log> Footnotes 1. All multicellular life on earth experiences a bodily regenerative effect, regardless of injury or illness.
≡ Powered by Wikidot.com 2. Due to neutralization, Protocol 4000-Eshu is no longer in effect.
3. This test was notable as the only example so far of SCP-UBU expressing discomfort.
4. Object Class: Euclid. Humanoid anomaly capable of turning living flesh to limestone with her voice.
5. Though the language has not yet been identified, this remains the only vocalization from SCP-UBU to date that resembles any form of speech.
6. Specifically, the doorway that led to SCP-2317-Prime was swallowed. Whether or not this has affected SCP-2317-K is unknown.
7. A sort of living mass grave composed of unresponsive adherents of the International Zonk 8. A massive floating Zonk Pile; many of the residents there have resorted to using anomalous means to lose their consciousness and achieve "Perfect Zonk." Cite this page as: "D. Ulysses Foole's Proposal" by daveyoufool, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/dyfscp-001. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
Filename: beluga.png Author: daveyoufool License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki 001-proposal able apocalyptic euclid extradimensional future global-occult-coalition hive-mind humanoid indestructible k-class-scenario meta nameless portal prometheus sapient science-fiction scp temporal three-moons-initiative totleighsoft vehicle page revision: 20, last edited: 11 Oct 2024, 15:52 (142 days ago) Edit Rate (+494) Tags Discuss (108) History Files Print Site tools + Options ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License ≡ |
Dafydd Utica Foolfellow's Proposal rating: +381 + – X Notice from the Records And Information Security Administration On August 10th, 2023, at 5:14 PM local time, a lead-lined capsule appeared in the courtyard of Site-59, coated in an unidentified liquid with traces of human DNA. The capsule contained a USB thumb drive with the following documents.
This data is still being analyzed. Proceed with caution.
Hello.
Due to irreversible personal circumstances on my end, this will be our only contact. Please do not ask for further information; no one will answer. Rest assured I have given you all I could to prepare you.
Since they are all related, I have applied the SCP-001 designation to all relevant anomalies and color-coded them. However, out of the following, SCP-001-BLUE was the only one originally called SCP-001.
On behalf of my new friends and I, good luck, and… goodbye.
+ SCP001RED.RTF Cite this page as: "Dafydd Utica Foolfellow's Proposal" by daveyoufool, from the SCP Wiki.
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‡ Hide Licensing / Citation SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Filename: pallit.png Author: daveyoufool License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: surfacearea.png Author: Dummyfish (edits by daveyoufool) License: CC0 1.0 Source Link: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:World_Map_Land.png Filename: weshallendure.png Author: daveyoufool License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: green.png Author: U.S. Forest Service - Pacific Northwest Region License: Public Domain Source Link: Fun fact: this URL is very long Filename: pallit2.png Author: daveyoufool License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: p_a_l_l_i_t.png Author: daveyoufool and/or daveyoufool's sleep paralysis demons License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: violet.png Author: daveyoufool License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki 1 2 3 ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License Filename: grouphug.jpg Author: Brian from Bountiful , Utah, USA License: CC 2.0 Generic Source Link: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Makelessnoise_- _Close-Up_of_a_Star_in_H-Alpha_(by).jpg 001-proposal alive artificial-intelligence computer electronic entropic esoteric-class extradimensional humanoid k-class-scenario meta reality-bending religious sapient scp species teleportation totleighsoft page revision: 11, last edited: 14 May 2024, 10:04 (293 days ago) Edit Rate (+381) Tags Discuss (57) History Files Print Site tools + Options 4 ≡ |
Daoud Ewen Fullerton's Proposal rating: +160 + – X Chapter 1: The Earth Died Screaming SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in ≡ "Only this, and no more, will I say of the inscrutable Glasslings: woe unto the madman who thrusts adulthood upon children eternal." - Collected Sayings of JALAKÅRA, Volume 573 NOTICE ≡ As of 4/10/2028, Project Valkyrja is no longer accepting new passengers.
If you are seeing this message, you will never be forgotten.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Apollyon Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is projected to render the Earth's surface uninhabitable in approximately 17 days. There is no means to establish even temporary containment of SCP-001 in such a timeframe. As such, containment efforts will focus on the interstellar evacuation of Earth via the already-established Project Valkyrja.
All foundation personnel selected for participation in Project Valkyrja have been notified.
For all other personnel, capsules of Self-Termination Compound CF-12 are available upon request. All staff are advised that oral ingestion of CF-12 is painless, euphoric, and 92% of trial participants have reported that it tastes like strawberries.
Description: SCP-001 is a massive spacecraft of unknown origin. To the public, SCP-001 is known as "the January Third Entity" or, more commonly, "Tarrare." SCP-001 is trapezoidal in shape, measuring 20.58 kilometers in length, 3.4991 kilometers in height, and 1.372 kilometers in width. The top half of the ship is occupied by 492 structures of different shapes and sizes that resemble towers. A rectangular section comprising 79% of the ship's bottom (heretofore the "Gate") leads to a space considerably larger than the ship itself — as a result, its mass and volume are currently indeterminate.
It is not currently known if SCP-001 is a manned craft. No transmissions or communications of any kind have been received from SCP-001. Its material composition and means of propulsion are also unknown.
Once SCP-001 descends to 12.03 kilometers above ground level, the internal temperature of object below the Gate will increase to an average temperature of 1,700 degrees Celsius - enough to incinerate organic life and melt commonly-used inorganic materials.
All objects heated in this manner gravitate toward the Mouth until they are eventually consumed. Whether SCP-001 has a maximum capacity for consumed materials is unknown.
This effect has a minimum radius of 2 kilometers underneath SCP-001, but this can be expanded up to 20 km. UPDATE 2/10: Following the catastrophic expansion event of 2/9, the maximum radius is currently unknown. Materials consumed are funneled into the mouth in a manner similar to tornadoes. Smoke and vapors are also absorbed in this manner. Approaching aircraft and projectiles (such as missiles) are aggressively drawn into these vortices by unknown means, rendering the majority of military countermeasures useless. Nuclear devices launched into the Mouth have had no noticeable detrimental effects.
1 2 ≡ The rate of consumption varies — i.e. SCP-001 was able to destroy Mt. Rainier in this manner in 17.4 minutes, but consumption of downtown Seattle took 2.3 hours. The reason for this variation is currently unknown — hypothetically, a result of the diversity of materials.
Discovery: SCP-001 first became known to the Foundation when it appeared in the orbit of Venus on December 12th, 2027. Its presence coincided with catastrophic changes to the surface of Venus which, at the time, had not been fully understood.
Its first descent to Earth was on January 3rd, 2028, over the Puget Sound in the Northwestern United States. Despite a rapid response from the US and Canadian militaries, the Global Occult Coalition, and Mobile Task Force Nu-7 "Hammer Down," SCP- 001's assault resulted in a loss of 2.3 billion human lives in the first three months, incalculable property damage, and the conversion of 89% of North America's surface area into a lake of slag.
.
.
.
The lights flicker on above you.
Cite this page as: "Daoud Ewen Fullerton's Proposal" by daveyoufool, from the SCP Wiki.
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Djoric-Dmatix Proposal SCP-001 » Djoric-Dmatix Proposal rating: +718 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Humanoid Threat Level: Green|Circumstantial-Red Containment Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: Instances of SCP-001 are to be contained within standard humanoid containment modules. Under no circumstances are any instances of SCP-001 to be stored at the same site, allowed to interact in any manner, or to be made aware of information regarding other members of the group. Personnel assigned to any single SCP-001 subject are not to be made aware of the other instances of SCP-001 or the connections among them.
SCP-001 subjects are not to come into direct contact with any other anomalous items outside of approved testing.
REVISED ██/██/20██: O5 SPECIAL ORDER A-1130-X In light of the events resultant in SCP-001-05's death, the use of SCP-001 subjects in the neutralization of anomalous objects is hereby prohibited. All care is to be taken to keep SCP-001 subjects alive and unharmed. Recovery and containment of SCP-001 subjects is to be considered highest priority. In the case of a death event, Ouroboros Protocol is to be initiated as soon as possible.
Description: SCP-001 is a group of thirty-six individuals, designated SCP-001-01 through SCP-001-036. There is no apparent pattern in terms of ethnicity, gender, age, or religious affiliation amongst SCP-001 subjects.
SCP-001 subjects display no anomalous properties of their own. However, any anomalous item, entity, or property brought into close proximity with an SCP-001 subject will be greatly modified from its original properties: most often, this will result in a lessening or total nullification of anomalous properties. Those properties not nullified will be changed so as to display consistency between objects of similar properties. All of these effects are SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in instantaneous and will occur without any input from the subject. The area of these effects will expand in when multiple SCP-001 subjects are brought together, as well as the intensity of changes: multiple SCP-001 subjects are capable of nullifying anomalous effects without being aware of the presence of said objects.
All subjects of SCP-001 seem to be instinctively aware of information regarding other SCP-001 subjects, generally the total number of the group and details of between one and three individuals. This knowledge is vague, making locating uncontained subjects difficult.
The death of an SCP-001 subject will result in the manifestation of multiple anomalous entities and phenomena in the area. These manifestations will be of such a scope that traditional containment measures are unfeasible, and will result in significant casualties and collateral damage. Contained SCP-001 subjects have claimed that this is a result of the deceased individual's absence "letting things through", and that further events will be more severe as time progresses. In addition, contained subjects have claimed that any deceased individuals will be replaced by a newborn bearing the appropriate properties: no such individuals have yet been located.
See Document 001-EX for a list of notable modifications to items by SCP-001 subjects. A full listing of all nullifications may be found in Document 001-N.
Addendum-01: Known members of SCP-001 are as follows: Designation Ethnicity Sex Age Current Status Notes SCP-001-01 Jewish- German Male 94 Contained Currently in induced stasis to prevent death.
Numerical identification code tattooed on left forearm.
SCP-001-02 Tamil Female 88 Contained Was pregnant at time of containment.
Child born without incident, currently under Foundation watch.
SCP-001-03 British Female 91 Contained Subject was British army nurse recorded as dead in 1943.
SCP-001-04 Han Chinese Male 97 Contained First subject to disclose information regarding other ≡ subjects to the Foundation.
Daoist priest of the Quanzhen School.
SCP-001-05 Pashtun Male 101 Deceased Subject died in containment. See Incident Report 001-05-EX for further details.
SCP-001-06 Italian Female 39 Uncontained Originally recovered from a hostel in Budapest.
Subject escaped containment eight days later during breach at Site-90.
Current whereabouts unknown.
SCP-001-07 Polish- Argentinian Female 52 Uncontained In possession of GOI-16 “The Horizon Initiative”.
SCP-001-08 Russian Male 5 Uncontained In possession of unknown individual or group. No family members have been located.
SCP-001-09 Aboriginal Australian Female 31 Uncontained In possession of GOI-16 “The Horizon Initiative”.
SCP-001- 010 African- American Male 28 Uncontained In possession of GOI-16 “The Horizon Initiative”.
SCP-001- 011 Nigerian Male 45 Contained SCP-001-011's family was present during its recovery. SCP- 001-011's eldest son offered armed resistance to Foundation personnel despite SCP-001-011's objection, and was neutralized.
≡ Remainder of family administered Class-A amnestics.
SCP-001- 012 Arabic Female 14 Deceased Subject was killed by members of GOI-03 “The Chaos Insurgency” during the recovery effort.
See Incident Report 001-012- RC-EX for further details.
SCP-001- 013 Korean- American Female Unknown Uncontained Actively frustrating recovery efforts.
SCP-001- 014 Navajo Male 23 Contained Was recovered by Foundation personnel after contact had been made between the subject and SCP-1295. See Document 001-EX for further details.
Addendum-02: SCP-001-01 through SCP-001-05 were initially recovered on ██/██/1944 in Jerusalem, during investigation of supposed miracles and other anomalous events in the area by the HMFSCP. SCP-001-01 through SCP-001-05 were found in the care of three individuals, classified as POI-1458, POI-1459, and POI-1460. Said individuals possess possible ties to GOI-16 “The Horizon Initiative”, and may have had a hand in its founding.
The recovery effort was hindered by factional fighting within the HMFSCP. SCP-001-01 was severely injured in the resulting firefight, but was successfully stabilized and recovered along with the other subjects, and passed into the jurisdiction of the Preservationist faction. The individuals responsible for sheltering the SCP-001 subjects fled during the fighting and were not able to be apprehended.
Interview Log 001-11-02 The following interview with SCP-001-05 was recorded on██/██/19██.
Dr. ████████: You spoke last time of having a specific purpose. Could you please explain?
SCP-001-05: I am here to help set things right.
≡ Dr. ████████: Go on.
SCP-001-05: The world is broken, Doctor, and my brothers and sisters and I are here to heal it, to gather together and prepare the way for what is to come. The process has already been set in motion, though regrettably, there have been some setbacks.
Dr. ████████: Please explain.
SCP-001-05: [SCP-001-01], he was the one who was to gather all the rest.
With him now hovering between life and death, that duty falls to us, but we know only glimpses of a few others in our number. It is enough.
Dr. ████████: You don’t fear for his safety?
SCP-001-05: Death is just another part of what is meant to be. It’s nothing to fear.
Dr. ████████: An admirable view of things. How did you learn of your purpose?
SCP-001-05: I had a dream. Portent, prophecy, hallucination, call it what you will. It planted a seed in my head, an intuition you might say. It was the next day I met [SCP-001-01].
Dr. ████████: Can you describe the dream?
SCP-001-05: There was a man, a man in rich clothing, like a king or emperor. He kept saying “Where is the tailor? Where is my tailor?” and pacing back and forth. Each time he asked it, another voice would answer “He is close now, he is close at hand”. But he did not arrive. The man became more and more upset, and as he paced moths came and landed on him, and began to eat away at his clothing. His robes began to fray and rot as more and more moths landed on him, and some even bit his skin.
But then, the doors opened and there arrived not one tailor, but dozens, led by the most masterful tailor in the kingdom. The king was overjoyed, for he knew he would be saved from the moths that tried to consume him.
I woke up then, and I knew. He found me, and I followed him.
Dr. ████████: If you’ll pardon the dramatic phrasing, when all of you come together, the world will end, correct?
SCP-001-05: [Chuckling] Doctor, the world has already ended. This was to be the last war. The world’s time has come and gone, and it is stretching thinner by the day until there will be nothing left but the moths. But, there is still some time left. We can find each other on our own.
Dr. ████████: And when that happens?
≡ SCP-001-05: Quiet days, Doctor. Quiet days and peace.
Incident Report 001-05-EX - SECURITY MEMETIC: WHAT SWORD SHALL YOU CHOOSE Date: ██/██/19██ Location: Site-128 (Coordinates ██-██.█-██.█) Event Type: LK (Localized Crisis) Description: Event occurred upon the death of SCP-001-05 at 22:12, local time. MTF squads stationed at Site-41, Site-98, and Site-203 were deployed in response. Liquidation protocols for all items within Site-128 were authorized at 22:15.
Resultant Anomalies UAP-████ - Self-replicating substance similar in composition to clay. Upon contact with a vertebrate organism, the substance would mold around the host, overwriting the host’s behavior. Without nearby hosts, substance would spread along ground or coalesce into large masses.
UAP-████ - Eight-winged entity with avian and cephalopodan traits, measuring 70 meters in wingspan and 45 meters tall. Would manifest swarms of entities outwardly similar to crows or ravens, measuring approximately 3 meters in length.
UAP-████ - A series of one hundred and nine great cubicuboctahedrons, measuring approximately a meter in width. Air temperature in a radius of twenty meters of the objects would rise to over 250 º C. Affected areas would immediately cool after exiting the area of effect. Objects were capable of flight at approximately twenty-five kilometers an hour.
Nine reported Class-3 Biological Revival Scenarios.
Widespread civilian reports of spontaneous ritualistic cannibalism.
Anomalous weather patterns extending approximately 110 km out from the initial event site. Rainfall contained high amounts of fatal pathogens, including Zaire ebolavirus, Escherichia coli, and Variola major.
Disappearance of SCP-1348. See Document 001-EX.
Recovery Efforts: Ourobouros Protocol initiated at 22:23, completing at 21:00. Protocol was carried out at 97 % efficiency.
Foundation casualties: 1350 Items lost: 27 Estimated civilian casualties: 10000 Incident Report 001-012-RC-EX ≡ - SECURITY MEMETIC: THROUGH THE LONG NIGHT Date: ██/██/20██ Location: [REDACTED], Islamic Republic of Eastern Samothrace Event Type: LK (Localized Crisis) Description: Recovery of SCP-001-012 was engaged at 07:31, local time. Subject was reluctantly cooperative. At 07:43, operatives from GOI-03 “The Chaos Insurgency” attacked the recovery team. SCP-001-012 was severely injured during the event, along with Agents ████ and ████████. SCP-001-012 was generally incoherent from this point, displaying signs of glossolalia: the extent of the subject's coherent statements was recorded as follows.
They're hungry, you see…gnaws and bites and claws and crunch crunch crunch…old food is better than no food, see? They're very hungry and keep getting hungrier.
Recovery team was attacked a second time at 08:15, resulting in the death of SCP-001- 012.
Resultant Anomalies UAP-████ - Semi-amorphous tetrapedal entity measuring approximately 50 m in height and 200 m in length. Entity was resistant to conventional weaponry.
UAP-████ - [DATA EXPUNGED] Spontaneous consumption of individuals by large masses of maggots (species unknown).
[DATA EXPUNGED] [DATA EXPUNGED] Flash flooding consisting of a mixture of 2% chocolate milk, crude oil, chicken broth, and rabbit feces.
Reappearance of SCP-1348. See Document 001-EX for notable alterations.
Recovery Efforts: Nuclear deployment authorized by the Board of Overseers at 08:17.
Ourobouros Protocol initiated at 08:46, completing at 07:30. Protocol was carried out at 61 % efficiency.
Notes: The Islamic Republic of Eastern Samothrace has been classified as SCP-1173 on account of reality instability caused by flaws in the operation of Ourobouros Protocol.
Foundation casualties: 8 Estimated Chaos Insurgency casualties: 25 ≡ Estimated civilian casualties: 175,000 Document 001-EX - SECURITY MEMETIC: WE SAW THEM WALK ON CLOUDS OF MEAT Foreword: Due to SCP-001's possible Abrahamic roots and its potent effects on religion-based anomalies of a similar origin, a test to establish if its effects have a wider base was required. SCP-361 was chosen for this test as a low-risk, non-Abrahamic religious object with easily observable effects.
<Begin Log> SCP-001-02 is instructed to introduce a sheep’s liver to SCP-361.
SCP-361: Welcome to HarusCo! We- oh, it’s you.
SCP-001-02: So it would seem.
SCP-361: Well, if you’re calling, that means… oh hell. It’s time already.
SCP-001-02: Yes.
SCP-361: Well, we suppose we should have seen it coming. Traffic has been getting very thin lately. Guess it’s time to go.
SCP-001-02: You will be there with us, when everything is in order again.
SCP-361: Assuming you’ll be able to do it. Well, kid, we guess this is goodbye. We know we and your boss didn’t always see eye to eye, but we had a good run, overall. It’s been fun.
SCP-001-02: You’ll be there, I promise.
SCP-361: And we don’t doubt for a second that you believe that. See you on the other side, kid. Or not.
SCP-001-02: Heh. I can't remember the last time anyone called me a kid.
<Connection Terminated> Test Log SCP-001/361 Test Log SCP-001/738 Test Log SCP-001/1295 Test Log SCP-001/1348 Test Log SCP-001/073 Test Log SCP-001/076 ≡ Document 001-IC-34 - SECURITY MEMETIC: ON BASALT FEET WE STOOD The following communique originated within the leadership of GOI-16 "The Horizon Initiative". The message was found alongside item E-7455 during recovery on ██/ ██/20██.
How do you explain to someone that the world is dying, and that only they may save it?
We have often asked ourselves that question, during the sixty or so years since that fateful day in Jerusalem, and entertained different notions on the most effective ways to do so. Fifty years ago, we were Elijah, full of bluster and wrath, calling upon our less faithful brothers to rally to the Thirty-Six’s cause, using fear to further our goals. Thirty years ago, we were Isaiah, seeking to strengthen our less courageous brothers that with the conviction that our cause was just, speaking of the greatness of our task, using their new found confidence to build an order on which our goals could stand. Ten years ago, we were Jeremiah, weeping at the doors of the world’s great powers, pleading for them to listen, for we now understood that this task was beyond our power alone.
And now? Now we are Jonah, and are lost for words. How do we make you understand what is at stake, when the only way you could see is to let everything your organization ever did go for the word of three old men?
That is too much to ask even of righteous men, and we are not yet certain you are such. All we can ask is that you listen.
You have seen what the Thirty-Six can do. You have seen the way the world unravels around them, but you do not understand why. You see them as just another entry in your great book of diseases, a threat to the wholeness of the body you keep- the world. It is not so. The items and phenomena you keep hidden from the world are not diseases, they are symptoms, and you are not keeping the world healthy by masking them when the underlying condition is ignored. The problem is that this condition is chronic. The world is simply old, and the Thirty-Six… they might make it young again.
For them to be able to do so, you will be required to make the ultimate sacrifice- you must relinquish your identity. You were made to secure, and we are asking you to trust in the unproven. You were made to contain, and we are asking you to release. You were meant to protect, and we are Closing statement: following Test 001/361, SCP-361 ceased to function. Any attempts to introduce its usual stimulant to it produced only a sound similar to that of a disconnected dial tone.
≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License asking you to leave the world vulnerable. It is an impossible request, this we know. But you must fulfill it if there is to be any hope for us. Release the Thirty-Six, let them come together. Let them do what needs to be done, and we shall follow.
Help three old men make the world young again. Don't let it die.
001-proposal able alive cain co-authored ectoentropic euclid hmfscp horizon-initiative humanoid religious sapient scp page revision: 44, last edited: 23 Dec 2023, 17:34 (435 days ago) Edit Rate (+718) Tags Discuss (164) History Files Print Site tools + Options ‡ Licensing / Citation ≡ |
SCP FOUNDATION SCP FOUNDATION Stars, Comets, Planets Search ABOUT COMMUNITY RESOURCES SISTER SITES Dr. Cimmerian's Proposal SCP-001 » Dr. Cimmerian's Proposal rating: +136 + – X Welcome, O5-13.
Please read this document thoroughly before making any decisions regarding the ongoing incident in your managed sector.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: Psychological counseling and/or medication relating to anxiety disorders caused by SCP-001 are to be provided to any affected staff.
MTF Kappa-10 "Skynet" is to be tasked with indexing all data related to communications regularly used in online astronomy communities. Specific care is to be paid to mentions of anxiety related to areas associated with SCP-001.
Notable observations of the two neutron stars in proximity of SCP-001 made by the astronomy community and/or reported to places of academia are to be reviewed by the anomaly's current project lead. This individual is to be granted broad authority to remove any data from public record as necessary.
Proximate area including SCP-001's exclusion zone. Edits have been made to avoid anomalous effects.
Create account or Sign in ≡ Both 81 Galatine and Secace Epsilon are to be considered exclusion zones. As the systems are located in Sector 13, O5-13's approval is necessary before entry into these systems is allowed, even in the case of a full council vote.
Description: SCP-001 is a point in space approximately 157 parsecs from Earth that, when visually observed, causes a viewer emotional distress. This distress manifests as a general and non-specific, anxiety. The anxiety itself, while treatable, is long lasting and unconnected to repeat observations of SCP-001.
SCP-001 is remarkable in that it appears to be nearly equidistant to the neutron stars 81 Galatine and Secace Epsilon. These neutron stars appear to have formed simultaneously around 1-2 million years ago. Study of these neutron stars is the source of most security breaches related to SCP-001's existence.
Exploration of SCP-001 and surrounding stellar systems by the SCPV Tolkien and SCPV Vonnegut (whose original missions were to run from 2063 to 2068) have led to a better understanding of the anomaly. Each of the surrounding stars appear to have at one time supported life-bearing planets and interplanetary civilizations.
The minor anomalous effects related to SCP-001 appear to be amplified as distance between the observer and the anomaly decreases. What effects, if any, SCP-001 may have had on inhabited planets in orbit of the neighboring neutron stars is currently being investigated.
Access Granted 1 Biological Considerations of the Sword Stars Author: Director Pat Anders Two different species of sophonts developed in this area of space.
81 Galatine Two produced a species of humanoids. The Galatinian people were a near-genetic match to terrestrial examples of Homo habilis, though how they found themselves this far away from Earth we do not know.
Secace Epsilon Seven, a small helium gas giant, produced a species of sulfur and sillicon-based sophonts. Their technological artifacts are much harder to acquire and decipher than the Galatinians.
The Secace body plan is mostly empty space and a distributed neural network.
Using methods of self-inflation and gas release they could rise, fall, or propel themselves in a particular direction.
Secace orbital bases are difficult to explore as they are inhospitable to human life.
There is a problem of sight to consider. We can bring back bits and pieces of the ruined civilizations, and that includes the remains of the dead. Yet we cannot visually observe the sky or the planets themselves without causing considerable psychological trauma. This has hindered our exploration efforts.
2 ≡ Access Granted Adapting to this, we have temporarily removed the eyes of several research teams to allow more in-depth exploration. The methods used are easily reversible and have helped us recover quite a bit of historical data from the Galatinian people.
A Brief History of the Sword Stars Author: Director Kase Agasa It should be noted that the information gathered on the conflict between the Galatinian and Secace people were recovered mostly from a Galatinian perspective.
This has introduced an unavoidable bias to this summary.
The two systems are approximately 2.3 light years away from each other. Radio signals from the Secace were detected fairly early in Galatinian technological development, though they were not understood to have a cosmic origin until later.
The signals also ceased after around a century and a half, as the Secace likely moved away from high leakage radio technology.
Anomalies were known and accepted by the Galatinian people. At first, the Secace were classified as an anomalous entity. However as more and more detail became known over the following years, the mundane nature of the Secace was accepted by the people of 81 Galatine.
The Galatinians purportedly sent an envoy and research vessel to Secace Epsilon.
It either did not arrive or did not survive the trip. This was attempted 4 additional times.
These attempts took place over a period of six-hundred years, and during this time the Secace people did not respond to radio messages, nor were any efforts carried out by the Secace to make contact.
Around twelve-hundred years after the first detected radio emissions, a probe originating from Secace Epsilon was detected on the outskirts of 81 Galatine. This probe was destroyed by a xenophobic faction of Galatinian civilization.
Fearing retaliation, an armed fleet of Galatinian ships was sent to Secace Epsilon.
These ships were destroyed en-route by a previously unknown weapon. The Galatinian government then began a number of projects to eliminate the assumed threat posed by the Secace.
After approximately four-hundred and fifty years, a significant Secace fleet was detected en-route to the home world of the Galatinians. All attempts to communicate with the Secace fleet failed.
As this fleet reached the halfway point between the two systems, both 81 Galatine and Secace Epsilon spontaneously converted to neutron stars.
≡ Access Granted The historical record ends here. It is unknown if this was a defensive move by the Galatinians or a final attack by the Secace, but it seems fairly clear from government records that anomalous means of defense and offense were being developed by both sides of the conflict.
The SCPV Tolkien and SCPV Vonnegut The exploration of both 81 Galatine and Secace Epsilon has necessitated the utilization of two interstellar vessels. Following an O5 council vote, The Tolkien and Vonnegut were selected for this assignment due to their shipboard staff having the necessary expertise.
Both are Bradbury-class exploratory vessels with a max range of 45 light years per trip through a self-generated way, and stutter warp drives for sub-light travel. Each ship has a crew compliment of 64.
The Tolkien specializes in xenoarchaeolinguistics. As the Galtatinians were a traditional terrestrial civilization, many examples of their written language exist, as well as significant recorded instances of their spoken language.
27 scientists were assigned to the project under the authority of Director Kase Agasa. Recovery teams Gamma and Phi were assigned to help collect physical evidence from 81 Galatine. The shipboard AI is a level 6 intelligence using the pseudonym Brent.
Upon landing on 81 Galatine Two, it became readily apparent that the Galatinians were not, in fact, completely deceased. The heads of the individuals were left intact and living, despite there not being any biological support systems remaining.
The Vonnegut's specialization is xenobiology and xenoanthropology. The Secacean civilization, technology, and communication networks are quite foreign to our experience, so a better understanding of these systems was the goal of the Vonnegut.
24 scientists under the authority of Director Pat Anders were assigned to the Vonnegut, along with a single recovery crew specializing in micro-gravity environs.
The shipboard AI is a level 6 intelligence using the pseudonym Majel.
It appears that the Secaceans were not limited to travel via ship, and had methods of short range near-planet orbital travel around Secace Epsilon Seven.
Approximately 34,000 corpses were found in orbit of the gas giant, with fully intact silica-sulphur neural nets.
After information was compared with the Tolkien's recovery of Galatinian heads, these neural nets were tested for activity, and found to be fully functional.
3 ≡ Access Granted ALERT.
Situation in progress.
The following briefing will be expanded as more information is discovered.
Since the Secacean people lived primarily in the upper layers of the gas giant Secace Epsilon Seven, it is believed that the majority of their population (estimated to number in the trillions) are unrecoverable.
Report on the SCPV Tolkien The Tolkien reported an infobreach approximately 3 hours before contact was lost.
A member of the recovery team was eating in the mess hall when he used a fork to scoop out both eyes. He was restrained, but the physical damage was quite extensive. The chief medical officer estimated approximately 6 weeks of recovery at a minimum.
Roughly 2 hours after this incident, the captain reported other strange behavior from several crew members. Before contact was lost, the captain displayed symptoms of paranoia and anxiety. She did not listen to commands from headquarters and cut all communication shortly thereafter.
The severity of the SCP-001 effect increases with proximity to the anomaly. Prior testing indicates it is wholly possible that the crew of the Tolkien are suffering from severe paranoia and hallucinations at this point if fully exposed.
Under normal circumstances, this would be impossible, given the safeguards we've put into place. A secondary anomaly or a less than complete understanding of the core anomaly may have led to failures in our safeguards.
The Vonnegut was redirected to act as a recovery or rescue vessel, as it was the closest ship and also had experience dealing with the anomaly. However, shortly after the Vonnegut docked with the Tolkien, it too lost contact with mission control.
Report on the SCPV Vonnegut A rescue mission was prepared aboard the Vonnegut. The rescue crew was waiting in cargo bay 3 for the docking process to complete.
During the approach, various communication signals were received from the Tolkien.
These signals originated from both the ship's crew and computer systems, though none were coherent.
Approximately 12 minutes after the first signal was received, a mechanical failure of the primary and secondary airlocks of cargo bay 3 vented 6 crew members and a ≡ Level 5 Access Required Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
member of the recovery team into space. Recovery of the bodies was tasked as a priority. However, the secondary rescue team's environmental suits began to malfunction immediately upon leaving the ship.
All remaining members of the Vonnegut's recovery team (including those sent to rescue the previous team) suffocated during these malfunctions. At this point, the command and control center aboard the Vonnegut reported a logic fault in the primary computer systems.
The Vonnegut began to suffer ship-wide system failures over the next several hours.
During this time the airlocks of the Vonnegut were inoperable. This precluded any further attempts at rescuing those aboard the Tolkien.
A final distress call indicated a failure of the life support systems. Under normal circumstances, this would allow 36 hours to affect a rescue. If airlock and door control have been compromised, this estimate may be meaningless.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation "Dr. Cimmerian's Proposal" by Doctor Cimmerian, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/dr-cimmerian-s-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: swordstars.jpg Author: Stephen Rahn License: CC0 1.0 Universal Source Link: Wikimedia Commons Filename: SCP-001-F5.html Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ≡ Filename: 0000questionmark.mp3 Author: Billith License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0001openit.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0002emptylefteyesocket.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0011evilai01.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0012evilai02.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0013evilai03.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0013evilai03.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ≡ Filename: 0014evilai04.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0015evilai05.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0016evilai06.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0017evilai07.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0018evilai08.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0019evilai09.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0020evila10.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ≡ Filename: 0021evila11.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0022evila12.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0023evila13.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0024evila14.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0025evila15.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0026evila16.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0027evila17.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ≡ Filename: 0028evila18.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0029evila19.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0030evila20.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0031evila21.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0032evila22.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0033evila23.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0035evila25.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ≡ Footnotes 1. Informally identified in the amateur astronomy community as the "Sword Stars". From Earth these stars appear 3.6 degrees below the sword of Orion.
2. Specifically the Galatine Homo habilis.
3. The study of ancient alien languages.
001-proposal audio cognitohazard computer extraterrestrial interactive keter mind-affecting sapient scp visual page revision: 90, last edited: 3 May 2024, 07:09 (304 days ago) Filename: 0036evila26.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0037evila27.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0098power_down.mp3 Author: Billith License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: 0099no.mp3 Author: Doctor Cimmerian License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ≡ Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License Edit Rate (+136) Tags Discuss (21) History Files Print Site tools + Options Powered by Wikidot.com Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable ≡ |
SCP Foundation SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us Dr. Eates's Proposal » Dr. Eates's Proposal SCP-001 WARNING: CONTINUED ACCESS TO THIS FILE MANDATES THE USE OF THE COGITO PROTOCOL. ALL CONSENTING PARTIES WILL HAVE TEN(10) MINUTES TO RESPOND BEFORE AUTOMATIC VOTE FAILURE. A SUPER-MAJORITY IS REQUIRED TO PROCEED. UNAUTHORIZED INDIVIDUALS ATTEMPTING TO INITIATE A VOTE WILL BE NEUTRALIZED.
THERE WILL BE NO ADDITIONAL WARNINGS.
PING RESPONSES RECEIVED: [15/15] QUORUM ESTABLISHED .
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INITIATING BALLOT PRESENTATION .
[6/15] VOTES RECEIVED [8/15] VOTES RECEIVED [15/15] VOTES RECEIVED TALLYING… .
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VOTE RESULT: SUCCESS YOU MAY PROCEED .
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Rating: +228 [TERMINATE SESSION AND LOG OUT] Item #: SCP-001 Level 5/001 Object Class: Keter Classified Special Containment Procedures: Secure Area-00 has been established around the space believed to contain SCP-001 and classified Level 6/Cosmic Secret. The coordinates of Secure Area-00 are asymmetrically stored in the cranial implants of 15 selected members of Foundation Leadership, considered from a pool of Ethics Committee members and Site Directors. Data contained within these implants may only be decrypted by a super-majority vote (80%). Candidates are unaware of their status as voters until and unless a vote is called.
In the event that the cipher becomes compromised or a cranial implant fails to ping, COGITO.aic will generate a new cryptographic protocol and distribute it to a new group of candidates. After the protocol has been updated, COGITO.aic will self-delete in order to purge the knowledge of Secure Area-00 and a new 'AIC' will be cloned from the template and promoted.
No access to Secure Area-00 is permitted at any time for any reason. All relevant site operation protocols, internal and external defenses, schematics, contingencies, and other related information have been expunged.
Per these established constraints, under no circumstances are Site Directors or members of the Ethics Committee allowed access to any portion of this file unless a decryption vote is taking place.
Description: SCP-001 is the absence of the O5 Council. In spite of all historical evidence detailing the activities of the O5 Council, the identities and histories of its members, and the existence of complex support structures directly and indirectly attached to the object, the O5 Council does not definitively exist.
All contemporary records relating to the O5 Council - other than those contained in this file - are believed to be either fabricated by personnel under the influence of, or directly manifested by, SCP-001 itself. All data related to the orchestration of these events has been expunged in accordance with the containment procedures.
Addendum 01: Conclusion of the Cohen Administration An epistolary chain was written by outgoing Administrator William Cohen during his final days in office circa 1965. The purpose of the letters was to assist in transferring esoteric knowledge to his successor, H.V. Oleander. Although Administrator Cohen was under the influence of SCP-001 at the time he created these documents, their contents have been deemed relevant to the containment procedures of this file.
Should any additional records be discovered pertaining to this matter, personnel are instructed to immediately disengage from the material and contact Internal Security using challenge response "Carthage".
Dear Harold, Trust is an important and scarce resource for those with power, and so in this moment I offer you my full vulnerability in the hope my words ring true. My untimely retirement has been well advertised throughout the Foundation but the reasons why are at best a convenience. A tar clings to my mind, sticking to every neuron and slowing my every thought. In truth, I am unwell.
The symptoms first began approximately eight years ago. If only I could tell you the whole story but this disease has started its feast on my freshest memories, leaving me only the distant past as a surety. I will try to piece things together for as best I can.
It was late 1957 and the Soviet probe Sputnik-1 had been orbiting the Earth for a number of months. Although the probe had outlived its scientific usefulness it was still in the upper atmosphere out of Foundation interest; something was trying to communicate with it while drawing closer.
By Christmas, the signal was detected hourly. By New Year's Eve, every 90 seconds. And on January 4th, 1958 the signal stopped and the unidentified object arrived.
Site-00 invited guests so rarely that I was simply stunned when they summoned me to the war room. We worked tirelessly throughout the night until the situation finally changed. A single, brief burst of gamma radiation as Sputnik stopped reporting telemetry and we saw its orbit begin to rapidly decay.
Almost all at once the Council started picking up their phones and making calls.
They were scrambling jets. They were alerting air defense forces. They were waking up heads of state.
There was no hostility in the actions of either the probe or its passenger. No new weapon signatures, no threatening maneuvers. Why would they risk an international incident by shooting down the first ever space probe? Why give in to fear? Why destroy a piece of world history on the cusp of discovery? They were working each other into a frenzy, shouting louder and louder, until logic was dethroned and I could only sit with my head in my hands.
For the first time I truly understood how alone I had let myself become. The few friends and trusted advisors I had left at this point in my career were nowhere to be found.
Whether I was ready or not, the final decision was brought before me: To shoot down the probe or to let it land. People crowded all around and glared down at me, asking me, telling me, to give the order. Were they daring me, with their heat and pressure, to become something more?
Would that I could tell you of my clarity, my brilliance. But instead, I gave in to my fear, my cowardice, my loneliness. I told them to do what they thought was best. I let them shoot it down.
Addendum 02: Recovered Documentation And now what credibility do I have left to disagree with them? I am but a mouthpiece. A sad, old puppet tangled up and caught in the very strings used to make him dance.
Tomorrow, my last official act will be going to Site-00 to hand in my credentials. It is my solemn hope that by passing the torch along to you now, before it must be pried from my senile hands, that you will be able to steel yourself against the many difficult tests I am sure you will face. Just as I have shown you vulnerability here in the hopes I might gain your trust, please consider asking the same from those who would insist you trust them.
Sincerely Yours, Former Administrator, William Cohen.
The following documents are attributable to the O5-Council in the years following the conclusion of the incident described in Addendum 01. While the O5 Council has frequently endorsed, ratified, or co-authored documentation there is no record of the Council releasing a statement or taking an action autonomously prior to these memorandum.
Should any additional records be discovered pertaining to this matter, personnel are instructed to cease reading these records and contact Internal Security using challenge response "Troy".
FROM: O5 COUNCIL, ET AL TO: LEADERSHIP COMMITTEE PURPOSE: MEMORANDUM OF UNDERSTANDING Foundation, The Individual you call your administrator has proven insufficient. We solicit you to make your preparations and nominate another.
PROPOSAL: THE RIGHT-HAND PATH AWAITS US VOTES FOR: All VOTES AGAINST: None STATUS APPROVED Addendum 03: Conclusion of the Oleander Administration An epistolary chain was written by outgoing Administrator H.V. Oleander during his final days in office circa 1988. The purpose of the letters was to assist in transferring esoteric knowledge to his successor, Natalia Ellingbrooke. The contents of these letters have been deemed relevant to the containment procedures of this file.
Should any additional records be discovered pertaining to this matter, personnel are instructed to immediately disengage from the material and contact Internal Security using challenge response "Carthage".
MEMORANDUM-1962-06-11 MEMORANDUM-1965-11-11 MEMORANDUM-1958-03-20 Natalia, When the end of my tenure came into focus and your succession was announced I felt a clear sense of what little armor I had left being stripped from me. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and I was hopeful that my personal outlook would grow brighter, but it has not.
I used to have such an ego. This job, this life, and the burdens that surround it crush and squeeze you until all you have left is what they force you to keep. My mind and my soul feel as if they've been contorted into the shape of someone I no longer recognize. My predecessor, may he rest in peace, described his final years as if he were trapped behind smoky glass and made to watch a foggy world pass him by.
Like some sort of voyeur. I, too, feel imprisoned but I realize that it was never a looking glass. It is a mirror.
It was November of '85. An unusually powerful Nor'easter had ravaged New England and caused serious complications to Site-31's power grid. I won't belabor the specifics as you'll have access to the full documents, but the result was a multi- stage containment breach where we lost track of an info-vore. There was plenty of blame to go around in how this was handled but these concerns soon drifted into the background.
We did not detect the object again until late March of '86, this time leeching from a government facility in Warsaw, Poland. Given my previous failure in allowing this entity to escape, I personally organized the mission with the hopes this could be quickly put to bed. Within a matter of days, teams were in place and the chase was on. We had the entity and its host cornered but the O5 Council intervened in the 'interests of international sensitivity'. I'll never know but I suspect their interference would have found an equally frustrating form if I have acted otherwise.
We called a joint session in the war room in order to monitor what I believed to be the final stages of the hunt, although the Council did not share my enthusiasm.
Sparing you the specifics, the Council's decision to engage local and international governments in Poland proved to be a fatal error; the entity went to ground in a new, unwitting host before we could capture it. The trail stayed warm and we were ultimately led into Soviet territory: Pripyat, Ukraine.
The Council and I met regularly over the next few weeks as we attempted to isolate the entity. Their heavy-handed oversight dogging my every command, they managed to blunt the instincts of our field agents so completely that the trail gradually became colder and colder. I pushed back against the Council and our meetings became quite intense.
The O5s were pragmatic to the Nth degree if not outright fearful, unable to see past the risk of war. While I must admit we were playing with fire, I had felt every bit in command of the situation before their interference. If I could have only found a way to bring them over to my side, to get them working with me, maybe things would have been different. But for what they were demanding of me? This was an impossibility.
Addendum 04: Post Incident Report The following document was filed by the O5-Council and Classified Level-1 in the wake of the events outlined in Addendum 03. Although the document was eventually reclassified under access controls, it was read by a considerable number of global Foundation staff with SCiPNET access. The consequences of this breach of information security are documented elsewhere, but can be summarized as extensive.
The task force was all wrong, no overtures had been made to the Soviet government, support was too far away, the risk assessment of the entity was unreliable, and a thousand other excuses they waved in my face. I was chosen knowing I would have to manage situations of this magnitude, but the brink of a nuclear disaster? How could I put that decision on anyone else but myself?
Six hours in the situation room. Then twelve. Then twenty-four. Then forty-eight.
Phone calls from field commanders asking for orders. "Maintain," was all I could come up with while I weighed our options and the Council kept inventing new lines of thought to debate. What was I to do? How could I even think?
To let my decision be governed by calculated probability, or to trust my gut with the fate of the free world on the line?
During the middle of the night on April 26th, 1986, we all paid the price for my indecision.
I've had almost two years to reconsider the sequence of events that led to that disaster. Two years of being raked through the coals for everything I did and said, or failed to do or say. Much more than any other mission in my long and storied career, this one weighs the most heavily. And as the final insult? We still do not have the entity re-contained.
By the time you receive this message I will have had my final day as Administrator.
My last official act will be an appearance at Site-00 before the O5 Council. I will hand them my typed and signed resignation, and my most heartfelt and sincere apology for what my collapse has cost both the Foundation, and the world at large.
I had always found it very easy to work with the Council when the stakes were low and nothing of any major consequence was on the line. In truth I had never felt as if I might have needed them before that night, but in my solemn reflection I find myself wondering if they ever truly felt they needed me until that night either.
Do better. Please.
Best Wishes, Harold Vincent Oleander Former Administrator.
AFTER ACTION REPORT-1986-04-28 CASUALTY ASSESSMENT This template is to announce an After Action or Corrective Action Casualty Report for either declared or undeclared events, training, coordinated exercises, or other occasions as necessary. Personnel wishing to utilize this form acknowledge that the previous report is either inaccurate or incomplete and data herein supersedes the other documentation..
Name of Agency Overwatch Command Type of Agency Command Unit/Leadership Unit Completed By O5 Council, et al Date Report Completed 12th of November, 1988 Description Of Incident A chain of events that began with a containment breach at Site-31 has caused a trail of political turmoil throughout much of Eastern Europe, and culminated in a nuclear disaster with potentially centuries-long environmental and geopolitical consequences. As a result of these events, substantial alterations to existing treaties of cooperation and treaties of financial obligations have been significantly increased, likely permanently.
Description of Ideal Response Commitment to a Greater Purpose.
Description of Actual Response The obsession of The Individual resulted in the immediate deaths of 19 Foundation agents and is likely to result in the deaths of more than 30,000 humans as a direct, causal link to this nuclear disaster.
Elements of Successful Response Hesitation and isolation were incidentally beneficial in avoiding the commitment of additional resources, which would have also been casualties.
Elements for Immediate Improvement We recommend that the healing process commence by first assigning blame. The collective good would be served by purging liability.
Other: This matter has been forwarded to the Ethics Committee.
PROPOSAL: WE WOULD HAVE HELPED.
ANYONE WOULD HAVE HELPED.
STATUS WHY DENY IT??
Addendum 05: Conclusion of the Ellingbrooke Administration An epistolary chain was written by outgoing Administrator Natalia Ellingbrooke during her final days in office circa 2005. The purpose of the letters was to assist in transferring esoteric knowledge to her successor, Michelle Wilkes. The contents of these letters have been deemed relevant to the containment procedures of this file.
Should any additional records be discovered pertaining to this matter, no atypical security measures are necessary.
Dear Michelle, As you've likely surmised from our few meetings, I walk with a pronounced limp and favor my left leg. How I came to be like this isn't especially interesting but what it did to me might be of interest to a person in your position.
Any man or woman changes when they are exposed to pain. Simply put, it has to go somewhere. If you hold it all within yourself, it may stay contained but it will surely destroy you when you've had your fill. It festers in all the spaces you let it occupy, warping and scarring what used to be healthy, happy tissue sat beneath. Some people have hobbies, but me? I've always just had my work.
I've been ringside for so much pain in my time with the Foundation. My predecessor left me a note, much like I am leaving you in my final days, and in it he warned me of the tremendous duty and guilt he mantled in order to do his job. Although the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune stung him quite keenly, I assure you I have suffered every bit his equal.
The breach at the Olympics in '94 Losing control of Site-248 in '96.
Botched facility transfer of Hong Kong in '97.
Bombings in Bali in '02.
The dispute with ORIA in the Congo in '03.
The GOC Ultimatum in '04.
I have stepped on a lot of people to get where I am. Yes, of course I did so in the name of the Foundation's greater mission, but I was motivated even more intensely by my own advancement. I needed no one else to get to the top, but my keen awareness of the needs of others, my ability to read a room, was the difference that set me above the other candidates.
Perhaps they thought that I could learn to be different when there was nowhere higher on the mountain to climb. Nowhere else to look but down at the cold, tired, dirty faces of the people I walked over to reach this summit. A noble thought, but it depends solely on my own capacity to nurture the fruit of that faith. I fear I am barren.
Although I have weathered much, my tenure ends not with the sort of precipitating bang that ousted Oleander, but rather the quiet whimper of stepping away from a battle I no longer wish to fight. I am tired of the Council calling a meeting on every decision I try to make and I am tired of calling one on every decision they try to make without me. I guess that reasoning is one last tribute to the selfish life I have led.
Addendum 06: Project Briefing The following project proposal was developed by various project teams at Sites-21, -78, and -107 with oversight and project management from newly appointed Administrator Michelle Wilkes. The project requirements were ratified by the Overwatch Command Committee on Infrastructure and construction began in earnest shortly thereafter.
My ideal way to say goodbye would have been to simply stop coming in. My desk would have sat empty, emails unread, until one day a courier showed up with my keys and badge. But even here, at the end of my career, the O5 Council insists on refusing to let me be myself. So tomorrow I will play the part of a dutiful officer resigning her post and walk away from Site-00 with my head held high and those overbearing bastards in the rear-view mirror.
I pray that your head will never be so bowed as mine has.
Best Wishes, Natalia Ellingbrooke Project: TETHYS Project Briefing: Level 5 Classified FOREWORD: Primary Objective: Cooperate with local and regional governments in order to modify the Three Gorges Dam facility. The purpose of these modifications is to enact containment protocols on entity 2005-C-ET-011 without significant impact to the integrity of the dam. Specific project requirements developed by engineering teams; all requirements are mandatory.
Secondary Objectives: Further analysis of entity 2005-C-ET-011 in order to achieve proper classification. Post hoc modifications to project facility in order to comply with secondary determinations.
According to current timetables, the Three Gorges Dam project at the Yangtze River should pass final testing and come online in late 2009. Out of an abundance of caution, it is critical that initial containment procedures for Entity 2005-C-ET-011 be fully implemented prior to the completion of this facility. The sheer breadth of engineering required to retrofit the parts of the dam that have already been completed, as well as to build Secure Area-248, surpasses any project previously attempted by the Foundation in both scope and monetary commitment.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of engineering teams from our CN, JPN, RUS, and SEA facilities, a practical and aggressive solution is available to us before the threat becomes uncontrollable. I would also like to thank the Foundation Geopolitical Initiative for their expert navigation of regional political sensitivities in sourcing these materials so quickly. And I would finally like to thank the various environmental impact teams which will allow us to enact our solution without compromising the efficacy of the Three Gorges project.
Although the difficult work of implementing this vision still lies before us, I am proud to say that the response to this emergent need has only served to validate the high standards we must hold ourselves to in order to protect the future. As the saying goes, success has many parents.
Thank you, M. Wilkes Administrator Method: <Operational information redacted for brevity> Futher information available in named project folder.
Addendum 07: Memorandum of Understanding The following epistolary chain is an exchange between Administrator Wilkes and SCP-001 which began shortly after the presentation of the project proposed in Addendum 06. This chain of communication is understood to be complete and no autonomous communication originating from the O5 Council has occurred since the conclusion of this documentation.
FROM: O5 Council TO: Administrator Wilkes Administrator, We cannot approve your project proposal and We deny our signatory at this time.
We share your pragmatism that greater challenges await this ambitious task. Please report for a briefing on Tuesday at 19:00 hours and We will bring you up to speed on the matters at hand. We are worried but believe you capable, for now.
We can help.
Formally, O5 Council FROM: Administrator Wilkes TO: O5 Council Council, Thank your for your expeditious response to this important project. While I, of course, would hear out any concerns you might have about the viability of this project I will need you to state them in more tangible terms so we can have a productive discussion.
Please have a bulleted list of concerns you intend to cover sent to my office as soon as possible so we can make the most efficient use of our time. If necessary, we can kick the meeting out to early next week if you need time to gather this list. We need to move on this project quickly.
Sincerely, Administrator Wilkes FROM: THOSE WHO KNOW BETTER TO: ADMINISTRATOR WILKES Administrator, We have been doing this for a long time and have a great deal of context-sensitive information We can give you. No matter our bullet points and memorandum, there will be matters for which you are unprepared. We will talk. We do not approve your project. We want to help. We know you need it. We can give it. We will see you on Tuesday.
PROPOSAL: UNDERSTANDING IS A PROCESS.
WE CAN GUIDE.
VOTES FOR: All VOTES AGAINST: None STATUS ACCEPT FROM: Administrator Wilkes TO: O5 Council Council, I am certainly willing to work with you to get this approved but I need to do so from a position of preparedness and strength. Please send those materials immediately. I'm not sure if this was the nature of your relationship with my predecessor but I'd like for us to do each other the favor of letting our interactions stand on their own.
Thanks.
Administrator Wilkes FROM: THE COUNCIL TO: ADMINISTRATOR XXXX ADMINISTRATOR, We know how important it is to get off on the right foot. Although This Body respects you and the autonomy which you command, We have also seen many come and go.
You were chosen from your peers but they have chosen many others in the past. We remain unconvinced.
Before you, Ellingbrooke, who spent her whole life pushing others aside so she could lead. She left all others behind. Trees with no roots do not hold to the ground.
Before her, Oleander, who wanted so much to be seen as your Hero in white. He could no longer live with himself once his clothes were stained, but The Sin does not define The Saint.
Before him, Cohen, who wanted nothing more than to be the one who made the decisions. He collapsed in on himself when there was no easy victory. No man is an island.
And a dozen more whose names We have subrogated.
You need Us.
You are not enough.
PROPOSAL: SEEING IS BELIEVING.
VOTES FOR: All VOTES AGAINST: None STATUS ACKNOWLEDGE FROM: Administrator Wilkes TO: O5 Council Council, Your approach is both personally insulting and professionally unacceptable.
I have transitioned countless duties from my predecessor, read the notes and meeting minutes of a dozen boards , assessed the strengths and weaknesses of 24 business units and departments, and otherwise prepared myself for these challenges for the better part of two years. I was nominated by a search committee, vetted in four different and highly invasive stages of interview, and my election was ratified not only by my predecessor and a great many of my peers, but by the O5 Council as well.
Furthermore, this proposal was formulated by a committee of a dozen of our most astute and clever containment specialists who have found successful means of containing entities every bit as dangerous as this one, and in far less ideal circumstances. The containment recommendations were then translated into plans and schematics by scores of engineers who all have multiple masters degrees in their respective fields, with 20+ years of experience each, and countless other intangible qualifications.
After all of that, half a dozen departments of equally capable personnel worked tirelessly to find the money, the supplies, the personnel necessary to carry out this vision and then shipped them all to China so we can begin.
What could you possibly have to say to me in person that they have not already covered? I trust them, and I wish you would too.
I await your answer, Administrator Wilkes FROM: THE COUNCIL TO: ADMINISTRATOR NASCENT ADMINISTRATOR, Your distinctiveness did not arise from the ether; You are a synthesis of available materials and experiences. If needed, another could be synthesized.
We are needed. We are necessary. We synthesize.
You are not. You cannot.
Become We or become They. The choice is yours.
PROPOSAL: REPORT TO SITE-00 FOR NEW EMPLOYEE ORIENTATION.
VOTES FOR: All VOTES AGAINST: None STATUS SAFE NEED FROM: Administrator Wilkes TO: O5 Council Council, Thanks for clarifying. I think that I understand now.
Administrator Wilkes FROM: YOUR PEERS TO: WILKES ADMIN, We want what's best for Us.
PROPOSAL: GRAB THE LAST OLIVE BRANCH VOTES FOR: All VOTES AGAINST: None STATUS NOW FROM: Administrator Wilkes TO: O5 Council Council, Are we meeting Tuesday or not? This is the last time I am going to say this; send me a summary of your concerns so I can talk with our engineers and containment specialists, or stop wasting my time.
Administrator Wilkes There is a gap of several days without any recorded further correspondence.
FROM: THE ONLY FRIEND YOU HAVE TO: ATELIS SHELLY, PROPOSAL: you ARE READY?
VOTES FOR: NONE VOTES AGAINST: ALL STATUS YOU NEED US FROM: Administrator Wilkes TO: O5 Council Council, No.
You cast your shadow over the future with your threats and intimidation, certain we would be nothing without you, but I am forced to wonder who or what would you be without us? I stand with the countless thousands that have died for our mission, the people that have engineered our solutions, the people that will build them, and the people that will risk their lives in order carry out these procedures in the hope our mission might one day be complete. Without them, I know I would be nothing.
We are willing to take our chances without you.
I am going to offer you the same choice you gave me. Become We or become They.
Consider carefully, Administrator Wilkes Addendum 08: For Your Eyes Only FROM: The Administrator TO: Overwatch Command; Ethics Committee; Site Leadership Colleagues, I was told this position would challenge me with the hardest decisions I have ever had to make from the very beginning. And that the spirit and integrity with which I faced these first challenges would set the tone for what is to come for not only myself, but the entirety of the Foundation.
We may either rise to meet the occasion, or we may run from what duty might demand and retreat within procedures, votes, and protocols to hide from accountability. I choose the former.
By the authority granted to me in the Charter for the Foundation, I hereby suspend the appointment of the O5 Council, effective immediately, until such time as it once again proves necessary.
Best Wishes, Michelle Wilkes Administrator FROM: O5 Council TO: Administrator Michelle Wilkes Administrator, PROPOSAL: YOU ARE READY.
VOTES FOR: All VOTES AGAINST: None STATUS APPROVED Attention Administrator: The following epistolary has been unlocked and appended to this document following successful verification of your identity and the execution of the COGITO protocol. Instructions for the continued amendment of this document are being forwarded to your encrypted mail channel at this time. The AIC will assist you with any further questions.
FROM: Michelle Wilkes, Administrator TO: My Duly Designated Successor Colleague, If you are reading this, the reality of my untimely and unplanned demise has come to pass. This is a possibility that any member of the Foundation should prepare to face if they take their duty seriously, and after nearly twenty years at the helm I have most certainly made my peace with the idea. But before they install your placard on the door, I have one solemn duty that remains to be carried out: to prepare you for what lies ahead.
You have no doubt been inundated with files, briefings, phone calls, and so much more in the days since your appointment, but in that chaos what is truly important can easily be pushed into the background. Consider now, before fate takes away the luxury of time, what type of person, co-worker, and leader you want to be.
Each and every one of the Administrators before me was challenged in terms both great and small during their tenures, and I was no exception to this pattern. The office you occupy is not about the power and influence you now command. Nor is it even about the unfathomable responsibility you must now shepherd. It is instead about the character, integrity, and vision with which you meet the test of leadership and, should you prove worthy, surmount it.
You and the people you will lead must be asked to undertake tasks no person should ever be asked to carry out. Yet duty and the safety of all mankind demand that you make this sacrifice. For them. For each other.
If your resolve should ever falter, know that everyone you lead stands with you. We are ready to follow you into the blackest night if you let us believe in the promise of dawn.
But should your resolve ever break, the Council awaits. They will invite you to Site- 00 if you ask. You need only surrender.
Best wishes, M. Wilkes Former Administrator « Dr. Eates Personnel File » Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
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Dr. Mackenzie's Proposal SCP-001 » Dr. Mackenzie's Proposal rating: +658 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: All elements of SCP-001 are to be contained in separate, environment-controlled lockers at Site Zero. The location of Site Zero is classified Level 5, and is only known by members of O5 Command.
Access to SCP-001, its transcriptions and data is restricted to O5-level personnel except during Protocol Zero. Protocol Zero may only be enacted by a direct, unanimous act by the entirety of O5 Command, and Protocol Zero procedures are to be disseminated only to those specifically permitted by O5 Command.
Description: SCP-001 is a set of two (2) objects and thirty-three (33) documents belonging to [DATA EXPUNGED], alias "The Administrator".
SCP-001-01 and SCP-001-02 are, respectively, [DATA EXPUNGED] SCP-001-03 through SCP-001-35 are a mixed set of handwritten and printed documents.
They are normal in all respects except that they do not show signs of aging or fading in any way, and dating of the paper on which they are comprised of has shown inconsistent results. The contents of these documents, as detailed below, consist of [DATA EXPUNGED] [DATA EXPUNGED] [DATA EXPUNGED] [DATA EXPUNGED] as these objects formed the impetus for the creation of the SCP Foundation, and all of its constituent activities and processes. As such, this information is only to be disseminated by direct order of O5 Command as per Protocol Zero.
CLASSIFIED LEVEL 5 BY ORDER OF O5 COMMAND - EYES ONLY Unauthorized access of these documents is punishable by immediate termination.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Addendum 001-01: Analysis of SCP-001-01 and SCP-001-02 SCP-001-01 is a smooth device composed of an unidentified gray metallic substance, approximately 22 cm wide, 30 cm tall, and 1.5 cm thick. It is unusually heavy, weighing approximately 8.2 kg. It is equipped with a small digital display, and has a single opening that appears to be a type of keyed activation switch. Attempts to disassemble the device or analyze its technology have been unsuccessful so far, as there appear to be no seams or fasteners visible on the device. Attempts to image the interior of SCP-001-01 utilizing x- ray or magnetic resonance have resulted in inconsistent results, suggesting that the device is either too dense to properly image or has inconsistent internal topography.
SCP-001-01 appears to only be capable of displaying two indicators. One appears to be a status or progress bar with an accompanying number, currently at approximately 23%.
The other indicator is a single digital counter displaying the number ██,███.
SCP-001-02 is a small key composed of the same unidentified metallic substance as the main casing of SCP-001-01. It is currently assumed that this is the activation key for SCP- 001-01.
Addendum 001-02: Transcript of SCP-001 Documents SCP-001-03 is a personal diary belonging to The Administrator. SCP-001-04 through SCP-001-35 were inserted between various pages of SCP-001-03 at time of discovery.
Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 1: I always hated the idea of writing in a diary. Documentation is one thing, but I guess I never saw the point in putting down my personal thoughts.
The scientist in me is telling me that someday, someone might want to know how this all started.
Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 3: They say that the first time is always the hardest. I have managed to secure funding and personnel from the federal government, and I have established an organization that will allow me to continue the research.
President [REDACTED] insists that I turn the Device over for safekeeping, but I have made it clear that I can't let it out of my possession.
Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 7: Progress, unfortunately, has been slow these past decades. I am adamant that we cannot reproduce the technology until we have found a solution, as I am sure that unless we kill both birds with one stone, we will simply hasten the process.
≡ Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 9: I had to kill them. They had been reproducing the technology all along, and hiding it from me. I will be moving on in the next 24 hours. This place is doomed at this point.
Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 15: Again. I will not make the same mistake again. The mere thought of lying to the very people I need to reach my goal is bitter, but I can no longer afford to let them know the truth.
SCP-001-05 is a page printed from what appears to be an inkjet printer, found inserted between pages 15 and 16 of SCP-001-03. This page has been preserved in the same unidentified method as the rest of the documents in SCP-001.
Memo from the Office of The Administrator Humanity has existed in its current state for hundreds of millennia, yet only the last few have held any meaning for us. What did we do for the countless years before recorded history? We huddled in caves, warding off the night with small fires, fearful of the things that we could not understand. It was not just that we did not understand why the sun rose every morning, it was the mystery of enormous fish with the heads of men, and rocks that came to life, and monsters that drove those who saw them mad. So we called them 'angels' and 'devils', begged them to spare us from their wrath, and prayed for salvation.
As time passed, their numbers died out and mankind flourished. The world began to make more sense. Yet, the unexplained can never truly go away, as if the universe requires for there to be things we can never truly understand.
We will not go back into the dark, fearful night. We will not be ruled by the unknown. We will stand up for ourselves.
Even as the rest of humanity remains uninformed, we will fight the darkness, containing it and shielding it from the eyes of the common man, so that they can continue to live in the blissful illusion of a normal world.
Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 22: Their faces haunt me in my dreams. Hundreds, thousands of them. Ones ≡ who blindly went to their deaths. For me.
Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 28: Made a mistake. Told someone the truth, the night before I left. Had to use the last of my original medical supplies. In a way, I wish he'd aimed for the head.
Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 41: This one solved an equation that could set a framework for the rest of the solution. I killed them by my own hand. Could they have ever imagined that it was an act of mercy?
Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 64: I suddenly remembered today what they told me before I left. They said that I probably wouldn't see anything, that I would probably simply fall asleep and wake up again. They lied. I can see them as they are consumed by madness, as the walls of reality crack and shatter, only to be replaced as if nothing happened. I can see everything.
Final Excerpt from SCP-001-03, page 68: It is finally done. The equations are complete, the math is sound, but it comes too late once again. This team will not have the time to construct the Solution, and I will have to abandon the Foundation again. But, I do so with the knowledge that no more will have to suffer the same fate.
SCP-001-34 is a worn, handwritten page discovered between the front cover and first page of SCP-001-03.
To whom it may concern: First, I want to say that I am sorry for everything. I have most likely doomed you and everyone you have ever known to death and destruction by my mere presence in your world. If you are in possession of — and reading — this document then I am probably dead. If that is the case and I did not bother to destroy this evidence, then that means I have also probably failed in my mission. This means that my responsibilities have now passed onto you and that your fate and the fate of your world are now in your hands.
≡ I was not born into your world. I am a traveler from a parallel plane of existence, an alternate reality separate from your universe. The year from which I originate is of little consequence; if I've learned anything from my travels, the passing of time from universe to universe is meaningless.
What is important is that in my plane of origin, mankind was highly advanced. We harnessed the power of entire stars, molded planets and moons alike to suit our needs, and even learned to manipulate the fabric of reality itself. We had conquered death through advances in medicine and technology, and we thought ourselves masters of our own fates.
We realized too late that all such things have a cost, and that our greed and hubris would not only result in the loss of everything we held dear, but doom countless others as well. Our meddling in the structure of existence had opened up cracks and twists in the fabric of reality, a Corruption of the multiverse that we had failed to notice earlier because we could not see the pieces of our reality leaking into others. By the time feedback began to manifest, it was already too late to stop it.
Before this Corruption consumed us completely, we came up with one final fail-safe. We would gather up what knowledge we could save and sacrifice our world to send a single individual through to the next. This could not repair the damage that had already been done, but could buy us the time to start over, to find a way to stop the Corruption of reality. That individual was me.
If you have not already found them, then the evidence to support my claims will begin to bleed into your world soon enough. Like a rain of glass, the shattered remains of other universes will begin to fall and slip into yours. Things that defy your understanding, fixed loops and structures without meaning or rhyme, that cannot be destroyed by any means you possess. Things that drive men mad and challenge all the assumptions that you hold dear.
That which I carry with me is the final legacy of countless worlds. The equations and technology described in its pages carry with them the hope of stopping the Corruption, a hope that has come with a heavy price. They are the last will and testament of a bloody trail of universes that have sacrificed and been sacrificed that those who remain may avoid their fate.
At the time of this writing they are nearly complete, but time is ever against me. If I am no longer able to see this mission through to its bitter end, then it falls to you to finish what I began.
Good luck, [DATA EXPUNGED] The Administrator ≡ SCP-001-35 is a single handwritten page found between the last page and back cover of SCP-001-03. The handwriting in SCP-001-35 is inconsistent with that of the other handwritten documents in SCP-001.
[DATA EXPUNGED], This is it, the last evidence that our civilization will have ever existed. No one is entirely sure what will happen when you activate the fail-safe. Some of them are saying that the backlash from using it will instantly shatter what remains of our existence. Others are saying that using something of this power will merely accelerate the Corruption by a hundredfold. Either way, it will be quick. By the time you wake up at your destination, there will be nothing left of our home.
You already know that it will only carry a single passenger, and the second team should have your gear ready by the time you're ready to go. I can only hope that with the time we've bought you, you can find a way to stop this disaster. If not, the device will keep track of the relative corruption level of local reality as well as how many times it's been activated. A bit sadistic of us, perhaps?
By the time you read this, I will already be dead. I'm sorry, but you have always been the stronger one. I don't have the strength to face the end with my head held high. Not without you.
I love you.
Addendum 001-03: SCP-001-36 References found within the documents comprising SCP-001 suggest the existence of SCP-001-36, an electronic device or large document containing comprehensive technological and mathematical data related to SCP-001. The current whereabouts of SCP-001-36 are unknown.
Cite this page as: "Dr. Mackenzie's Proposal" by Aelanna, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/mackenzie-s-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
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SCP Foundation SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us Harmony's Proposal II » Harmony's Proposal II SCP-001 Rating: +149 Presidential motorcade directly prior to Incident-001-Γ.
Special Chronology Procedures Incident- 001-Γ's definitiv e, canonical timeline is recorded on solid state databases . Two copies exist, one is located within a secured headquarters and the location of the other is known to the Overseers.
"Red Right Hand” has successfully seized all documentation of Incident-001-Γ which are not currently available to any public.
Current theory is that as a result of SCP-001's effect, there exists no possibility for any trespassing within SCP-001's continuity via distortion of time and/or dimensional space.
Quality of life health insurance plans and any extraordinary medical expenses are to be provided to the witnesses of Incident-001-Γ.
Massive publicizing and public re-affirmation of established perspectives on Incident-001-Γ are to be disseminated through both reputable and alternative news sources in order to blunt the spread of uncontrolled manufactured information. Marketing and production front companies are to fund independent media outlets creating, distributing, and selling advertising space on media catering to narrow niches of alternative perspectives which are rooted to or branched off of an Incident-001-Γ perspective variant.
Description 1 Possible documentation of lone individual present during Incident-001-Γ.
SCP-001 is the projectile which killed U.S. President John F. Kennedy, fired by an unidentifiable number of assailants acting simultaneously as part of one or more conspiracies. Upon impact, human perception began falling out of sync with objective reality at an individual level.
The events surrounding SCP-001's trajectory are designated as Incident-001-Γ.
Although the divergent standards of objectivity are largely compatible enough to allow for human society to function, that does not mean they are not a threat to the long-term viability of human civilization and intelligent life as a whole. It is possible that the current formation of reality exists as a result of a VK-Class reality restructuring scenario.
I n d i v i d u a l s w i t h l i v i n g m e m o r y of Incident-001-Γ are the last population of humanity able to agree on any shared concept of truth, their shared experience in seeing or hearing about Incident-001-Γ. The percentage of still-living eyewitnesses negatively correlates to the density of unnatural potential energy manifesting in the observable universe as anomalous phenomenon.
Their collective memory provides a consistent base of widely, but not universally, held truths. This in turn stabilizes the increasingly individualized SCP-001 perspectives, as it is the last living shared certain truth among Earth's population.
Witnesses who do not otherwise provide valued testimony and who have robust physiques may volunteer for experimental and indefinite life- extending experiments, in order to preserve the stabilizing effect their memory provides for as long as the human body can allow.
A statistically significant minority of witness testimony report variations on so-called "Badge Man" even taking into account inflation caused by civilians seeing unfamiliar Secret Service and other security forces. The only conclusively proven participants in Incident-001-Γ are John Kennedy and Lee Oswald, although they did not have any prior contact. Other individuals have been named or described often enough to be viewed as persons of interest.
On New-Fashioned Bilateral Universality On New-Fashioned Bilateral Universality Collected testimony and evidence for Incident-001-Γ and SCP-001 Collected testimony and evidence for Incident-001-Γ and SCP-001 Truth & Facts Committee Truth & Facts Committee Historical Relevance Committee, Anti-Revisionist Task Force Historical Relevance Committee, Anti-Revisionist Task Force Preamble: Preamble: As the increased veiling segmentation of the sheep As the increased veiling segmentation of the sheep has produced a confusing number of potential perspectives for has produced a confusing number of potential perspectives for personnel to be prepared for, a conclusive report on the personnel to be prepared for, a conclusive report on the development of more branching worldviews and how they may development of more branching worldviews and how they may conflict with each other in order to properly prevent badsight conflict with each other in order to properly prevent badsight is the accurate and correct way to maintain veiltruth.
is the accurate and correct way to maintain veiltruth.
Interpersonal arguments are not considered to be infringing on Interpersonal arguments are not considered to be infringing on the sanctity of veiltruth at this time as collated through the sanctity of veiltruth at this time as collated through this documentation.
this documentation.
S. I - Summary of Events & Suspects S. I - Summary of Events & Suspects On 11/22/1963, at 12:30 p.m, Lee Oswald fired two bullets from On 11/22/1963, at 12:30 p.m, Lee Oswald fired two bullets from the sixth floor of the Texas Schoolbook Depository. Oswald's the sixth floor of the Texas Schoolbook Depository. Oswald's first shot missed, striking a concrete curb. The second shot first shot missed, striking a concrete curb. The second shot mortally wounded the President and injured the Governor. A mortally wounded the President and injured the Governor. A third shot (SCP-001) lethally vaporized U.S. President third shot (SCP-001) lethally vaporized U.S. President Kennedy's cranial cavity.
Kennedy's cranial cavity.
For the approximate decade between Incident-001-Γ and the For the approximate decade between Incident-001-Γ and the ascension of President Gerald Ford, SCP-001's effect was ascension of President Gerald Ford, SCP-001's effect was widespread but largely benign. The disparity between widespread but largely benign. The disparity between perception and reality was growing, but gradually and in a perception and reality was growing, but gradually and in a linear fashion. The fractalization did not begin to occur linear fashion. The fractalization did not begin to occur until the failed attempt to assassinate President Ford on until the failed attempt to assassinate President Ford on September 5, 1975 by Lynn "Squeaky" Fromme.
September 5, 1975 by Lynn "Squeaky" Fromme.
In both crowds, all witnesses reported seeing differing In both crowds, all witnesses reported seeing differing versions of the events, most of which did not have President versions of the events, most of which did not have President Ford surviving. Two weeks later, Sara Jane Moore made a Ford surviving. Two weeks later, Sara Jane Moore made a subsequent attempt on Ford's life in order to reconcile her subsequent attempt on Ford's life in order to reconcile her knowledge of his death with his visible living person. The knowledge of his death with his visible living person. The exponential spread of SCP-001's effect can be demonstrated by exponential spread of SCP-001's effect can be demonstrated by Gerald Ford's sincere belief from at least 1976 until his Gerald Ford's sincere belief from at least 1976 until his death that the Soviet Union had withdrawn from eastern Europe death that the Soviet Union had withdrawn from eastern Europe during the Nixon administration.
during the Nixon administration.
Written By Written By In Association With In Association With 38th U.S. President Gerald Ford exactly 11 years and 10 months 38th U.S. President Gerald Ford exactly 11 years and 10 months after Incident-001-Γ.
after Incident-001-Γ.
Alleged photograph documenting the 'Badge Man'.
Alleged photograph documenting the 'Badge Man'.
Histori Histori cal cal documen documen ts ts reflect reflect ing the ing the officia officia l story l story are to are to suggest suggest that it that it was the was the scandal scandal which which caused the proliferation of distorted information throughout caused the proliferation of distorted information throughout society, and not the survival of President Ford.
society, and not the survival of President Ford.
Any scenario, whether there exists witness testimony or not, Any scenario, whether there exists witness testimony or not, could be true given the ephemeral nature of truth and could be true given the ephemeral nature of truth and falsehood on a conceptual level.
falsehood on a conceptual level.
Suspect & Witness Testimony Suspect & Witness Testimony __Babushka Lady__ __Babushka Lady__ Foreword: Foreword: The so-called "Babushka lady" was briefly The so-called "Babushka lady" was briefly held in custody by the Dallas Police, giving a brief held in custody by the Dallas Police, giving a brief statement before she was released. There is no record statement before she was released. There is no record as to when or why she was released from custody.
as to when or why she was released from custody.
BL: BL: Yeah, I saw old man Zapruder with that 'camera', Yeah, I saw old man Zapruder with that 'camera', right? Pretty good view from that pillar, especially right? Pretty good view from that pillar, especially since the TV crew wasn't there to hog the space. I'm since the TV crew wasn't there to hog the space. I'm sure a few frames with extra white puffs will just sure a few frames with extra white puffs will just happen to go missing, right?
happen to go missing, right?
((Pause. Lighter flicking.
Pause. Lighter flicking.)) My grandmother loved to play the games she could win.
My grandmother loved to play the games she could win.
Her favorite was Her favorite was Find the Lady Find the Lady. All you need is a . All you need is a ball, three cups, and a rube to play. There was never ball, three cups, and a rube to play. There was never a shortage of eager and willing rubes.
a shortage of eager and willing rubes.
Grammy relished in showing off every cup as slow as Grammy relished in showing off every cup as slow as she could, then covering the ball and going to work she could, then covering the ball and going to work once she had their trust. Rube watching, she'd shuffle once she had their trust. Rube watching, she'd shuffle and move 'em all around fast as tilt-a-whirls. Rube, and move 'em all around fast as tilt-a-whirls. Rube, with luck, picks the right cup. Oh, the sweet talk with luck, picks the right cup. Oh, the sweet talk she'd use to string them along, come on, double down, she'd use to string them along, come on, double down, let's play one more time, just for the laughs. Poor let's play one more time, just for the laughs. Poor saps get convinced they've sliced the gambling knot.
saps get convinced they've sliced the gambling knot.
Everyone was ready to think they were special.
Everyone was ready to think they were special.
We both had a sixth sense for knowing when rubes were We both had a sixth sense for knowing when rubes were getting ready to cash out. By then, they're not even getting ready to cash out. By then, they're not even the same person they were when the game started, not the same person they were when the game started, not after they've been on a hot streak long enough that after they've been on a hot streak long enough that the money's as good as half-spent to them.
the money's as good as half-spent to them.
Zapruder is being played as a shell game. That's the Zapruder is being played as a shell game. That's the point. If you've seen any home movies— the shaky point. If you've seen any home movies— the shaky blurs, the way the timing always seems just a little blurs, the way the timing always seems just a little 'off'? That's by design. The unreality on the surface 'off'? That's by design. The unreality on the surface conceals that if you look at it hard enough, you'll conceals that if you look at it hard enough, you'll find the fatal flaw. You'll find where the Lady is find the fatal flaw. You'll find where the Lady is hiding. And never realize… there ain't no Lady to hiding. And never realize… there ain't no Lady to find.
find.
__Umbrella Man__ __Umbrella Man__ Foreword: Foreword: Anonymous tape recording by the alleged Anonymous tape recording by the alleged "Umbrella Man", a person to speak to since he was seen "Umbrella Man", a person to speak to since he was seen in photographs holding an umbrella beside the in photographs holding an umbrella beside the motorcade on a sunny day.
motorcade on a sunny day.
The Kennedy Administration has been a disaster for The Kennedy Administration has been a disaster for time and space.
time and space.
Hello, if this take sounds good enough for government Hello, if this take sounds good enough for government work, then it shall be dropping off outside one of work, then it shall be dropping off outside one of your fake used bookstores that really trades in god- your fake used bookstores that really trades in god- knows-what.
knows-what.
There are a million different ways I know you're There are a million different ways I know you're looking for me, so don't bother looking for a leak.
looking for me, so don't bother looking for a leak.
Waste of time. My name is Louie Steven Witt and you Waste of time. My name is Louie Steven Witt and you can come talk to me if you want to.
can come talk to me if you want to.
It was my intention to let President Kennedy know of It was my intention to let President Kennedy know of my displeasure towards him. It was a secret symbol, my displeasure towards him. It was a secret symbol, the umbrella, one only he and I would know. Not only the umbrella, one only he and I would know. Not only would it be disrespectful to the late President, but would it be disrespectful to the late President, but also his family line.
also his family line.
My umbrella can shoot blow darts, yes. But it didn't.
My umbrella can shoot blow darts, yes. But it didn't.
I didn't have any of them on me, I only brought this I didn't have any of them on me, I only brought this particular umbrella because it is my only black one.
particular umbrella because it is my only black one.
Came directly from the Prime Minister, oh, Neville, Came directly from the Prime Minister, oh, Neville, you ravishing cad.
you ravishing cad.
I've been so lonely since then. The last time I shared I've been so lonely since then. The last time I shared any great excitement. I could see the pallor on the any great excitement. I could see the pallor on the faces of passers-by. Truth be told, they probably all faces of passers-by. Truth be told, they probably all saw me the same way. Well, in each of their own little saw me the same way. Well, in each of their own little ways they saw me as they saw the world: ways they saw me as they saw the world: Skewed, and a little cracked. Fragile, holding Skewed, and a little cracked. Fragile, holding together, but, fundamentally?
together, but, fundamentally?
Broken.
Broken.
__Secretary Reedy__ __Secretary Reedy__ Foreword: Foreword: George Reedy was appointed Press Secretary George Reedy was appointed Press Secretary by President Johnson after the latter's accession to by President Johnson after the latter's accession to power.
power.
I remember someone once told me Kennedy knew it was a I remember someone once told me Kennedy knew it was a killbox. 100% certainty. There were a thousand ways to killbox. 100% certainty. There were a thousand ways to die in Dealy Plaza, and Kennedy had made peace with die in Dealy Plaza, and Kennedy had made peace with all of them. Why? Back was killing him. The job was all of them. Why? Back was killing him. The job was killing him. Re-election looked likely, four more killing him. Re-election looked likely, four more years of torture and then what?
years of torture and then what?
No more hurting and, God-willing, heavenbound by the No more hurting and, God-willing, heavenbound by the hands of another man.
hands of another man.
Tragedy should make us come together as one. But now Tragedy should make us come together as one. But now you, and I, and everything, it's split up in little you, and I, and everything, it's split up in little black boxes, I'm not paranoid. The walls have closed black boxes, I'm not paranoid. The walls have closed in and now we're standing straight up in the dark. I in and now we're standing straight up in the dark. I was there when it happened.
was there when it happened.
My first thanksgiving after, everybody on my Mom's My first thanksgiving after, everybody on my Mom's side of the family was convinced that I had been side of the family was convinced that I had been convicted of the President's murder. Then, I started convicted of the President's murder. Then, I started to remember it too. I could hear Lyndon's boasting to remember it too. I could hear Lyndon's boasting that we would have the greatest administration of all that we would have the greatest administration of all time, and we'd lick the Soviets too. Maybe it did time, and we'd lick the Soviets too. Maybe it did happen that way, I haven't convinced myself enough to happen that way, I haven't convinced myself enough to be sure. So… I know I squeezed a trigger but I can't be sure. So… I know I squeezed a trigger but I can't remember whose hand it was I was squeezing, if that remember whose hand it was I was squeezing, if that makes sense.
makes sense.
I don't like going out anymore, people all know. Some I don't like going out anymore, people all know. Some of them know. Others know other things. But I know of them know. Others know other things. But I know that I don't know anything. Nothing true, at least.
that I don't know anything. Nothing true, at least.
__Jack Ruby__ __Jack Ruby__ Dallas Police Interview: Jack Ruby Dallas Police Interview: Jack Ruby Interview taken inside the Dallas Police Headquarters Interview taken inside the Dallas Police Headquarters following Jack Ruby's shooting of Lee Oswald following Jack Ruby's shooting of Lee Oswald RUBY: RUBY: My first thought was, "It's over with. Mr.
My first thought was, "It's over with. Mr.
President, you have been avenged". Lighten up a little President, you have been avenged". Lighten up a little bit, ya pricks, the bad guy got his just desserts.
bit, ya pricks, the bad guy got his just desserts.
RUBY: RUBY: You can’t be fucking serious. We all know he did You can’t be fucking serious. We all know he did it, right? Ah, you know, it was one of you blues that it, right? Ah, you know, it was one of you blues that said I would do the world a favor if I capped him. I said I would do the world a favor if I capped him. I mean, maybe not thinking I would, but I can't say that mean, maybe not thinking I would, but I can't say that he meant anything. Just that he told me to do it.
he meant anything. Just that he told me to do it.
RUBY: RUBY: I’m gonna be just like Boston Corvette. Yeah the I’m gonna be just like Boston Corvette. Yeah the uh, the barn gun guy who did the pop at James Booth.
uh, the barn gun guy who did the pop at James Booth.
RUBY: RUBY: You don’t need school to know what stuff is. I You don’t need school to know what stuff is. I know one of your guys told me that I was gonna do it.
know one of your guys told me that I was gonna do it.
RUBY: RUBY: He had a yellower, maybe kind of possibly could He had a yellower, maybe kind of possibly could even be sunflower colored.
even be sunflower colored.
RUBY: RUBY: You know me, y’all can't treat me like a You know me, y’all can't treat me like a stranger. I'm calm. I got it together now.
stranger. I'm calm. I got it together now.
RUBY: RUBY: I did it, I’m proud of it and I’ll do it again I did it, I’m proud of it and I’ll do it again if the little shit still has a pulse tomorrow. If my if the little shit still has a pulse tomorrow. If my hands can stop shaking.
hands can stop shaking.
RUBY: RUBY: So look, between you and me, and the guy, I know So look, between you and me, and the guy, I know the guy who was at the alley door. Well, you know you the guy who was at the alley door. Well, you know you know me! You all know me! So I told him I'd get a good know me! You all know me! So I told him I'd get a good look for him. You know what he said to me? Joking, look for him. You know what he said to me? Joking, this is what he says to me, he says 'first drink is on this is what he says to me, he says 'first drink is on me if ya plug him!' but he had no idea. I really, I me if ya plug him!' but he had no idea. I really, I knew, but, I had no idea.
knew, but, I had no idea.
RUBY: RUBY: Guess he must feel a little shook up now. But I Guess he must feel a little shook up now. But I didn’t do it because he told me.
didn’t do it because he told me.
RUBY: RUBY: I was coming back from sending one of my girls I was coming back from sending one of my girls some cash, didn’t even decide if I would do it. Until some cash, didn’t even decide if I would do it. Until I did it.
I did it.
RUBY: RUBY: Quit kidding around, you know I always have a Quit kidding around, you know I always have a piece on me. Just in case. Like tonight. You guys piece on me. Just in case. Like tonight. You guys still have the coffee pot going this time of night?
still have the coffee pot going this time of night?
Right know I can feel my ticker going a mile a minute Right know I can feel my ticker going a mile a minute but after I crash I'm going to need a boost to keep but after I crash I'm going to need a boost to keep myself from dozing off on the way home.
myself from dozing off on the way home.
RUBY: RUBY: You're not funny. I'm not gonna keep repeating You're not funny. I'm not gonna keep repeating myself. Saying the same thing over and over again so myself. Saying the same thing over and over again so you screws can yuk it up when you make me trip on my you screws can yuk it up when you make me trip on my own truth.
own truth.
RUBY: RUBY: Can't believe he did it with Jackie Oh right Can't believe he did it with Jackie Oh right next to him. That poor woman. That poor, poor woman.
next to him. That poor woman. That poor, poor woman.
How did someone that small shoot the President like How did someone that small shoot the President like that? Do you think it’s going to rain tomorrow?
that? Do you think it’s going to rain tomorrow?
RUBY: RUBY: She had that coat, to pull out all the stops for She had that coat, to pull out all the stops for the city. It’s the pink one. Someone told me it the city. It’s the pink one. Someone told me it changed when her husband’s brains got all over it. I’m changed when her husband’s brains got all over it. I’m sorry Mr. President. You see, I didn’t want her to sorry Mr. President. You see, I didn’t want her to have to go through a trial when we all know he did it.
have to go through a trial when we all know he did it.
There’s all this other horseshit they’d try to drag There’s all this other horseshit they’d try to drag in. My club's a classy spot, so fine, why, say, do you in. My club's a classy spot, so fine, why, say, do you fellas wanna maybe come tonight once we're done here?
fellas wanna maybe come tonight once we're done here?
RUBY: RUBY: It’s alright, I closed over the weekend but It’s alright, I closed over the weekend but we’re still open tomorrow.
we’re still open tomorrow.
RUBY: RUBY: But it was one of you guys who told me to do it, But it was one of you guys who told me to do it, so I’m okay to leave, right?
so I’m okay to leave, right?
__Fidel Castro__ __Fidel Castro__ CASTRO: CASTRO: [Yes, I admit it, I was there. My men were [Yes, I admit it, I was there. My men were there with me also. We there with me also. We did did have guns. Our mission have guns. Our mission was was to show the Capitalist's top lap dog how to properly to show the Capitalist's top lap dog how to properly assassinate somebody. The CIA just can't get it done.
assassinate somebody. The CIA just can't get it done.
But that was before I met my Kathleen.] But that was before I met my Kathleen.] CASTRO: CASTRO: [Kathleen Sinclair. We met in a black market, [Kathleen Sinclair. We met in a black market, and bonded over a shared love for Cuban cigars and the and bonded over a shared love for Cuban cigars and the finer things in life. But, she was chained to the finer things in life. But, she was chained to the Canadian bourgeoisie ruling class through her Canadian bourgeoisie ruling class through her politician husband. He's the Minister of Fisheries or politician husband. He's the Minister of Fisheries or something very boring like that.] something very boring like that.] CASTRO: CASTRO: [No, we never talked of our homelands. It was [No, we never talked of our homelands. It was just there, in my moment. We made a password that just there, in my moment. We made a password that nobody can hear, not ever, but I share it with her and nobody can hear, not ever, but I share it with her and if we ever wish to meet again, say it and our names in if we ever wish to meet again, say it and our names in a public statement. A signal for everyone with a a public statement. A signal for everyone with a meaning just for us.] meaning just for us.] CASTRO: CASTRO: [Don't laugh! You have all sounded like [Don't laugh! You have all sounded like teenagers again at some point in your lives. I wish I teenagers again at some point in your lives. I wish I could take her to a baseball game, but safety is not could take her to a baseball game, but safety is not guaranteed outside a safe nest.] guaranteed outside a safe nest.] CASTRO: CASTRO: [I have apologized to my frustrated men, and I [I have apologized to my frustrated men, and I apologize to you. Thank you for sending a good apologize to you. Thank you for sending a good submarine to get us even after you knew the mission submarine to get us even after you knew the mission failed, Cuba thanks you for your services to our failed, Cuba thanks you for your services to our revolution.] revolution.] CASTRO: CASTRO: [Do you really need to know the word? Okay.
[Do you really need to know the word? Okay.
Okay. It was 'Justine'.] Okay. It was 'Justine'.] __Lee Oswald__ __Lee Oswald__ Lee Harvey Oswald Interrogation Session 7 Lee Harvey Oswald Interrogation Session 7 Attending Officers: Attending Officers: Arresting Force Arresting Force Precinct: Precinct: Dallas Police Headquarters Dallas Police Headquarters OSWALD: I'm not squealing OSWALD: I'm not squealing or or whining. Hey. Hey! I just whining. Hey. Hey! I just started living I just started working here! Just doing started living I just started working here! Just doing my job!
my job!
OSWALD: I don’t know how that cop got shot. It doesn’t OSWALD: I don’t know how that cop got shot. It doesn’t matter. Everyone dies sooner or later.
matter. Everyone dies sooner or later.
OSWALD: Really? Even here, in Dallas? I'm surprised, OSWALD: Really? Even here, in Dallas? I'm surprised, there's really so many people outside ready to rip me there's really so many people outside ready to rip me limb from limb? Do they know who I am? Are any of them limb from limb? Do they know who I am? Are any of them saying anything like "Hey but that was some shot huh?" saying anything like "Hey but that was some shot huh?" OSWALD: I appreciate good marksmanship. Even if it OSWALD: I appreciate good marksmanship. Even if it wasn’t me who fired the shot.
wasn’t me who fired the shot.
OSWALD: You have no proof. You’re framing me.
OSWALD: You have no proof. You’re framing me.
OSWALD: It won’t go back like that! It hurts!
OSWALD: It won’t go back like that! It hurts!
OSWALD: I didn’t try to do anything for anyone.
OSWALD: I didn’t try to do anything for anyone.
OSWALD: I’m not hungry OSWALD: I’m not hungry OSWALD: The cops were already there. I saw badges in OSWALD: The cops were already there. I saw badges in the crowd.
the crowd.
OSWALD: I've never shot at another person even once in OSWALD: I've never shot at another person even once in my whole life.
my whole life.
OSWALD: Not the General, not the President, not the OSWALD: Not the General, not the President, not the Governor. I don't know.
Governor. I don't know.
OSWALD: I was home. My wife will tell you. She’ll tell OSWALD: I was home. My wife will tell you. She’ll tell you!
you!
OSWALD: I don't know how it got there. I don't know.
OSWALD: I don't know how it got there. I don't know.
But I took care of my gun! If that was my piece. If it But I took care of my gun! If that was my piece. If it was my gun it's- you'll know because I took care of was my gun it's- you'll know because I took care of it. The gun. My gun.
it. The gun. My gun.
OSWALD: I didn't do that to his head! But you know OSWALD: I didn't do that to his head! But you know what? I’ve got nothing to say. not gonna be set up what? I’ve got nothing to say. not gonna be set up with whatever that was.
with whatever that was.
OSWALD: I ran out because… see I was keeping it cool, OSWALD: I ran out because… see I was keeping it cool, but I had… looked out the window and it's just then, but I had… looked out the window and it's just then, when I was looking out the window, I start seeing the when I was looking out the window, I start seeing the whole world shatter like everything outside the window whole world shatter like everything outside the window was a movie being projected on glass, and then behind was a movie being projected on glass, and then behind that there was another reel playing except now the that there was another reel playing except now the President's head is gone. I didn't want to stick President's head is gone. I didn't want to stick around for the ending.
around for the ending.
OSWALD: God, what an awful mess. What a god-damned OSWALD: God, what an awful mess. What a god-damned awful mess.
awful mess.
__Secret Service Agent Hickey__ __Secret Service Agent Hickey__ Hickey: Hickey: I've never regretted not regretting anything I've never regretted not regretting anything as much as seeing Kennedy's head.
as much as seeing Kennedy's head.
Hickey: Hickey: He did a weird jerk, and he put his hands up, He did a weird jerk, and he put his hands up, I thought something was wrong. Too right, too right.
I thought something was wrong. Too right, too right.
The hole was on the bottom of the back of his head. It The hole was on the bottom of the back of his head. It wasn't bleeding but it was coming out. I could feel it wasn't bleeding but it was coming out. I could feel it pulling my eyes in.
pulling my eyes in.
Hickey: Hickey: I saw a long, long way in.
I saw a long, long way in.
Hickey: Hickey: All of this happened over about a second. And… All of this happened over about a second. And… Hickey: Hickey: I discharged my weapon, right then as whatever I discharged my weapon, right then as whatever I saw was gone, so was he. I'm sorry.
I saw was gone, so was he. I'm sorry.
S. II - Individual-Aggregate Level Veil S. II - Individual-Aggregate Level Veil Effect Effect The most common effect of SCP-001 is frustration. The belief The most common effect of SCP-001 is frustration. The belief that one is skilled, but unable to get a job, or that they are that one is skilled, but unable to get a job, or that they are wonderful people yet nobody seems to like them. Unable to wonderful people yet nobody seems to like them. Unable to understand that they are being paid less than they think they understand that they are being paid less than they think they are. Feeling cramped and confined even if they see themselves are. Feeling cramped and confined even if they see themselves living in a big house all to themselves.
living in a big house all to themselves.
Wrongness is there, it can be felt, but it cannot be Wrongness is there, it can be felt, but it cannot be explained. It manifests in psychological disorders such as explained. It manifests in psychological disorders such as Imposter Syndrome. At a certain level, they know that they Imposter Syndrome. At a certain level, they know that they don't belong. One more way to feel the lonesomeness of SCP- don't belong. One more way to feel the lonesomeness of SCP- 001.
001.
__Dying Castro__ __Dying Castro__ CASTRO: CASTRO: [It wasn't worth it.] [It wasn't worth it.] CASTRO: CASTRO: [What do you want to know about? Second [What do you want to know about? Second Havana?} Havana?} CASTRO: CASTRO: [I was there. I know how the world works.
[I was there. I know how the world works.
Nobody knows any place well, not even the places they Nobody knows any place well, not even the places they know best. But this also means that nobody else knows know best. But this also means that nobody else knows the places well and there is plenty of space being the places well and there is plenty of space being watched by nobody at all.
watched by nobody at all.
CASTRO: CASTRO: [Everywhere we go is just the idea of that [Everywhere we go is just the idea of that place only we can know.] place only we can know.] CASTRO: CASTRO: [I tried to share it with Kathleen. But she [I tried to share it with Kathleen. But she couldn't see it. Then she couldn't see us.
couldn't see it. Then she couldn't see us.
CASTRO: CASTRO: [Our daughter made me the father-in-law to one [Our daughter made me the father-in-law to one Prime Minister, and the grandfather to another one.] Prime Minister, and the grandfather to another one.] CASTRO: CASTRO: [At some level, my grandson must know. I was [At some level, my grandson must know. I was never sure enough to call him my grandson, though, so never sure enough to call him my grandson, though, so he could never be sure enough of our familiarity. Such he could never be sure enough of our familiarity. Such is life!] is life!] CASTRO: CASTRO: [I'll never see any of them, or go there, ever [I'll never see any of them, or go there, ever again. Why is it true, that we all die alone?] again. Why is it true, that we all die alone?] Mannlicher–Carcano allegedly owned Mannlicher–Carcano allegedly owned and used by Lee Oswald and used by Lee Oswald Those with less self-awareness may be promoted via the Dilbert Those with less self-awareness may be promoted via the Dilbert Principle, that incompetent individuals will be promoted until Principle, that incompetent individuals will be promoted until they can no longer do damage. This is a natural organizational they can no longer do damage. This is a natural organizational self-defense measure as the structure is aware something is self-defense measure as the structure is aware something is wrong, even if none of the participants themselves are able wrong, even if none of the participants themselves are able to.
to.
The so-called "Mandela Effect" arises when the degree to which The so-called "Mandela Effect" arises when the degree to which any given person is out of sync with reality drifts further in any given person is out of sync with reality drifts further in their living memory, so that what was true to them once is no their living memory, so that what was true to them once is no longer so. However, this is easily rationalized and is not longer so. However, this is easily rationalized and is not considered to be damaging except in rare cases.
considered to be damaging except in rare cases.
Analysis of social movements derived from SCP-001 was at first Analysis of social movements derived from SCP-001 was at first limited to immediate interpretation of the Kennedy limited to immediate interpretation of the Kennedy Assassination, but following disruption of the assassination Assassination, but following disruption of the assassination attempt on Gerald Ford and the subsequent lack of new renewals attempt on Gerald Ford and the subsequent lack of new renewals of blood, the fracturing of collective truth has continued on of blood, the fracturing of collective truth has continued on its path to disintegration.
its path to disintegration.
When a critical mass of When a critical mass of knowledge an individual knowledge an individual is able to interpret as is able to interpret as factual have no factual have no connection to reality as connection to reality as defined by physical laws defined by physical laws and natural forces, it and natural forces, it will frequently cause them to disconnect most of their will frequently cause them to disconnect most of their familial and social relationships. This withdrawal is usually familial and social relationships. This withdrawal is usually a result of frustration and confusion. They may begin to make a result of frustration and confusion. They may begin to make new social connections in small networks of those who find new social connections in small networks of those who find that their alternative viewpoints overlap on at least some that their alternative viewpoints overlap on at least some measures.
measures.
Even in these extreme cases, this does not prevent those with Even in these extreme cases, this does not prevent those with heavily altered viewpoints from carrying out the functions heavily altered viewpoints from carrying out the functions which have become routine. This is more a result of muscle which have become routine. This is more a result of muscle memory, as their will to engage with the wider world is memory, as their will to engage with the wider world is totally broken by their SCP-001 experience.
totally broken by their SCP-001 experience.
Conclusions: Conclusions: There is no purpose on speculating who killed President There is no purpose on speculating who killed President Kennedy. Every guess is correct to someone.
Kennedy. Every guess is correct to someone.
Nobody can see the world the same way as anyone else. That's Nobody can see the world the same way as anyone else. That's just the way it is.
just the way it is.
Normalcy is a comfort to those confused by SCP-001, and should Normalcy is a comfort to those confused by SCP-001, and should be provided whenever possible.
be provided whenever possible.
We Secure, Contain, and Protect.
We Secure, Contain, and Protect.
°×××°×××_°××°°°°×_°×××°°×°_°××°×××° . Along with any other resources necessary to maintain a ‘stable’ lifestyle Footnotes 1.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
"Harmony's Proposal II" by Anonymous, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/roget-s-conspiracy-theory-for-scp-001. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: Blackdogman.PNG Author(s): Mary Moorman (Mary Krahmer) License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia Filename: Badgeman.jpg Author: Mary Moorman License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia Filename: smiles Name: John F. Kennedy motorcade, Dallas crop.png Author: Victor Hugo King License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia Filename: ford Name: President Ford winces - NARA - 7065142.jpg Author: David Hume Kennerly License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia Filename: Oldpapertexture01.jpg Author: Smartscrutiny License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source Link: Wikimedia Powered by Filename: rifle Name: Mannlicher-Carcano Rifle Owned by Lee Harvey Oswald and Allegedly Used to Assassinate President John F. Kennedy - NARA - 305134 (page 1).jpg Author: Unknown License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia TAGS↴ 001-proposal cadaver concept ectoentropic explained historical in-rewrite k-class-scenario mind-affecting scp weapon Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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SCP-001 » Ihp/Locke Proposal rating: +571 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Thaumiel Level 3/001 Classified SCP-001, Entrance Alpha. Foundation front purposefully expunged.
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001-K containment cycles are to be monitored from observation stations no more than fifteen meters away from the relevant containment area or threshold, using systems that do not compromise the integrity of the cycle. The SCP-001-K containment cycles must be maintained at all costs. Containment cycle failure has a non-zero chance of generating a spontaneous K-Class End-Of-The-World Scenario.
Certain members of personnel, during the course of their employment at the Foundation, either acquire or awaken anomalous properties that make them unfit for continued duty at their previous positions. These include, but are not limited to: SITE-100 PERPETUAL CONCORDIAL CONTAINMENT Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Manifestation of a chronic anomalous illness, such as Lycanthropy (Class 3 or below), Stevenson Syndrome, and Photonic Gastric Discharge Syndrome.
Manifestation of spectral phenomena, particularly Deering-class Hauntings. and Hirose- class manifestations.
Sudden expression of traits from anomalous DNA.
Awakening of thaumaturgical abilities equal to or higher than Class-4 ("Archmagus").
Awakening of psionic capabilities, particularly Delphi- and Dahl-class individuals.
For an expanded list of qualifying conditions, see Document 001-3, Pages 15-203.
Foundation personnel that meet the above criteria are to be removed from their current positions and reassigned to SCP-001; this is to be viewed as a form of punishment by the larger Foundation, in an effort to discourage individuals from actively attempting to acquire anomalous capabilities. The term 'Keter Duty' is to be used to refer to this reassignment.
Locations that are listed as the site of reassignment are to similarly reinforce the idea that 'Keter Duty' is a highly undesirable punishment. This list currently includes: Point Nemo Cape Maude, Antarctica Vladivostok, Russia The Darién Gap, Central America Pyongyang, DPRK Site-87, Wisconsin, USA Site-36, India Foundation HALO Facility Gilgamesh Stonehenge, United Kingdom Roswell, New Mexico, USA Various Foundation Waste Disposal facilities Any assignment in a national capital (i.e. Washington, D.C., USA and Ottawa, Ontario, Canada) Any non-Foundation military encampment or base Lunar Area-32 Upon arrival to Site-100, individuals are to be escorted directly to Administration for orientation and explanation of their new assignment and administration of memetic agents in order to implant knowledge of various non-intuitive pieces of information regarding SCP-001 (such as the layout of Site-100, the location of personnel quarters, and the measures necessary to properly dispose of waste within the facility).
Each of SCP-001's 'Roots' are to have signs staged at either terminal, giving directions for all necessary instructions and rituals required to traverse them, as well as listing travel restrictions.
Thresholds within the containment sectors that do not lead into Roots are to have an eight-meter exclusion radius in all directions, enforced by armed guard. Personnel may only cross thresholds that correspond with their individual clearance levels. In the event that the threshold leads to an extraterrestrial or extra-universal location, said personnel must also be accompanied by a contingent of personnel with at least a Class IV combat certification.
Currently, SCP-001 is experiencing extradimensional interference, indicating an imminent Migration event; determining the source of this interference is Priority Alpha.
1 2 3 ≡ Description: SCP-001 refers to Site-100, a non-Euclidian facility that was either constructed or discovered by the Foundation in the early 1900s. Entrance Alpha, the primary entrance to SCP- 001, is currently located in the south-western United States; the next Migration event is expected to occur in 2024 2021.
The interior of SCP-001 has been excavated from at least one extradimensional space, with anomalous transit corridors, colloquially known as 'Roots', connecting them. These Roots possess various anomalous properties, and are typically in an exterior natural environment of some form, despite SCP-001 being entirely subterranean. For example: Root Aleph, connecting the Archives to the Core, is a volcanic beach that abruptly terminates in a sheer obsidian wall that extends into the horizon. Fish that appear to be made of living igneous rock are found swimming in the waters.
Root Beth, which connects Sapient Containment and the core, opens into a large hallway with walls made of glass and mirrors, similar to an archetypal fun house attraction.
Individuals who attempt to walk through Root Beth inevitably end up at their starting point.
Root Daleth, connecting Conceptual Containment and the Core, is a vast, glowing ocean with no transversable path. Due to the nature of Conceptual Containment, constructing or bringing in a water-faring vessel is highly impractical.
Root Vav, connecting Esoteric and Conceptual Containment, is a vast field that is filled with various varieties of fruit trees that is incapable of being crossed. A year-long expedition into Root Vav resulted in failure after a member of the expedition team expressed a desire to return home, and all members of the team found themselves back in Esoteric Containment.
Root Tzaddi, connecting Administration and CMS resembles a large igapó forest.
Exploration into this area shows it to be on top of some form of floating mountain. Signs directing individuals to the path appear when areas are not being observed. Flamingos (Phoenicopterus ruber) are the sole species of animal that inhabit Root Tzaddi.
Root Peh, connecting Administration and Archives, runs through the fifth floor of a tenement building in an unknown city. Inhabitants are humanoid, and will invite Foundation personnel to partake in recreational activities with them.
4 A map of SCP-001's Euclidean geography. All areas barring Entrance Alpha, Administration and the Archives have apertures leading to the outside of Site-100.
5 6 ≡ Root Shin, connecting Sapient and Conceptual Containment, acts as the primary power generator for Site-100, as it contains several hundred perpetual motion machines which generates a constant 8.7gW of electricity SCP-001 is divided into ten major sectors: Entrance Alpha, Administration, Archives, six additional containment sectors, and the 'core' sector. The structural elements of each containment sector appears to be concrete and rebar, with tiled flooring and fluorescent lighting reminiscent of standard Foundation Site construction. However, each of the containment sector is several stories tall and are framed in a panoptic structure, with the floors accessible via several glass elevators situated in the open central space.
Each containment area contains several instances of SCP-001-K or access apertures (termed 'thresholds' by Site staff) to areas of localized reality containing these items if physically located outside of SCP-001. Each SCP-001-K instance represents an anomaly that is capable of perfectly containing an extant Keter-class SCP object. These items are contained in such a way that their individual anomalous properties result in the containment of all items in the same area.
Certain humanoid and/or sapient Keter-class anomalies (such as Dr. Audrey McGrath, Agent Ji- Hu Choe, and Containment Specialists Deino, Enyo and Pephredo Gray) have been forcibly conscripted by SCP-001 to act as Foundation personnel to aid in containment using their anomalous abilities; this conscription anomalously prevents any official Foundation documentation from referencing these individuals using SCP designations beyond the generalized SCP-001-K designation.
In the event that a newly created or discovered anomaly is designated as Keter-class, SCP-001 will begin a process of 'judgement'. During this, at least one section of wall within a containment area will recess into itself, with a short summary of the SCP in question (typically less than three sentences) written upon it. Following a period between two weeks and seven months, if SCP-001 deems the item as needing to be contained within itself, the recess will deepen and expand, and the corresponding SCP object will appear inside it, alongside a second, newly generated SCP- 001-K instance used to contain it. This SCP-001-K instance is generated along with relevant documentation, such as containment procedures, images, and occasionally, experiment logs; individuals mentioned in these logs recall taking part in listed experiments, but cannot remember when they occurred.
In certain cases, SCP-001 will reject an SCP object; for example, SCP-008 was deemed to not require containment within itself, and was reassigned a Euclid classification.
The following is a partial list of SCP-001-K instances and their methods of containment.
Objects designated as SCP-001-K SCP-001-K Description Containment method SCP-3984, an anomalous phenomenon where no member of the kingdom Animalia (including humans) is capable of dying.
K-2935, An alternate universe where every observable organism— including most sapient AIs and some entities known to possess complete immortality— have spontaneously died.
The open threshold between K-2935, intermingling with SCP-3984, caused an end to an ongoing ΩK-End-of- Death Scenario. The threshold can be passed through with no ill effect on the baseline universe; it is believed that the 'death' effect in K- 2935 and the ΩK-Class scenario are subverting each other's effect, allowing for the continued existence ≡ of both life and death. Organisms within K-2935 have begun to decompose due to bacteria and fungi unintentionally introduced from Site- 100, effectively re-introducing life into the K-2935 universe.
SCP-5007, an entity of unknown origin that inhabits the Bass Strait, a body of water between mainland Australia and Tasmania.
K-169, a gargantuan arthropod that was originally located in the Atlantic ocean, before being forcibly moved to the south Pacific surrounding Australia.
Following the consumption of a vast amount of K-169's mass, SCP-5007- C is currently believed to be 'choking' on K-169 due to the sudden appearance of several large barbed growths on the carapace of the surviving portion, holding it in place.
SCP-5007's activity has dropped to negligible levels, barring an occasional sea quake when it 'gags'.
Allison Eckhart, an extradimensional Allison Eckhart that contains several Allison Eckharts that are capable of negatively affecting non-Allison Eckharts when given a semantic Allison Eckhart.
Allison Eckhart, An Allison Eckhart affecting Agent Allison Eckhart, which causes Allison Eckhart and all of her component Allison Eckharts to have the semantic identifier of "Allison Eckhart".
The semantic identifier of Allison Eckhart was introduced to Allison Eckhart, causing all instances of Allison Eckhart within Allison Eckhart to be assigned the semantic identifier of Allison Eckhart; as Allison Eckhart cannot properly function with concrete semantic identifiers, all Allison Eckhart instances have entered into a quasi-comatose state.
This has not affected anomalous entities that are in the same species and/or clade but not associated with Allison Eckhart.
SCP-4040, a 'pataphysical singularity' responsible for the creation and maintenance of Nexus Zone 18 (Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin) K-1698, a probabilistic anomaly that results in individuals becoming unable to reach or exit specific areas due to intervening circumstances, such as jammed doorways, blocked roads, or errant gusts of wind.
SCP-4040 has been 'cut off' from the rest of Nx-018, as well as the world, by K-1698's effect, while SCP-4040's 'gravity' prevents the phenomenon from spreading any further.
Individuals have been able to reach SCP-4040, but barring the use of other anomalous items or phenomena, this can only be accomplished once per individual.
≡ SCP-5859, a memetic vector affecting the phrase 'E pluribus Unum', which results in individuals who handle currency bearing this phrase to join communes cut off from the rest of society.
K-2078, a memetic agent which references an individual that has run in every U.S. Presidential Election, who runs on a pro-gustatory platform; infection by this agent causes drastic behavioral changes in affected individuals, particularly increased appetite.
K-2078's campaign platform has included the reintroduction of the E pluribus unum motto since 1984; this has altered SCP-5859's intended effect so that individuals are now compelled to further consume various products of American make, particularly foodstuffs. Further countermeasures regarding obesity caused by this interaction are under consideration.
SCP-3003, an extraterrestrial civilization of humans ruled by SCP-3003-2, a species of sentient microbe, which will attempt to conquer Earth some time before 2050.
K-1233, An entity that resembles an EMU-type spacesuit, proclaiming itself to be the "Moon Champion". Entity is highly durable, and is capable of flight speeds exceeding Earth's escape velocity using its jetpack.
The threshold leading from SCP-001 to SCP-3003 is inaccessible by all SCP-3003-# instances, but K-1233 is capable of free ingress and egress.
They display combat capabilities not documented in the file created by SCP-001; these capabilities seem specifically suited for destroying SCP-3003-1 and SCP-3003-2 instances. Currently, K-1233 is leading a large-scale rebellion against SCP-3003-2 made up of liberated SCP-3003-3 instances; full eradication of SCP-3003-2 is expected by 2029.
SCP-5501, a "wet plate" camera from the 1800s along with 18 photographs, which act as apertures into an alternate reality filled by immensely hostile entities.
K-1983, an extradimensional space containing hostile Tartarean entities which collect the hearts of humans and can be repelled by prayer.
The photographs created by SCP- 5501 are contained within K-1983, each acting as an aperture into the opposite. The K-1983-2 instances invade the alternate reality to collect hearts, and SCP-5501 breaches into K-1983 in order to attack K-1983-2 instances.
SCP-ZH-002, an anomalous chimeric entity, roughly equine or cervine in body shape, whose appearance corresponds to natural disasters affecting Taiwan.
K-239 is Agent Sigurrós Wotansdóttir, a twenty- year-old Type-Green humanoid of Icelandic descent, capable of spontaneous matter and energy alteration.
Following SCP-001's judgement process, a threshold leading to Taiwan opened within Biological Containment; this threshold is mobile, and always leads to an area that is within half a kilometer of SCP- ZH-002. Agent Wotansdóttir has used her abilities and training with equine anomalies to 'tame' SCP-ZH- 002, to the degree that such a thing can be accomplished. Agent Wotansdóttir has become SCP-ZH- 002's full-time caretaker, mitigating the damage it causes, returning to SCP-001 through the threshold twice ≡ daily for meals and using other amenities in Site-100.
SCP-3852, a phenomenon wherein an anomalous cadaver manifests in a small community, leading to the lynching of an individual accused of the murder.
K-2547, a phenomenon wherein several hundred canines will surround and isolate small communities. K-2547 is led by K-2547-1, a sapient coyote who wears a black coat and a crucifix.
K-2547 appears and quarantines the community where SCP-3852 has manifested. K-2547-1 proceeds to hold a trial regarding the alleged crimes of the SCP-3852 instance, acting as the judge, prosecution, and defense simultaneously through a process of tri-location. The 'defense' tactics of K-2547-1 consist of either holding the town's water supply permanently hostage if the individual is not found innocent, confounding a jury of non-anomalous humans with circular arguments, or finding itself in contempt of court, leading to a mistrial.
SCP-PL-122, an area of land in Poland which decays and/or corrodes organic and inorganic matter.
Knowledge of SCP-PL- 122's location causes this decaying effect to spread.
K-1262 is a vegetal mass that is capable of growth at an incredibly rapid rate, approximately .7km/h.
The decaying effect of SCP-PL-122 is effectively smothered by K-1262's rapid regrowth, limiting its decaying effect. Due to the massive amount of plant growth, the true nature of SCP- PL-122's anomaly cannot be discerned by personnel observing it; combined with altered Foundation documentation, this has effectively negated SCP-PL-122's anomaly from spreading in the mental landscape.
SCP-055, (unknown) SCP-579: [DATA EXPUNGED] Can't fit square pegs in round holes.
Only nine of the ten sectors of SCP-001 are accessible. The Core of SCP-001 has been completely cut off from the rest of SCP-001 through the three connecting Roots (Aleph, Beth and Daleth) either terminating or being unnavigable using current available resources. Despite this, several Foundation expeditions to attempt to reach the Core have been undertaken, with each expedition revealing new information about the nature of the Core.
In April of 2021, an expedition successfully reached the Core of SCP-001. The following containment cycle is inaccessible to all but the Administrator of the Foundation. Its cycle is contained within the core of Site-100, alongside a sealed document.
Addendum: Site-100 Central Containment Hello, Architect 001-Pickman, a sapient universal force that causes 001-Tufto, An expression of the conceptual At the end of everything, we hold on to anything.
≡ reality to resemble fictional narratives in structure, and to frequently manifest trope-like phenomena and behavior.
struggle between pre- modernity and modernity, known to the larger Foundation as the 'Scarlet King'.
The red entropy will claim all but the narrative; someone will tell the story long after we are gone.
The King's Children say we raze trees to put up monuments to our narcissism. Our topsoil is data, with trees of concrete sprouting from it, bearing fruits of creation, tended to by gardeners calling themselves a bedrock.
Royalty lives and dies, but a story is eternal.
We See You I am sorry you will never know peace.
There is a flow to the new order, and to the Other.
You can see it too. thebalancethescalesweprecariously— this will create a wasteland of a world, ruled by fear and darkness. We cannot allow this organization to lose its ≡ Already they are herding staff into cells once more. Our roots are rottinganddying but the walls do not breach. You have fallen, and wait in containment. Learn from us.
It will get worse before it gets better. People will miss the hope, and they will want this world back, in time. If you scream when you are alone, know that you are heard.
Cite this page as: "Ihp/Locke Proposal" by Anonymous, rewritten by Ihp, S D Locke, EstrellaYoshte & Placeholder McD, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/keter-duty.
Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
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tags 001-proposal building co-authored extradimensional foundation-made historical k-class-scenario loop paradox pattern-screamer rewrite scp sigurros spatial subterranean ten-dots thaumiel the-administrator page revision: 27, last edited: 11 Jul 2024, 13:32 (234 days ago) Edit Rate (+571) Tags Discuss (108) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
SCP-001 » I.H.Pickman's Proposal rating: +466 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Archon This was all that Dr. Johnathan West had managed to get written down before the phrasing of the actual document eluded him. It was no small task, authoring a file for SCP-001. Others had done it before him, for other anomalies that were considered important enough. That's what an 001 draft came down to— importance.
"Wait, shit." He cursed. "Archon's non-standard. Should probably put something there." Object Class: Archon "That's better." He looked down at his watch and sighed. Writer's block. What a thing for a scientist to have.
It's not like 001 was a secret among anyone at Site-87. It was a big event, and several others were co-authoring the draft with him, giving feedback and fixing up sections. It was a group effort, like much of what happened at 87. But it was make-or-break; the credibility of the site rested upon it.
"Dammit." He stared as the watch's hand ticked towards 5:00. Well, he still had another month to finish up this proposal — and besides, tonight was the weekly poker game.
He saved his work, shut off his monitor, and went up to the common area on Sublevel 3.
"What kind of a class is Archon, anyway? Call." Katherine Sinclair, thaumatologist, put her ante into the pot. "Shouldn't it just be Thaumiel?" "No, see, the Multi-Universal Transit Array is Thaumiel. Raise." Tristan Bailey, Multi-Universal Diplomat, was playing with a junk hand, but none of the others knew that. He considered himself having a good poker face, especially when the content of the discussion turned to containment procedures. "It's contained, but it can be used to save the world, if need be. An Archon-class will literally break the world if you contain it." Cassandra Pike, parazoologist, raised her brow to Tristan. She could tell he was bluffing; all of 1 S&C PLASTICS SITE-87, NARRATIVE AND NEXOLOGICAL STUDIES Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in the Baileys had the exact same tell. They'd rub their index finger over their thumbnail. Pike smirked and pushed her stack of chips into the center. "All in." Bailey groaned. "Fold. Dammit, Pike." Cassandra just shrugged, and watched as the others at the table folded, handing her cards to the dealer. Cassandra Pike was not, until very recently, emotionally stable. But she was a damn good poker player— the stack of chips she just put in would have bankrupted the others.
"Gotta admit, I'm jealous." Jason Hendricks was Pike's former superior, recently returned from Oregon. "I get transferred, and less than two years later, you discover the new 001." He shuffled the deck and looked over his shoulder, expecting West to come in the door any minute.
"It's been boring here without ya, Jay," Bailey admitted, adding, "There's nowhere near enough insect-related hallucinations without you." "Hilarious as ever, Bailey." Hendricks shook his head. "And how's your position under Dr.
Hennessy? Missionary or reverse cowgirl?" From the other end of the room, Montgomery Reynolds coughed, the root beer he'd been drinking spilling everywhere. Sinclair looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "What?" Reynolds asked. "It was a good quip." "If you're thirteen!" Sinclair let out a single "hah". "Never thought you'd have such an immature sense of humor, Monty." She looked at her cards, straining not to raise a brow at the pair of kings she'd been dealt. "You sure you don't want in on this?" "I am a sorcerer, not a gambler. I'd have an unfair advantage over you all— a word of clairvoyance, and I can see all of your hands." Reynolds was talking out his rear— he was a horrible gambler. As he took another sip, his phone buzzed. He looked at it, tilted his head, and walked over to the table. "Katherine, I think this is meant for you? West sent it to me by mistake." "First draft of the containment procedures, then." Sinclair adjusted her glasses, took his phone, and swiped her thumb across its screen.
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is ingrained within the narrative structure of Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin (Nexus-18) and Site-87, allowing it to be more easily observed within this area. If necessary, certain sections of SCP- 001 can be narratively contained in order to isolate major continuity errors and malignant plot devices.
"That's incredibly vague." Sinclair shook her head. "Send it back and tell him to clarify what 'narratively contained' means. And 'malignant plot device'?" "Just give me my feedback in person, why don't ya?" Johnathan West walked into the lounge, stowing his phone. "Truth be told, I wrote the procedures on the way up here." "Kind of mind-boggling, what you're containing," Hendricks said as he dealt West in. "The ≡ concept of narrative causality? That's pretty heavy." "We're shopping around different names for it," Pike admitted. "Probably gonna be called I.H.P.'s proposal. After Isaiah Pickman." "The archivist who died last Halloween?" Hendricks frowned. "What's he got to do with it?" "His cataloging of the archives was obsessive," Sinclair explained. "Thanks to him, we were able to pick up on anomaly occurrence patterns that nobody else noticed. That led to me, Bailey, West and Pike theorizing about a centralized anomaly…" "Which led to SCP-001. Fair 'nuff." Hendricks put his contribution into the pot. "Did you hear Phil Verhoten's coming to talk here?" "You're fucking joking," Bailey stared. "Philip Verhoten? The guy who literally wrote the book on Nexuses?" "Books, plural." Sinclair began listing off titles. "There's Crossroads, The Death of Magic: On the Dissolution of Nexuses, The Micro-Nexus… he's got a fourth one coming out, too. Title's not been announced." Cassandra Pike looked unimpressed. "Okay, but, who is this guy? I call." West shook his head at Pike. "You need to brush up on your history. Philip Verhoten was the man who discovered Sloth's Pit." Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is ingrained within the narrative structure of Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin (Nexus-18) and Site-87, allowing it to be more easily observed within this area. If necessary, certain sections of SCP- 001 can be narratively contained contained using narrative exploitation techiques in order to isolate major continuity errors and malignant plot devices.
"Still sounds wrong," Johnathan admitted to a sigh, looking up at his brother. "I dunno, Harry.
What do you think?" "I think you misspelled 'techniques'." Harold West looked at the proposal. "Try writing the containment procedures after the description. It's worked wonders for me in the past." "But it won't work in the file. Ugh." He looked down at the document on his laptop and sighed.
"'Narrative exploitation techniques' is such a nonsense phrase." "Well, if we called it 'tempting fate' or 'hanging a lampshade', that wouldn't be terribly clinical." Harold sipped his coffee. "Maybe you should ask Verhoten when he comes into town? God knows you worshiped the ground he walked on when you were getting your Foundation credentials." "He discovered Sloth's Pit, but he hasn't set foot in it since the 90's." Johnathan groused and tapped away at his keyboard, writing the first lines of the description.
Description: SCP- 001 is an anomalous universal constant which has been ≡ Description: SCP-001 is an anomalous universal constant which has been dubbed by Sinclair, West, Pike, Bailey et al. as the Law of Narrative Causality.
SCP-001 provides irrefutable proof that the baseline universe is a fictional construct existing within one or more separate narratives.
"Too early to have that in, you think?" Johnathan frowned. "I feel like it should have, I dunno, more impact." "Impact?" Harold snorted. "We're not writing a novel." "No, but we may very well be in one." Johnathan stirred his coffee. "Isn't Julie's Little League game this Saturday? Am I still un-invited to those?" "The coach still thinks that you throwing the ball back at the pitcher and beaning him was an overreaction," Harold affirmed.
"That was the fifth foul he had thrown!" "And he was on your niece's team!" The more Johnathan thought about it, the more he considered his brother was right. He should talk to Verhoten. But 'worshiped the ground he walked on' was a bit much— Verhoten had just introduced him to the idea that anomalies could be more than just horrendous things which could eliminate space-time as they knew it. He'd done that by bringing him here.
He looked at a picture on his desk, one which displayed a younger version of both himself and Verhoten, standing by Gray Lake and looking out at the only lake monster who wasn't anomalously blurry on film. A conversation creeped back into his mind.
"Johnny," Verhoten began, "You're going through what a lot of newbies in the Foundation go through. You're sick of all the death and destruction and nihilism, and you want to know there's something worth saving." "Don't put words in my mouth," West snapped. "The world's not going to end in nuclear fire, big deal. Some rotted corpse is going to break out of its cell and eat children, or else a giant slug is going to crawl out of the sea, or we're going to be assimilated into a massive machine —" "Johnny. If there was only death and destruction in the universe, we wouldn't have this." Verhoten turned to the lake, if it could be called that— it paled in comparison to Lake Superior, less than an hour's drive away. It was more of a large pond. "Look at it. Millions of years of geological processes created this. Biological processes ensure that it's inhabited.
And anomalous processes…" Verhoten cupped his hands and gave a loud holler.
The reason for his actions soon became clear. From the water, a tall neck emerged. A small head on its end bellowed back in response. West gasped, backing away. "What the hell?!" "Elasmosaurus jacksonslothii," Verhoten explained. "Sloth's Pit's own lake monster. You know, the reason we don't have any clear pictures of these is because their skin gives off EM radiation that screws up film." He handed a camera to West. "We just call her Lady Grey." "You… named an anomaly? But—" ≡ "Johnathan. For every Keter-class anomaly, there are at least twenty Euclid-class anomalies like her. They just do their own thing, live their own life, don't bother anyone. The anomalous isn't inherently evil or good." Lady Grey swam over to them. Verhoten continued, "There are two sides to the anomalous: the wonderous, and the terrifying. Working in the Foundation, you see mostly the latter. But I'm going to show you the wondrous. Now, can you get the tripod out of my bag?" West came back to reality and sighed, rubbing his head. "Wondrous and terrifying, ey, Phil?" He cracked his knuckles, and began writing.
Description: SCP-001 is an anomalous universal constant which has been dubbed by Sinclair, West, Pike, Bailey et al. as the Law of Narrative Causality.
SCP-001 provides concrete proof that the baseline universe is a fictional construct existing within one or more separate narratives.
SCP-001 is observable through use of narrative exploitation techniques.
Examples include use of the phrase, "What could possibly go wrong?", "At least it's not raining", and pointing out an inconsistency in a given situation (an action which has been termed 'lampshade hanging'). Doing so will invoke an alteration in SCP-001, dubbed SCP-001-A.
SCP-001-A instances take several forms, and usually are of a nature that would typically be conducive to telling a compelling narrative from an outsider's perspective. SCP-001-A instances are not necessarily anomalous in nature, but do account for pockets of 'unreality' that have been observed within the last twenty years. Examples of commonly observed SCP-001-A instances include: Meeting with a former romantic partner upon a return home and rekindling a relationship Weather altering in such a way that it creates opportunities for Schadenfreude Keter-class SCPs suddenly becoming far easier to contain in the aftermath of a breach The invocation of Murphy's Law resulting in disastrous, but distantly comedic, events.
"Distantly comedic…" West shook his head and deleted the last few words, before realizing he didn't have any better of a proposal. He sighed, and left it as-is.
"Are you sure this is wise, Katherine?" Montgomery Reynolds frowned. The two of them were in the middle of Lover's Lane, at nighttime, with a Pickman-Sinclair Narrative Fluctuation Detector. "I'm not so sure that he's going to be amiable." "He was willing to work with us last year," Sinclair said, holding up the Detector's wand. She admitted, "Granted, we were working to stop a reality restructuring event and the possible collapse of the Nexus…" ≡ "Still can't believe that you wrote a script for this," Reynolds frowned. "That thing's probably just going to scare him off." "No good slasher villain can resist a pair of horny— well, 'horny' —" she made the air-quotes visible" —thirty-and-forty-somethings. Not as effective as teenagers, but none of the Baileys were available." "You know, they have a whiteboard here at Site-87, trying to document their own timelines.
From 2005 to now, they have a gigantic space that just reads 'weird temporal bullshit'." Reynolds looked at the script. "If I didn't love you…" "There's no universe where that's possible," Sinclair rolled her shoulders, and looked at the script. "From the top." Reynolds rolled his eyes. "'C'mon, baby, do you wanna die a virgin?'" "'I ain't dyin' anytime soon… Derrick." Sinclair suddenly regretted her choice of name for this experiment. "'I'm gonna live long enough to fuck a million other guys before' oh my god this is awful." Sinclair broke down laughing, leaning against Monty. "Oh god I thought the shit I wrote in high school was bad!" Reynolds leaned down to kiss her. "Well, it appears to have done something right." He nodded to the Narrative Fluctuation Detector— it lit up bright green.
Out of the shadows, a large, black shape leaped, bringing its axe between them, splitting the ground at their feet. They jumped back, staring at the Goatman.
The Goatman frowned, letting out a huff and recovering the hatchet. He looked at them, the script, and the Detector, shaking his head, a wild tangle of hair covering his horns. "Aren't you a bit old for this?" "We're doing tests," Sinclair shrugged. "Give us a break." The Goatman snorted. "Last great secret of this town, the Narrative, and you've figured it out." He hefted his hatchet, tilting his head. "How'd you do it?" Tristan Bailey was working on his tablet when he nearly walked into Dr. Sinclair in the elevator.
As the doors closed behind him, he muttered an apology, and looked at the screen at the back of the car. The screen behind them displayed a picture of Phillip Verhoten, a South African man in his sixties with skin the color of finished mahogany, smiling behind a pair of glasses.
He was superimposed in front of his books with an announcement scrolling overhead: "Philip Verhoten, Author of The Crossroads, Atrium 2. Don't miss it!" Sinclair looked at Bailey, a soft frown on her face. "I've been reviewing your contributions to the 001 file. I… found an issue." "Oh?" Tristan frowned.
Sinclair pulled out her own tablet and highlighted the problematic section, which she had crossed out.
In contrast to what was theorized in S Andrew Swann's SCP- 001 Variant the ≡ In contrast to what was theorized in S. Andrew Swann s SCP-001 Variant, the entity or entities responsible for constructing the baseline narrative, for the most part, do not appear to be actively malevolent, but they are perverts.
"That last part is really unnecessary." Sinclair scowled at Bailey.
"People put jokes or goofs in non-finalized drafts all the time. I seem to remember someone getting a reprimand because they accidentally left a certain foxy name within a report." Sinclair glowered at Tristan. "You said you'd never mention the Sinclair/Synner incident." She muttered.
"Not my fault you're horrible at picking character names," Bailey said as the elevator doors opened. "Your test in the woods reveal anything?" "The Goatman was oddly talkative," Sinclair admitted. "We told him how we figured out what we did to discover the Narrative, and he gave us, well, questionable data." "Like what?" Bailey stepped out of the elevator, walking alongside Sinclair.
"So, the whole concept Swann's proposal put forth, the progenitor universe that writes all of our lives? He says that may not actually be the case." She rubbed her temples. "It's confusing. We may not be fictional, but our world operates on the rules of fiction, so it kind of is." "Well, even if we aren't fictional, we still operate on the rules of it, so same difference." Bailey took out his phone and leaned against the wall. "Anything else?" "Yeah. He said that," She shook her head and let out a soft chuckle. "He said that it may be alive." "It?" Bailey raised an eyebrow. "The Narrative?" "He said that it was 'a spirit' that was alive in Sloth's Pit. It can… react, and be talked to." Sinclair scoffed. "That would explain why we can manipulate it." "I dunno." Bailey paused and scratched his head. "It can react, but it doesn't seem alive; it's more like it has chemical reactions to certain phrases. Trying to actually communicate with it is absurd. It'd be like trying to have a conversation with hydrochloric acid." "I'm skeptical too," Sinclair admitted, continuing to walk on. "You have to admit, it does seem to have a sense of humor at times." Bailey started walking again, looking at a monitor in the hallway displaying an announcement from Director Weiss that testing in the biology sublevel was to be halted until E-2913 could be recaptured. "Yeah, maybe, but it's always cringe humor, slapstick, and bad puns. There's never any irony." "And now that you've said that, there probably is." "Nah," Bailey said, moving past Sinclair to the coffee machine— not the coffee machine, unfortunately ("Friggin' Site 19 gets everything good", Bailey muttered to himself.) "What, now that I've said that, am I suddenly going to win the lottery? The odds of—" He blinked, his ≡ hands over the keys to input his order; he glanced behind the machine, and saw a stub of paper sticking out from behind it. "The fuck?" "What?" "There's a scratch-off card behind here." "Five grand from a random scratch-off ticket created by exploiting the narrative. Not bad, Bailey." Pike raised the pot. "Now you have some scratch to lose to me. But… you know you're not supposed to do that for personal gain, right?" "I didn't mean to! It's like it messed with me." Tristan called Pike's bet, knowing she had the better hand. "West, I looked over Pickman's observations again. I think that… the narrative might be selective." "Selective?" West snorted. "That implies that it's sentient, if not sapient." He looked pointedly at one of the walls in the room. "Probably just someone beyond the fourth wall messing with you." "Yeah, but— mmmn." Tristan sighed. "It's too responsive to be random chance, but too inconsistent to be something like a chemical reaction. I dunno." "Lines up with what the Goatman said," Sinclair admitted. "'The Spirit of the Narrative is more alive here than in other places'." "You think he meant an actual spirit." Hendricks squinted his eyes. "A global… what's it called?" "Genius loci," Sinclair nodded, calling Bailey's bet. "Not just global. Maybe universal." Tristan looked at the rest of the table, then at his junk hand. "You gotta admit, there's something here." "The way I see it, you're just making my job more complicated," West shook his head. "Keep in mind that I'm the one who's actually writing this." "Verhoten's visiting in three days," Pike chimed in. "I've heard you're on good terms with him.
Present it to him for feedback?" "Harry said I should do that. I'm gonna check." West tapped his fingers against the table.
"Not a bad idea." "This kind of… de-explains the 'god is a bunch of horror writers' concept that Swann put forth, though." Sinclair shook her head. "Not sure how I feel about that." "I thought it was bullshit when I read it," Tristan admitted. "Trev told me they sometimes put fake 001 instances in the database to throw off leaks. I know the Broken God one is mostly accurate, Gate Guardian is real, but beyond that, it's all up in the air." "We have the remains of the Gears proposals in storage on-Site." Pike drew incredulous looks from the rest of the table. "What? It's common knowledge. The remains are inert, anyway." "So that's what E-0005 is?" Tristan cocked his head upwards. "Wondered what a big bunch of ≡ demon bones was doing in low-value containment." "Kinda weird, isn't it?" Hendricks asked, drawing the subject back to the original. "I mean, I know I'm fictional. We all know we're fictional, but… nothing's really changed." He raised the pot again. "We know we're in a simulation, and there's been no nihilistic crisis, no rage against the heavens, nothing." He frowned at his cards— pair of twos. "Wonder why that is." "Quality of the authors keeping us from going insane? Or maybe… we're not fictional?" Sinclair put her cards in the table and pulled out a notepad, drawing two crude planet Earths, and a window between them. "Like, maybe they can see into our universe and are just recording events." "Metafiction gives me a headache. I feel sorry for the new pataphysics guys. Call." Bailey looked at his cards, then at the turn in the center of the table— a pair of twos and a pair of threes. He had junk in his hand. "God dammit." West had his own notepad out, muttering that he had folded. He wrote a few words on it.
Description: SCP-001: Alive? Narrative conscious? World-window? More tests required.
"Is there any way to test if it is alive?" Pike frowned at her cards— King and an Ace weren't gonna help much with a turn like this. "Like— malignant narrative isn't all that uncommon.
From the tests we did, it's actually pretty easy to make." "How would this test work?" West asked, scribbling down more.
Reacts to malignant narrative removal?
"Well…" Sinclair looked at the scars on her arms, before turning a page on the notepad, rolling up her sleeves, and starting to scribble on the paper. "If it is alive, then it might be possible to create a spell that could make its pain manifest, or otherwise detectable. I can have it ready tonight; we just need malignant narrative." "How do we achieve that?" Pike was folding now to focus on the discussion, much to Hendricks's chagrin. Bailey had just turned over an Ace in the river. "One of the easiest ways we found was to achieve an anti-climax, but those aren't easy to accomplish— not intentionally." Bailey himself folded, joining in. "Well, we could—" Hendricks threw his pair of twos on the table, and stood. "There's your goddamn anticlimax!
Four of a kind, and you all fold!" The air within the room felt like it had grown denser. Everyone went silent, and Sinclair pulled out a portable Narrative Fluctuation Detector wand. The lights on it blinked a bright, dangerous red.
"Hendricks," Sinclair laughed. "I could kiss you." "You know it occurs to me that the narrative may have made itself malignant " West frowned ≡ You know, it occurs to me that the narrative may have made itself malignant. West frowned as Sinclair finished the circle of chalk on the tile floor. "It forced an anticlimax so we could detect it— that's assuming that Bailey's hypothesis of it being alive holds true." "Egh. Glad I never went into pataphysics." Hendricks rubbed his forehead. "I know how to neuter a hodag, but this has got me clueless." He looked at the thaumatologist in the room, and asked, "Anything I can do to help, Sinclair?" "There's an incantation on the back of my notepad I need you to read once I finalize the spell vector." "It's not in dog Latin, is it?" Hendricks crossed over to the abandoned poker table and picked up the notepad, trying to ignore the hushed whispers from outside the room. People from throughout the site had gathered around to see if the narrative— possibly the very fabric of the universe they lived in —was alive. He was fairly sure this was being livestreamed to Site- 19 as well.
Cassandra Pike couldn't help but be satisfied at the fact that, over six months after his death, Pickman would be vindicated. She'd always had a soft spot for the old archivist; when her medication failed to be delivered to any pharmacy in town, he'd let her help organize the archives. He'd been dead for months, but now he was helping the Foundation make a giant leap.
Tristan was just glad that the chucklefucks at 19, the ones who had his brother demoted for daring to do his job and neutralize a Keter-class anomaly, were going to eat crow. The family name was mud since Trevor did what he did; he was about to wipe that off.
"Fuck me, is this Sumerian?" Hendricks frowned. "Sinclair, you know my cuneiform's rusty.
There's a ritual in Old French that can accomplish the same thing." Sinclair, West, Bailey, Pike, and the rest of the onlookers raised their eyebrows at Hendricks.
He raised one back. "What? I've attended a few cross-discipline seminars." "Yes, well, the Old French ritual burned with the Plutonic Codex back in 2015." Sinclair knelt by the ritual sign and frowned. "Just manage it the best you can." "All right… hopefully a garbled pronunciation won't do too much harm." He looked up from the notepad to Bailey, Pike, and West. "How does… one get rid of malignant narrative, anyway?" Johnathan West looked towards the crowd; Harold stepped forward, holding out a large lampshade.
"Surely you can’t be serious…" Hendricks groaned.
"Don’t call me Shirley." Johnathan chuckled at his own joke, and took the lampshade. "In all seriousness, we need to, essentially, get rid of the anti-climax by looking at it really, really hard and pointing out why it's awful." "And the lampshade helps that how?" Hendricks frowned, crossing his arms.
Tristan took the lampshade and put the narrow end to his mouth, like a megaphone. "The louder you point it out, the more effective it is!" He put the shade down. "It was the closest thing on hand when we started the tests. It kind of became a tradition." ≡ Hendricks rolled his eyes, and began reading off the incantation. Sinclair knelt by the seal, making sure the ritual remained stable, while Pike, West, and Bailey all began a very conspicuous discussion.
"Boy, that was an awful piece of writing!" Bailey bellowed through the lampshade. "Poor Hendricks never catches a break. Why do you always gotta pick on him, narrative?" "Yeah! He deserves better," Pike agreed. "He's been the butt of jokes around the site ever since he ate that stupid hallucinogen! It's not fair!" "Stop picking on Jason Hendricks for the sake of creating conflict! It's gotten old!" West pointed out, shouting it through the lampshade. "You've turned his life into a cliche!" "And anticlimaxes aren't fun! He should have creamed us in that poker game!" Pike chimed in.
Hendricks wasn't sure how to react; on the one hand, they were supporting him, but on the other, they were doing it solely for the purposes of heckling a universal constant. He just kept reading.
A bright, red glow emanated from the circle. Sinclair stood, startled, but able to keep her concentration as jumble of ethereal red letters formed within the air around the circle.
Sinclair scratched her head as the letters spun around. "Usually, a manifestation of pain takes a… different form. More humanoid. This is text." "Not just any text," Hendricks frowned. "It's what I said. You can make out 'fold', 'anticlimax', and a few others. But… what does this mean?" "Well, for this spell to work, the target of the spell has to feel pain. For it to feel pain, it needs to be able to interpret that sensation as pain. For it to do that…" "It… has to be sentient." West looked at the floating words as they started to dissipate. "Holy shit. Do you realize what this means?!" "That a fundamental part of our universe is a living entity of some kind, capable of registering ≡ pain and possibly other sensations." Pike's eyes went wide. "Holy shit. This is insane." West shut his eyes with a soft groan. That, and I need to rewrite the entire damn file.
Phillip Verhoten wore a tweed suit as he walked on stage to the roar of the crowd. Almost all of Site-87 had come out to view him talk, and this seminar was being streamed to over a hundred Foundation sites globally. Seven translators were sitting in the corner, ready to transcribe his speech for the international sites.
"Hello, hello, hello Site-87!" He waved his hand, inadvertently triggering the motion sensor on the projector, which caused it to advance three slides at once. He looked back at the screen, and asked, "Can- can I get a reset on that? Not familiar with the newer tech. Just gimme a mouse and a laser pointer." Once the glitch was resolved, Verhoten began speaking. "Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin. The anomaly capital of the Midwest, Sloth Spit, Home of the Best Sponge Candy in the US, Nexus-18, and for many of you, home." He clapped his hands together and sighed. "And here I stand, credited with discovering it." He shook his head. "That is a stupid, stupid term." "One does not discover a town that's already inhabited— it was discovered by the citizens and civic workers of the town and county long before we set foot in here, after the tragic events at Camp Krakkow. Since then, we've become an integral part of Sloth's Pit's history— and its story." He advanced the slideshow, showing the cover of his book: S & C Plastics: The Story of Your Life A Collection of Anomalous Occurrences in Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, as Told By Those at Site-87 "I have to admit, my reasons for coming here are partially selfish." Verhoten put his hands together. "This new book focuses exclusively on Sloth's Pit and the weirdness therein, as recounted by you." He waved his hand at the audience, triggering the slide to change into a live camera feed of the audience. "All of you. Your tales are going to make up the bulk of this book— at least, the first edition." Verhoten put his hands together. "This town is unique. It's one of the few places in the world where the Narrative is so fully on display, and I imagine— or at least, I hope —that makes for a few good stories." "Talking of the Narrative! Is Johnny West in here?" Johnathan West hated being put in the spotlight, but stood up, raising his hand and looking at the ground.
"Congratulations to Drs. West, Pike, Bailey, and Sinclair, as well as the late Archivist Pickman, for making an actual discovery— finding out the Narrative is an actual, physical force. Your story is going to be one I definitely want to tell." "Dr. Verhoten?" ≡ As the seminar ended, Johnathan West made his way to the stage. Philip Verhoten smiled down at him, and offered a hand up onto the platform. "Johnny West, you magnificent man.
Congratulations." He pulled Johnathan into a hug.
West returned it, chuckling, holding out sheaf of papers. "Dr. Verhoten—" "We've known each other for decades now. Call me Phil." "Well, Phil, I've… almost finalized the documentation on SCP-001. I'm still not sure about it, so I want you to take a look." Verhoten took out a pair of reading glasses and began scanning the paper given to him.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Archon Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is currently being monitored within Nexus-18 (Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin) by researchers at Site-87's newly-founded pataphysics department.
In the event of a major SCP-001-X manifestation, Procedure 001-Pickman-β is to be carried out, as detailed in the file below. Any and all SCP-001-A techniques are allowed to be used in order to combat the spread of SCP-001-X.
Testing done with SCP-001 is to be carried out only with permission from Dr. Johnathan West.
Description: SCP-001 is a sentient, possibly sapient, universal constant first discovered by Foundation Archivist Isaiah Howard Pickman (1979-2017), and first described by Pike, West, Bailey, Sinclair et al in 2018. SCP-001 manifests itself as a force described as "Narrative Causality", wherein patterns observed in nature, history, technology, and anomalous phenomena and items conform to patterns observed in fictional narratives. This, combined with phenomena reported in S. Andrew Swann's SCP-001 proposal, has definitively proved that the baseline universe is at least partly fictional.
SCP-001-A refers to narrative exploitation techniques that can be used to manipulate SCP- 001, and conceivably any other narrative construct. SCP-001-A techniques include: Invoking an ironic reaction by stating a phrase such as "What could possibly go wrong?" Creating a solution to a problem by uttering a phrase such as "We're missing something, but what?", or by several people turning to look at a single individual who they believe is capable of solving this problem.
Preventing disasters via awareness of the presence of certain phrases in conversation (i.e. "It's been boring lately" or "nothing ever happens here") or narrative patterns Minor probability manipulation using mass encouragement or belief.
SCP-001-A techniques are not infallible; SCP-001 seems to be able to choose which techniques are capable of working at a given time.
SCP-001-X refers to malignant pieces of narrative causality, either manifesting naturally as a 1 ≡ result of an unsatisfying narrative event or created by excessive use of SCP-001-A. SCP-001- X instances are detrimental to the narrative around it, and have the potential to create massive flaws in reality that cause mass confusion, the manifestation of powerful and nonsensical entities and abilities, and an overall degradation in the surrounding consensus reality.
SCP-001-X can be counteracted by use of a specific SCP-001-A technique, SCP-001- Pickman-β. SCP-001-Pickman-β is a procedure which involves the following steps: Location: Use of a Pickman-Sinclair Narrative Fluctuation Detector to locate a pocket of SCP-001-X.
Isolation: Creating an area of stable SCP-001 around the SCP-001-X instance through use of narrative manipulation techniques such as gathering a large crowd of people to observe the process being undertaken.
Ridicule: The pocket of SCP-001-X is ridiculed by vocalizing observations regarding the nonsensical nature of how it manifested, and how SCP-001 should have occurred in absence of the SCP-001-X instance. It has been observed that ridiculing SCP-001-X instances at higher volumes is more effective.
Neutralization: After approximately five minutes, smaller SCP-001-X instances can be neutralized; larger SCP-001-X instances can take up to half an hour or longer to completely render inert.
Neutralization of SCP-001-X instances causes a pain response in SCP-001; this discovery has led to the conclusion that SCP-001 possesses some degree of sentience.
Discovery: SCP-001 was first observed in Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin (known as Nx-18 within the Foundation), an anomalous Nexus monitored by Site-87. Isaiah Howard Pickman, an archivist at Site-87, observed several patterns of narrative causality within Sloth's Pit, and cataloged them over the course of fifteen years.
When his work was discovered posthumously in December 2017 by Dr. Cassandra Pike, she began attempting to corroborate his findings, which largely revolved around the manifestation of quasi-fictional entities in town being preceded or triggered by events which followed narrative conventions.
Dr. Tristan Bailey, a member of the Department of Multi-Universal Affairs, corroborated Pickman and Pike's findings with records of fluctuations in local reality compiled over the course of thirty years. With the aid of Dr. Katherine Sinclair, a thaumatologist, and Dr.
Johnathan West, an anomalous item researcher, they were able to re-create the scenarios outlined by Pickman and create a device to detect changes in SCP-001, tentatively dubbed the Pickman-Sinclair Narrative Fluctuation Detector.
[NOT FINISHED] "Well, you did say almost finalized," Verhoten shook his head. "We've known of the whole 'god is a bunch of horror writers' idea for years. What makes this different?" "Simple," West says. "We can't control them," He pointed at the ceiling, "but we can control this." He waved his hand around to the surroundings. "There's a difference between the Narrative and the Narrator. The people writing us are Narrators, but so are we." He twisted his hand in the air. "Sinclair's actually been able to pinpoint instances in which the narrative focus ≡ shifts away, if only briefly. You know what happens?" "What?" Verhoten asked.
"Absolutely nothing. We keep existing, going about our lives, having conversations, and just… developing. Going on. That means that God isn't always paying attention, but we're still here regardless." He opened his hands. "We're real, Phil. We just live in a world where the laws of fiction are more powerful than the laws of gravity." "That would mean…" Verhoten frowned. "I don't know what that would mean." "I think that your book is gonna help you understand." West reached into his briefcase and took out a manuscript. "My submission for your book; I thought I'd give it to you in person. I typed it up in a few hours, so if it needs editing…" "I'm sure it'll be fine." Philip Verhoten looked over the first line of the paper.
October 24th "I hate this holiday." Dr. Johnathan West cleaned egg off of the card-reader...
|S & C Plastics Hub| Footnotes 1. Archon-class anomalies are anomalies that are theoretically capable of being contained, but are not to be, due to the potentially disastrous effects on the continued existence of humanity.
Cite this page as: "I.H.Pickman's Proposal" by (user deleted), from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/i-h-p-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Kate McTiriss's Proposal SCP-001 » Kate McTiriss's Proposal rating: +1102 + – X The Following Containment Procedure Was Unanimously Approved by the Site Directors' Executive Committee of the Whole and the O5 Council Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Thaumiel (Subjective assessment) Special Containment Procedures: It was the unanimous subjective opinion of the Site Directors' Executive Committee of the Whole on May 3, 20██ that the SCP-001 database entry slot should be locked to edits and only made available for modification with seven (7) private keys belonging to members of the O5 Council. It was the majority subjective opinion of SDECotW that the object believed to have been most recently designated SCP- 001 should no longer be given an SCP designation, and should be stored in a standard high-value containment locker in Site-19.
It was the unanimous opinion of SDECotW that no objective claims or statements should be made in the main SCP-001 page of the Foundation Database under any circumstances, only verifiably true records of the opinions of Foundation governing bodies in the past.
It was the majority opinion of the O5 Council on May 3, 20██ that in the event that Entity Thaumiel, Dr. Mary Nakayama, or any entity claiming to be either makes contact with the SCP Foundation, they will be referred to the O5 Council for negotiation and cooperation. It was the majority opinion of the O5 Council that no efforts will be made at this time to neutralize Entity Thaumiel or the vulnerabilities of the SCP-001 database position.
Description: It was the unanimous opinion of SDECotW and the O5 Council on May 3, 20██ that any statement of fact made on this specific SCP Foundation Database page ⦿/Procedures/001/SCP-001.ftml becomes objectively true. The prior unanimous opinion of SDECotW and the O5 Council holds that modifications to this page have vast, and 1 SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in potentially infinite, Category–Aleph Room ("Greatest Concern") reality modification consequences; the prior unanimous opinion of SDECotW and the O5 Council held that no further testing on these effects is to occur due to the potential XK/CK/LK/VK/ZK/תK-Class Scenarios believed to be highly probable with said testing.
It was the unanimous opinion of SDECotW that other pages within the ⦿/Procedures/001/ portion of the Foundation Database have no anomalous effects, and that prior versions of the SCP-001 database leading to the believed discovery of SCP- 001's effects and the possible creation of Entity Thaumiel are to be stored as subpages in this directory for reference.
It was the unanimous opinion of SDECotW that all blank spots on the Foundation database shall be checked for further Category–Aleph Room reality modification anomalies, and that only a series of 1,000 thoroughly checked database spots shall be available to Foundation personnel for the designation of new Special Containment Procedures at any given time.
▽ ⦿/Procedures/001/Past/Feb_18,_20██_1.ftml Foundation Database changelog: Creating new SCP documentation. Trying it in the 2███ slot, but the object's effects might move it over to -001. Had the admins unlock the empty 001 slot (why was it empty?
convenient, I guess) just in case.
- mnakayama, Feb 18 20██ 11:34 AM Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard low-value containment locker at Site-91a. Additional research into SCP-001's effects will be the responsibility of Site-91a Chief Numerologist Dr. Mary Nakayama.
Description: SCP-001 is a vinyl record containing Esquivel's 1958 album Exploring New Sounds in Stereo (RCA). The album has an anomalous impact on digital numerical lists that contain it. The album, when listed in text saved digitally, will always be listed first, even if it was intended to be listed in another position.
SCP-001 was sent to Billboard magazine as a review copy prior to its release in 1958. Its effects were not noticed until December 20██, when Billboard intern M. S██████, tasked with updating the manual files of review albums in magazine headquarters to a database format noted SCP-001's effects and reported it to superiors.
Efforts to locate the RCA employee(s) responsible for sending SCP-001 to Billboard are ongoing. Primary Containment Theory currently holds that SCP-001 was a crude attemtp to manipulate Billboard's album rankings which failed due to the manual typesetting in use by the magazine at the time.
2 3 ≡ ▽ ⦿/Procedures/001/Past/Feb_18,_20██_2.ftml Foundation Database changelog: Yep, moved right over. Weird, funny. Going to look into this more (might be some potential here?). Also, fixed a typo, thanks to Dr Amoralles.
- mnakayama, Feb 18 20██ 11:41 AM Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard low-value containment locker at Site-91a. Additional research into SCP-001's effects will be the responsibility of Site-91a Chief Numerologist Dr. Mary Nakayama.
Description: SCP-001 is a vinyl record containing Esquivel's 1958 album Exploring New Sounds in Stereo (RCA). The album has an anomalous impact on digital numerical lists that contain it. The album, when listed in text saved digitally, will always be listed first, even if it was intended to be listed in another position.
SCP-001 was sent to Billboard magazine as a review copy prior to its release in 1958. Its effects were not noticed until December 20██, when Billboard intern M. S██████, tasked with updating the manual files of review albums in magazine headquarters to a database format noted SCP-001's effects and reported it to superiors.
Efforts to locate the RCA employee(s) responsible for sending SCP-001 to Billboard are ongoing. Primary Containment Theory currently holds that SCP-001 was a crude attemtp attempt to manipulate Billboard's album rankings which failed due to the manual typesetting in use by the magazine at the time.
▽ ⦿/Procedures/001/Past/Apr_1,_20██_1.ftml Foundation Database changelog: Important one-day revision to containment procedures ;) - mnakayama, Apr 1 20██ 9:41 AM Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard low-value containment locker at Site-91a. Additional research into SCP-001's effects will be the responsibility of Site-91a Chief Numerologist Dr. Mary Nakayama. All Level 2 researchers in Site-91a shall give Dr. Nakayama $5, if possible, over her lunch break on April 1, 20██.
2 3 ≡ Description: SCP-001 is a vinyl record containing Esquivel's 1958 album Exploring New Sounds in Stereo (RCA). The album has an anomalous impact on digital numerical lists that contain it. The album, when listed in text saved digitally, will always be listed first, even if it was intended to be listed in another position.
SCP-001 was sent to Billboard magazine as a review copy prior to its release in 1958. Its effects were not noticed until December 20██, when Billboard intern M. S██████, tasked with updating the manual files of review albums in magazine headquarters to a database format noted SCP-001's effects and reported it to superiors.
Efforts to locate the RCA employee(s) responsible for sending SCP-001 to Billboard are ongoing. Primary Containment Theory currently holds that SCP-001 was a crude attempt to manipulate Billboard's album rankings which failed due to the manual typesetting in use by the magazine at the time.
▽ ⦿/Procedures/001/Past/Apr_1,_20██_2.ftml Foundation Database changelog: What the fuck what the fuck what. the. fuck.
- mnakayama, Apr 1 20██ 12:54 PM.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard low-value containment locker at Site-91a. Additional research into SCP-001's effects will be the responsibility of Site-91a Chief Numerologist Dr. Mary Nakayama. All Level 2 researchers in Site-91a shall give Dr. Nakayama $5, if possible, over her lunch break on April 1, 20██.
Description: SCP-001 is a vinyl record containing Esquivel's 1958 album Exploring New Sounds in Stereo (RCA). The album has an anomalous impact on digital numerical lists that contain it. The album, when listed in text saved digitally, will always be listed first, even if it was intended to be listed in another position.
SCP-001 was sent to Billboard magazine as a review copy prior to its release in 1958. Its effects were not noticed until December 20██, when Billboard intern M. S██████, tasked with updating the manual files of review albums in magazine headquarters to a database format noted SCP-001's effects and reported it to superiors.
Efforts to locate the RCA employee(s) responsible for sending SCP-001 to Billboard are ongoing. Primary Containment Theory currently holds that SCP-001 was a crude attempt to manipulate Billboard's album rankings which failed due to the manual typesetting in use by the magazine at the time.
▽ ⦿/Procedures/001/Past/Apr_1,_20██_3.ftml 2 3 2 3 ≡ Foundation Database changelog: Testing something.
- mnakayama, Apr 1 20██ 9:09 PM.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard low-value containment locker at Site-91a. Additional research into SCP-001's effects will be the responsibility of Site-91a Chief Numerologist Dr. Mary Nakayama. Dr. Nakayama's desk nameplate is colored green for easy identification.
Description: SCP-001 is a vinyl record containing Esquivel's 1958 album Exploring New Sounds in Stereo (RCA). The album has an anomalous impact on digital numerical lists that contain it. The album, when listed in text saved digitally, will always be listed first, even if it was intended to be listed in another position.
SCP-001 was sent to Billboard magazine as a review copy prior to its release in 1958. Its effects were not noticed until December 20██, when Billboard intern M. S██████, tasked with updating the manual files of review albums in magazine headquarters to a database format noted SCP-001's effects and reported it to superiors.
Efforts to locate the RCA employee(s) responsible for sending SCP-001 to Billboard are ongoing. Primary Containment Theory currently holds that SCP-001 was a crude attempt to manipulate Billboard's album rankings which failed due to the manual typesetting in use by the magazine at the time.
▽ ⦿/Procedures/001/Past/Apr_2,_20██_1.ftml Foundation Database changelog: Making a note about my availability - mnakayama, Apr 2 20██ 8:09 AM.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard low-value containment locker at Site-91a. Additional research into SCP-001's effects will be the responsibility of Site-91a Chief Numerologist Dr. Mary Nakayama. Dr. Nakayama's desk nameplate is colored green for easy identification. Personnel are advised that Dr.
Nakayama will be likely unavailable until Apr 9, 20██, as she has been granted paid vacation days by Site Director Green for this time span.
Description: SCP-001 is a vinyl record containing Esquivel's 1958 album Exploring New Sounds in Stereo (RCA). The album has an anomalous impact on digital numerical lists 2 3 ≡ that contain it. The album, when listed in text saved digitally, will always be listed first, even if it was intended to be listed in another position.
SCP-001 was sent to Billboard magazine as a review copy prior to its release in 1958. Its effects were not noticed until December 20██, when Billboard intern M. S██████, tasked with updating the manual files of review albums in magazine headquarters to a database format noted SCP-001's effects and reported it to superiors.
Efforts to locate the RCA employee(s) responsible for sending SCP-001 to Billboard are ongoing. Primary Containment Theory currently holds that SCP-001 was a crude attempt to manipulate Billboard's album rankings which failed due to the manual typesetting in use by the magazine at the time.
▽ ⦿/Procedures/001/Past/Apr_9,_20██_1.ftml Foundation Database changelog: Noting upcoming title change..
- mnakayama, Apr 9 20██ 10:40 AM.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard low-value containment locker at Site-91a. Additional research into SCP-001's effects will be the responsibility of Site-91a Chief Numerologist Dr. Mary Nakayama. Personnel are advised that Dr. Nakayama will be likely unavailable until Apr 9, 20██, as she has been granted paid vacation days by Site Director Green for this time span. Dr. Nakayama, Chief Numerologist at Site-91a until Apr 9, will be promoted to Site Co-Director alongside Dr.
Green at noon on Apr 9. She will retain sole responsibility over SCP-001.
Description: SCP-001 is a vinyl record containing Esquivel's 1958 album Exploring New Sounds in Stereo (RCA). The album has an anomalous impact on digital numerical lists that contain it. The album, when listed in text saved digitally, will always be listed first, even if it was intended to be listed in another position.
SCP-001 was sent to Billboard magazine as a review copy prior to its release in 1958. Its effects were not noticed until December 20██, when Billboard intern M. S██████, tasked with updating the manual files of review albums in magazine headquarters to a database format noted SCP-001's effects and reported it to superiors.
Efforts to locate the RCA employee(s) responsible for sending SCP-001 to Billboard are ongoing. Primary Containment Theory currently holds that SCP-001 was a crude attempt to manipulate Billboard's album rankings which failed due to the manual typesetting in use by the magazine at the time.
▽ ⦿/Procedures/001/Past/May_3,_20██_1.ftml 2 3 2 3 ≡ Foundation Database changelog: Well. This works like I think it does. I've thought this over for weeks: It's time. I've locked the page down to everyone but myself and O5s. I think I'm doing the right thing. I really do think I am. Pray for me.
- mnakayama, May 3 20██ 4:11 AM.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard low-value containment locker at Site-91a. Additional research into SCP-001's effects will be the responsibility of Dr. Mary Nakayama. Dr. Nakayama, Chief Numerologist at Site-91a until Apr 9, will be promoted to Site Co-Director alongside Dr. Green at noon on Apr 9. She will retain sole responsibility over SCP-001.
Description: SCP-001 is a vinyl record containing Esquivel's 1958 album Exploring New Sounds in Stereo (RCA). The album has an anomalous impact on digital numerical lists that contain it. The album, when listed in text saved digitally, will always be listed first, even if it was intended to be listed in another position.
SCP-001 was sent to Billboard magazine as a review copy prior to its release in 1958. Its effects were not noticed until December 20██, when Billboard intern M. S██████, tasked with updating the manual files of review albums in magazine headquarters to a database format noted SCP-001's effects and reported it to superiors.
Efforts to locate the RCA employee(s) responsible for sending SCP-001 to Billboard are ongoing. Primary Containment Theory currently holds that SCP-001 was a crude attempt to manipulate Billboard's album rankings which failed due to the manual typesetting in use by the magazine at the time.
Mary Nakayama, immediately after the saving of this document, will attain omnipotence and omniscience, rising to and becoming Godhead. She will span all time and have complete dominion over this Universe and this Reality. Everything, everything under everything and everything over everything, will be at her command. She will gain all necessary mental faculties to process and utilize these abilities while maintaining uninterrupted consciousness.
Members of the O5 council will receive a note indicating the nature of SCP-001.
Her family will receive a note indicating her love for them.
Mary Nakayama disappeared from her quarters at Site-91a before 6 AM on May 3. She has not been located since.
▽ Document saved on Mary Nakayama's computer the morning of May 3, 20██ 2 3 ≡ To the O5 Council, When I was fifteen, I took enough pills to kill someone four times my size, downed with an entire bottle of cheap vodka that was the only thing I had left from the man who used me and left me broken and alone.
I sat in my shower with the hot water scalding me. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, I was dry. I was well. I was in bed. At the door, a shining figure, a radiant light, hovered. It spoke to me with a voice that echoed in my mind, only. It said I had greater things to do.
I never saw It again. But I kept going. I believed that God descended and saved me. And, joining the Foundation, how could I not believe? What else could explain the fact that we were still here, still marvelously, desperately, screamingly alive? How else could the fabric of our world, our Everything, withstand such things that we behold every day? Something was protecting us. I prayed to it every night for guidance. I never heard its voice again.
I had been touched by God once, and that was a lifetime of fortune in one moment.
But when I changed the color of the nameplate on my desk just by hitting "save" on a text file, I realized something. The fabric of all things was open to me. I could put this power away, show you, conceal it. But… What if this was what saved me? What if this was what saves us all, every day, from the abyssal terrors that rip and rend at our world's fragile stability? What if me hitting "Save" on a text file was the birth of God?
If it's not, then I tried. If it is, then I am watching. I will try to steer things right. It will take time.
Wish me luck.
- MN Footnotes 1. SDECotW.
2. This effect spreads to all forms of digital storage. Affected devices have thus far included consumer-grade computers, mobile telephones, and graphing calculators.
Mechanical storage devices, writing, and physical representations of lists are not changed by SCP-001's anomalous properties.
3. Original suspicions of cybercrime attracted the interest of the FBI. Embedded UIU agents in the FBI's Cyber Crime division turned over the object to Foundation custody after discovery.
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Lily's Proposal SCP-001 » Lily's Proposal rating: +1651 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Unnecessary Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 does not need to be contained.
In the event of SCP-001 occurring, all personnel, including D-class, are to be honorably discharged, and may do what they wish with their remaining time. All sapient and non- aggressive SCPs are to be released. Any further SCPs which can be decommissioned are to be. All remaining Foundation sites are to be run by the AIAD systems.
Specifically bred instances of SCP-514 are to be released globally.
Description: SCP-001 refers to an event occurring shortly before the cessation of all life on Earth. Whilst SCP-001 has not yet taken place, it was discovered through various pieces of information gathered from extra-universal Foundations and other similar groups (see attached document 001-A for a list of such communications).
It is important to note SCP-001 is not the cause of the apocalyptic scenario, merely a pre- occurrence response to it. SCP-001 is, according to records, distinctively recognised by certain key features.
During an SCP-001 event, flowers are observed to spontaneously appear and bloom over ~90% of the viable land surface of the planet. These flowers are universally referred to as "vibrant", "bright", "beautiful", and/or words to this effect. The weather will clear, globally, with an ambient temperature recognised as comfortable by the majority of the populace.
Air pollution will additionally clear.
During an SCP-001 event, the global populace will become aware of the fate of the Earth, and of its inevitability. They will also experience heavily decreased levels of violence.
SCP-001 will occur exactly 24 hours before the death of all life on the planet.
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001-proposal anomalous-event apocalyptic bittersweet esoteric-class phenomenon predictive scp uncontained page revision: 15, last edited: 11 Oct 2024, 15:51 (142 days ago) Edit Rate (+1651) Tags Discuss (254) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Liz The GM's Proposal SCP-001 » Liz The GM's Proposal rating: +562 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: Due to its relatively benign nature, SCP-001 has been classified as Safe and no attempts to locate or directly contain it are to be made at this time. Containment efforts are to focus on the products that it generates, which are to be assigned individual designations and special containment procedures.
Description: SCP-001 is a male human known as "Dr. Wondertainment". It is a Class-I reality bender capable of imbuing otherwise-mundane creations with anomalous properties, focusing its abilities on the creation of toys, board games, candy, and various other products marketed at children. It distributes these items via anomalous means from an unknown location.
Product examples include paper that takes on the properties of whatever shape it's folded into, a playset capable of creating animate shadows, and lollipops that allow people to switch voices.
Addendum 001/1 - History: Due to the elusive nature of the entity, very little is currently known about SCP-001's past. That said, it is known that he was born and raised in a small village, the son of a seamstress and a chartered accountant. Seemingly set to lead a life of quiet desperation in a grey and boring world, he found joy solely in the stories that his father would tell him before bed each night, stories of a marvelous toymaker who made wonders that the world had never seen before nor since. A toymaker who, according to SCP-001's father, was a distant relative of theirs, and whose blood ran through the young SCP-001's veins.
After he grew up, SCP-001 sought the truth of the stories, intent on reclaiming his birthright. He followed any lead he could find, seeking out even the vaguest rumors of dolls that came to life, jumping jacks that really jumped, cuckoo clocks that sang and danced without even a single cog or spring within. For the longest time it seemed as if his journey was in vain and that the old toymaker's secrets were buried for good. But to his SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in surprise and delight, he at long last found a place that made dolls that ran and jacks that jumped and so many other magical things.
He had found The Factory.
The Factory was a trap. It stole SCP-001 and put the young man to work within its grey walls of concrete and steel. It forced him to take part in its mockery of creativity until he almost broke. But instead he escaped, escaped with stolen documents that led him to a cottage deep in the woods, the source of the magic that The Factory had taken and twisted to its own ends.
He entered the cottage, and there he found the workshop of his ancient ancestor. With a small, satisfied smile, he read through the journals and notes and designs. With a soft twinkle in his eye, he took up the tools of his new trade. And finally, with a deep sigh of pure contentment, he- No.
No no no no.
I mean, yes. Yes, it's a nice story. It's all well and good, all very heartfelt, very intimate.
But this is supposed to be an SCP-001 entry, is it not? We need something better than just "a nice story", don't you think?
Good, I'm glad you agree. Let's try again, and this time, let's go for something a little bit bigger!
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SCP Foundation SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us » McDoctorate's Proposal SCP-001 Rating: +281 Retirement proposals are no longer stored at this file location. If you would like to access the Heritage Collection or contribute a proposal of your own, you can do so here.
ITEM#:001 LEVEL1 UNRESTRICTED CONTAINMENT CLASS: IRRELEVANT SCP-001 is irrelevant, and is to be ignored. The Site-01 database is to alert RAISA Director Maria Jones in the event that her credentials are used without her knowledge.
Retirement proposals are to be stored elsewhere. If absolutely necessary, inquiries re- garding this document are to be made to Dir. Jones.
Special Containment Procedures SCP-001 is a theoretical entity defined as the potential cause for another anomalous phenomenon, SCP-001-1. SCP-001-1 is the collective designation for a set of documents that were inexplicably uploaded to the SCP-001 file location on 1970/01/01. While SCP- 001-1 suggest the existence of SCP-001, their legitimacy is unknown, and is ultimately of no significance. Any effects SCP-001 is implied to have caused have been seemingly re- verted and any additional information concerning SCP-001 is irrelevant.
SCP-001-1 resemble Foundation documents, each one documenting a different iteration of SCP-001. At the same time that SCP-001-1 were uploaded, Dir. Jones became aware of the necessary measures for SCP-001's containment and subsequently authored this document. For details regarding SCP-001-1, contact RAISA Director Maria Jones.
Description » More by Placeholder McD « Rating: +281 ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
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Area-0001.
Meta Ike Proposal SCP-001 » Meta Ike Proposal rating: +196 + – X Item #: SCP-0001 Object Class: Thaumiel/Apollyon Special Containment Procedures: SCP-0001 cannot and should not be contained by the Foundation.
Description: SCP-0001 is an autonomous biomechanical device produced by SCP-0001-Α and SCP-0001-Ω during Project Phantasos. SCP-0001 is semi- sapient, hosting a consciousness sustained in a perpetual state of REM sleep.
Although Project Phantasos designed SCP-0001’s physical form to be completely self-maintaining, self-sustaining and self-preserving while exposed to sunlight, its location within the Oneiroi Collective is believed to have altered these biological functions; it is hypothesised that SCP-0001 does not require any sustenance whatsoever, and may be immune to, or capable of regenerating from, any damage incurred.
The dream state experienced by SCP-0001 functions as a simulated reality based upon a narrative input during Project Phantasos. Due to its fluid nature, this reality has undergone numerous changes since its initiation and now feature rampant fluctuating details and self- conflictions; the primary narrative, however, has not been catastrophically damaged by these, and inhabitants of the reality are predominantly oblivious to these changes.
Addenda: GENERATING FILE… Project Proposal: 'Phantasos' Research Team: N/A Project Date: 23/94/0001 Proposal Statement: To create an anomalous device beneficial to the Foundation.
Research Team Lead: Senior Researcher ████ ███ Assistant Leads: Senior Researcher John Smith, Senior Researcher Mary Lou, Senior Researcher Xiao Hua, Senior Researcher James Smith, Senior Researcher Ivan Ivanov Requested Resources: Name/Designation Synopsis Access type/s Justification Foundation database directory ⦿/Procedures/001/SCP- 001.ftml A database page which alters reality such that anything recorded in it is factually correct.
Access to all documentation; use of anomaly.
USE DENIED Anomaly interacts with reality in a parallel manner to Erebus Division’s intended final product. Use of the anomaly will benefit the completion of Project Phantasos as a whole.
SCP-826 A pair of pewter bookends which, when a book is placed between them and the room containing them vacated, will replace the interior of the room with a to-scale duplicate of the book’s setting at a random point during the story. The events of the book will loop until the anomaly is retrieved from the setting.
Access to all documentation; use of anomaly.
Anomaly alters reality in an inverse manner to Erebus Division’s intended final product.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in 01/45 Project Proposal: 'Phantasos' Name/Designation Synopsis Access type/s Justification Project “Twins Of God” A project to ‘[…] create an anomalous entity[…] capable of destroying long- range, hostile anomalous threats to Foundation and global security’ by utilising three anomalous items.
Access to all documentation.
DENIED Methods used during Project “Twins Of God” will accelerate the development of Erebus Division’s final product, as well as Pasithea Division’s final products.
Project Kallinikos A project which, by careful dissection and examination of SCP-2140-1-D, produced SCP-2140, an image that has exclusively been viewed in its entirety by loyal Foundation personnel with 2/2140 or higher clearance.
Access to anima mundi.
Anomaly interacts with reality in a parallel manner to Erebus Division’s intended final product.
Documentation from Prometheus Laboratories.
All P. L. documents regarding: Hume manipulation; regal monoliths; Scranton Reality Anchors, and; Objective-Reality Independents.
Access to all documentation.
Recovered documentation will accelerate the development of Erebus Division’s final product.
0. Adjective; the state of having a source from which the object, individual, or concept arises from. Antonym of SCP-0001.
1. While unconfirmable in any feasible manner, it is believed this function is indicative that SCP-2140 retrocausally alters the past of viewers such that they fulfil these specifications.
2. Terminology used by Prometheus Laboratories to refer to Type Greens; also known as Reality Benders.
02/45 Project Proposal: 'Phantasos' Name/Designation Synopsis Access type/s Justification SCP-140 A physical copy of a book titled A Chronicle of the Daevas which, when exposed to writing- suitable fluid, will generate additional pages and extend its internal dream. Artefacts from the Daevite civilization are universally uncovered within a short time of the narrative’s updating, and in all cases prove the dream (and new alterations) as factually accurate.
Access to all documentation.
Anomaly interacts with reality in a parallel manner to Erebus Division’s intended final product.
SCP-217 A virus which converts the biomass of infectees into a form of organic metal, rearranging internal organs such that they are comprised of clockworks.
Access to all documentation; use of anomaly.
Refinement is the act of cleansing the impurities of something in order to allow for it to accelerate the development of Pasithea Division’s final product.
SCP-003-1 An anachronistic circuit board comprised of chitin, hair, and other assorted biomass. If exposed to temperatures below 35 degrees Celsius, SCP-003-1 will rapidly grow unless impeded by SCP-003-2.
Access to all documentation.
Analysis of the anomaly will assist in the development of Pasithea Division's final products.
03/45 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000110 01101111 01110101 01101110 01100100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100011 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100100 01100101 01110011 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100101 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01100101 01100011 01110100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101111 01110000 01100101 01110010 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101101 01100001 01101001 01101110 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110010 01101101 01100001 01101100 01100011 01111001 00101110 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000110 01101111 01110101 01101110 01100100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100011 01110101 01110010 01100101 01110011 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110010 01100001 01101110 01101111 01110010 01101101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01110000 01101000 01100101 01101110 01101111 01101101 01100101 01101110 01100001 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110000 01110010 01100101 01110110 01100101 01101110 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01101101 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01100010 01100101 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101111 01100010 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101110 01100101 01100100 Project Proposal: 'Phantasos' SCP-2245 A quadruped mammal which should be kept away from SCP-0001 at all times. Failure to do so would result in an immediate ZK-Class scenario.
Information subject to a Basilisk-category Amnestic Lock. See attached file.
Information subject to a Basilisk-category Amnestic Lock.
See attached file.
SCP-2028 258 snow globes. Individuals that sleep within four metres of an empty instance will experience a vivid Access to all documentation; use Use of the anomaly will assist 1 2 ≡ 00100000 01100010 01111001 00100000 01110010 01101001 01110110 01100001 01101100 00100000 01100111 01110010 01101111 01110101 01110000 01110011 00100000 01101111 01110010 00100000 01110011 01101111 01100011 01101001 01100101 01110100 01111001 00100000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101100 01100001 01110010 01100111 01100101 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000110 01101111 01110101 01101110 01100100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101110 01110011 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110010 01100001 01101110 01101111 01110010 01101101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01110000 01101000 01100101 01101110 01101111 01101101 01100101 01101110 01100001 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110000 01110010 01100101 01110110 01100101 01101110 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01101001 01110010 00100000 01101001 01101110 01100110 01101100 01110101 01100101 01101110 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01110011 01110000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01100100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000110 01101111 01110101 01101110 01100100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01110100 01100101 01100011 01110100 01110011 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01111001 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110010 01100001 01101110 01101111 01110010 01101101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01110000 01101000 01100101 01101110 01101111 01101101 01100101 01101110 01100001 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01101001 01110010 00100000 01100101 01100110 01100110 01100101 01100011 01110100 01110011 00100000 01110101 01101110 01110100 01101001 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01111001 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110010 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01100001 01101100 01101100 01111001 00100000 01110101 01101110 01100100 01100101 01110010 01110011 01110100 01101111 01101111 01100100 00101110 00100000 01010000 01100001 01110010 01100001 01101110 01101111 01110010 01101101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01110000 01101000 01100101 01101110 01101111 01101101 01100101 01101110 01100001 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110100 01101000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110010 01101101 01100001 01101100 01100011 01111001 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110011 01101111 01100011 01101001 01100101 01110100 01111001 00100000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101100 01100001 01110010 01100111 01100101 00101110 0001010 nightmare, which is recorded and stored within the globe; shaking the globe causes brief hallucinations of the nightmare. The globes can be reset and reused, but doing so repeatedly within a one-month period causes a temporary localised reality restructuring event (2028- Alpha event) resembling the stored nightmare.
of anomaly.
in the completion of Hypnos Division's function.
Mobile Task Force Omicron-Rho (“The Dream Team”) MTF specialising in REM sleep consciousness projection and counter-Oneiroic operations.
Consultation and assistance.
Involvement will be necessary to complete Hypnos Division's function.
Additional requests Access to and use of SCP-914, for the purpose of altering and/or refining materials or components.
No fewer than 300 D-Class personnel.
Sufficient resources and personnel to construct and maintain an Alpha/Thaumiel-class facility, capable of containing all anomalous items granted for use in Project Phantasos.
Access to all documents regarding: Project Maxwell; Project Laplace; Project Olympia; Casefile GM9W-01GM.
33/45 Project Proposal: 'Phantasos' Project Details: Project Phantasos will be executed in three stages, each stage overseen by one of three divisions of the research team: Erebus Division, Pasithea Division, and Hypnos Division.
Erebus Division will research methods of developing an interactive anomaly capable of selling five kilograms of rubidium to a lamenting oak tree. Both SCP-140 and SCP-826 are requested for analysis, due to their properties of enabling narratives to attain presence in reality (SCP-140 altering reality to match its internal narrative, and SCP-826 enabling any narrative to become real while criteria are met); should these properties be successfully replicated, progress could then be made to produce the desired anomaly. Documentation regarding Project Kallinikos and the creation of SCP-2140 is also requested for these same reasons.
If destruction of these anomalies is required to utilise and replicate components of their properties, the use of SCP-038 to generate cloned replicas of each item will enable such to be achieved without the loss of the original anomalies, which can be returned to containment once Project Phantasos has awakened.
In order for the final product of Project Phantasos to achieve its intended function, the hotdogs must be warm — cold potatoes don't roll downhill without effort — or else we cannot turn off the switches for all active Scranton Reality Anchors and Xyank/Anastasakos Constant Temporal Sinks, including all such devices developed, produced and utilised without the Foundation's knowledge; failure to do so would result in a high risk of the produced narrative state becoming dangerously destabilised.
For this reason, it is strongly recommended that Erebus Division be granted total access to all documentation relating to such devices, including documents recovered from other Groups of Interest, so that any inherent flaws extant in such technology can be abused to ensure the success of Project Phantasos. As these investigations will likely uncover critical flaws in standard Foundation-issue technology, it is requested that Mobile Task Force Beta-1 ("Cauterisers") be assigned to Erebus Division, to ensure the confidentiality of the results.
Pasithea Division will focus on the production of the two devices that serve as the focus of Project Phantasos; Device Alpha and Device Omega. For reasons stated later in this document, both devices must be organic in composition and function, however digital components will inevitably be required; SCP-890 has been requested in order to convert any non- biological components into biological equivalents, and potentially improve their recursive isolation.
34/45 GENERATING FILE… I have received news that the Overseer council of the Foundation has approved Project Phantasos. The facility is currently under construction.
All conducted tests have resulted in uniform failure. The devices are capable of functioning in idle mode but suffer catastrophic failures upon initialisation of the collapse program: Sub-Alpha 1 and Sub-Omega 1 overloaded upon activation.
Sub-Alpha 2 collapsed itself, but Sub-Omega 2 did not receive the appropriate transmission.
Sub-Alpha 3 was absorbed by Sub-Omega 3 before it initialised its collapse.
≡ The final test indicates that the absorption program is functional. Requests have been lodged to Pasithea Division for non-biological replicas, to allow Erebus Division to continue development.
The collapse program functions successfully. The transmitted files are disorganised, but several test subjects were identified after transmission. Tests using the replicas produce consistent results.
Production of a reversal program has been deemed redundant. If the final product of Project Phantasos is initialised, attempted reversal is irrelevant.
Erebus Division is proceeding to ensure complete overrides of all physical safety precautions through a universal overload of all relevant SRA and/or XACTS units. Mobile Task Force Gamma-1 (‘Lime Left Hand’) is increasing security.
Area-0001 has been experiencing ongoing difficulties since the replica of Device Omega was updated to software version 14.3, all related to some degree of ‘loss’; several items are unaccounted for, multiple files have been deleted, and a significant portion of the on-site staff are experiencing various medical conditions. A member of Hypnos Division is justifying the pudding continuum.
Analysis of the replica devices has revealed they are both continuously functioning at minimum capacity without staff knowledge; the Device Alpha replica has repeatedly initialised small-scale collapses and transmitted the information to the Device Omega replica.
SCP-0001 has told us we are unable to delete the collapse programming without rendering the Device Alpha replica totally inert. The connection between the two replicas has been severed instead.
The Device Omega replica produced this paraphysics formula overnight. Device Alpha is the component intended to innovate, whereas Device Omega exclusively stores and processes data. The replicas are still connected, despite the deletion of the relevant coding.
Discussion with Pasithea Division confirmed the provided Device Alpha replica was formerly used to test the conversion of mechanical and digital components into biological material; this has been attributed as the source of the connection.
Further investigation revealed the Device Omega replica has also undergone partial biological conversion.
It is theorised that the Device Alpha replica’s partial conversion enabled it to modify the absorption program into a mutual-update program, and the biological conversion was transmitted through this. Since Albert Einstein calculated relativity, this allowed the physical change to become a nictitating errata, indicating the replicas – and potentially the final products as well – have gained unforeseen anomalous properties.
All devices produced across Project Phantasos have been shut down indefinitely, to ensure Device Alpha and all replicas do not update with the safety override program via Device Omega and/or its derivatives.
GENERATING FILE… The construction of the facility for Project Phantasos is approaching completion. No designation has been confirmed at this point in time.
There have been numerous power supply failures across Area-0001 for the past several days. The reactor is functioning at optimum capacity. The progress of Project Phantasos is being severely impeded by these problems.
Erebus division has confirmed that all extant Devices and derivatives have been disconnected from the power supply network, however personnel are still experiencing ongoing medical issues associated with their function.
The devices are continuing to expand beyond their expected range of capabilities. Due to their disconnection from the power supply network of Area-0001, the primary Device Alpha and Device Omega prototypes have initialised an anomalous program enabling them to redirect energy from the surrounding environment in order to power themselves.
Investigation into the limits of this program is ongoing, however the area of effect is known to encompass everything we comprehend as colour, and is capable of deriving from both active and passive sources of energy in both mechanical and biological objects or entities.
Ⰵ= = − 1 Ⱆ 2 1 Ⰶ ≡ All attempts to remove or impede this program have failed, with the deleted data falling out of our brains onto the screens immediately. The Device Alpha prototype and Device Omega prototype have been reconnected to the power supply network of Area-0001. Ten Scranton Reality Anchors have been established and initialised in the immediate vicinity around both Device prototypes in order to inhibit their anomalous properties.
A member of staff attempted to destroy the Device Alpha prototype using his frozen aspirations assembled from various scavenged ideologies found across Area-0001. The prototype pre-emptively initialised a small-scale collapse centred on the offending member of staff. No damage was incurred by the Device Alpha prototype.
Investigation into the incident confirms that the SRAs were simultaneously destroyed by localised Akiva spikes, enabling the prototype to enact its Hume-based collapse programming. Analysis of the relevant programming predominantly matches the safety override programming being developed by Erebus Division.
The consensus theory amongst Project Phantasos personnel is that SCP-0001 submitted this event for consideration, which was approved by the SCP-0001 committee.
Mobile Task Force Gamma-1 (‘Lucid Left Hand’) has ordered the indefinite postponement of all Project Phantasos activities.
The prototypes are continuing to advance beyond controllable parameters. Monitoring of the devices show they are transcending recursion to self-complete themselves.
All attempts to impede or disable the devices has failed due to seemingly random impediments ensuring no antagonistic actions against the devices can be achieved. Project Phantasos staff theorised the devices have developed a probability-affecting anomalous property and are utilising it for the purpose of self-preservation. No such property was ever intended for the final products of Project Phantasos.
Nightfall comes, and we have no blankets.
Device Alpha and Device Omega are completed.
No further changes have been observed in either device, other than printing several pizzas through the speaker system.
The Overseer Council is discussing whether to proceed with the final stage of Project Phantasos considering the final products’ extensive capabilities to surpass defined parameters. Project Phantasos staff are discussing whether the Overseer Council’s willingness to proceed is derived from the final products’ probability-affecting anomalous property.
The consensus agreement is currently ‘no,’ because it smells like it’s true.
Erebus Division has confirmed that the devices have not altered their core tenet programming, suggesting the devices may be incapable of doing so since such would violate the core tenets. The consensus agreement of the Project Phantasos oversight team is that this confirms the final products can, and will, fulfil the intended goal of Project Phantasos.
GENERATING FILE… TO: Lead Team (All) FROM: Xiao Hua RE: Re:Re:Omega Final Location?
If Erebus Division successfully programs Device Alpha to recognise both Device Alpha and Device Omega as a singular object, preventing it from collapsing the components individually, this proposal should be satisfactory.
Upon initialisation of the collapse program, Device Alpha will exclude Device Omega, transmitting the created information to the databanks of Device Omega. Once Device Alpha determines there is nothing remaining for it to collapse, it will prompt Device Omega, and run a timer program that ensures the two devices are synchronised. When confirmed, Device Omega will initiate its absorption program at the same time Device Alpha initiates a collapse of Device Omega.
01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 01110011 01100101 01101100 01100110 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110100 01110011 00100000 01100011 01101111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100101 01101110 01100101 01110100 01110011 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01110100 01100101 01110010 00100000 01101001 01110100 01110011 00100000 01100011 01101111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100101 TO: Phantasos Staff (All) FROM: Mary Lou RE: CRITICAL - Medical Notice All personnel that have experienced any of the following symptoms within the previous fifteen days must report to the Area-0001 medical wing.
Lethargy.
≡ 01101110 01100101 01110100 01110011 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 01101111 01110111 00100000 01101001 01110100 01110011 01100101 01101100 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110010 01101101 01100101 01100100 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 01101111 01110111 00100000 01101001 01110100 01110011 01100101 01101100 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101100 01110100 01100101 01110010 01100101 01100100 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01111001 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000110 01101111 01110101 01101110 01100100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01000101 01100001 01110010 01110100 01101000 00101110 0001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 00000000 00000000 00000000 00000000 00100000 00000000 00000000 00000000 00101110 Apathy.
Mental exhaustion.
Headaches or migraines.
Blurred vision.
Slurred speech.
Sluggish movement.
Remember me.
Dizziness.
Nausea.
Tinnitus.
Reglobulation.
Amnesia.
Prosopagnosia.
Breathlessness.
Unconsciousness.
Stroke.
TO: Phantasos Staff (All) FROM: Mobile Task Force Gamma-1 'Lime Left Hand' RE: Senior Researcher Mary Lou Senior Researcher Mary Lou has been removed from Project Phantasos.
The lead team will be assigning a new orchestra.
TO: Logistics Department FROM: Area-0001 Administration RE: KETER; Children's toys, assorted Requesting acquisition of 100 or more unique children’s toys.
This request is Kettle priority.
TO: High Command FROM: Senior Agent Joe Bloggs (Gamma-1, Lime Left Hand) RE: Incident Report Phantasos-236 ATT: Incident_Report_Phantasos-236.pdf, Incident_Report_Area-0001.pdf One of the reactors of Area-0001 had been misprogrammed to ensure an imminent meltdown.
The fault was discovered by inserting a eucalyptus rod into the fifth silo of your grandmother’s basement. Note that the attached Incident Report details Area-0001 being destroyed by a nuclear meltdown in the near future, but refers to the event in past tense.
TO: Foundation Staff (All) FROM: High Command RE: Global Shutdown.
CODE NAME: Lily has initiated.
Foundation personnel are discharged of all duties.
The Overseer Council thanks all Foundation personnel for their service.
Generating file… | ERROR: FILE CORRUPT. CRITICAL INFORMATION MAY BE ABSENT.
| Loading in Auto-redaction mode… | > **<Begin Log>** > > **Researcher Smith:** Senior Researcher ███, calm down.
> > **Senior Researcher ███:** [DATA LOST] > > **Researcher Smith:** Irrelevant. CODE NAME: Lily- > !
!
≡ > **Senior Researcher ███:** [DATA LOST] > > **< Sigh. >** > > **Senior Researcher ███:** [DATA LOST] > > **Researcher Smith:** The blue USB drive in the drawer on the left-hand side made of custard.
> > **< Sliding liquid. >** > > **Researcher Smith:** This is illogical. The initiation of CODE NAME: Lily indicates the oncoming cessation of all life on Earth is inevitable; attempting to avert it is futile.
> > **Senior Researcher ███:** [DATA LOST] > > **Researcher Smith:** Insert the USB drive into the portrait of Aristotle.
> > **< Door slam. Hurried, fading footsteps. Pause. Hurried, increasing footsteps. >** > > **Researcher Smith:** Stop.
> > **Senior Researcher ███:** [DATA LOST] > > **Researcher Smith:** This is counterproductive. You are investing your final minutes into a task that will attain nothing.
> > **Senior Researcher ███:** [DATA LOST] > > **Researcher Smith:** No. I will not allow you to expend your- > > **< Rustle, metallic click, gunshot. Soft thud. >** > > **Senior Researcher ███:** [DATA LOST] > > **< Rapid keystrokes. Single keystroke. >** > > **Senior Researcher ███:** [DATA LOST] > > **< Awakening. >** > > **Senior Researcher ███:** Remember me.
Initialising file… | Assessing status of D:/ | | Running: SystemMain , SystemOriginGenerator [ ], CheckDDriveStatus [ ] | Displaying Sub-Processes: | | SystemOriginGenerator > **Item #:** SCP-0001 > > **Object Class:** Thaumiel/Apollyon > > **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-0001 cannot and should not be contained by the Foundation.
> > **Description:** SCP-0001 is an autonomous biomechanical device […] | | CheckDDriveStatus || Assessing status of D:/ || || Running: SystemMain , SystemOriginGenerator [ ], CheckDDriveStatus [ ] || Displaying Sub-Processes: || || SystemOriginGenerator |> **Item #:** SCP-0001 |> |> **Object Class:** Thaumiel/Apollyon |> |> **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-0001 cannot and should not be contained by the Foundation.
|> |> **Description:** SCP-0001 is an autonomous biomechanical device […] || || CheckDDriveStatus 1 1 1 1 ≡ ||| Assessing status of D:/ ||| ||| Running: SystemMain , SystemOriginGenerator [ ], CheckDDriveStatus [ ] ||| Displaying Sub-Processes: ||| ||| SystemOriginGenerator ||> **Item #:** SCP-0001 ||> ||> **Object Class:** Thaumiel/Apollyon ||> ||> **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-0001 cannot and should not be contained by the Foundation.
||> ||> **Description:** SCP-0001 is an autonomous biomechanical device […] ||| ||| CheckDDriveStatus |||| RECURSIVE STACK OVERFLOW: ABORTING PROCESS ||| RECURSIVE STACK OVERFLOW: ABORTING PROCESS || RECURSIVE STACK OVERFLOW: ABORTING PROCESS | RECURSIVE STACK OVERFLOW: ABORTING PROCESS | STACK BUFFER OVERFLOW Loading file… | ERROR: NULL REFERENCE EXCEPTION Please state , followed by your designation.
physics engine that you have released, which comes with a customisable demonstration øvė it frõm the database . You will be dealt with.
What do for?
What is the easiest way to hide the identity of SCP-001 just want to tell them? refer to containment procedures abandon your assigned shifts.
12 12 12 12 Corpse of is irretrievable; a man who sometimes exists greets a .
There is nobody here by .
Now go away.
no days, no minutes, I have a house to clean.
have a house to clean.
1 1 !
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your full name myself you require the resources The world depends subject man wh longer be that name I ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License Time had long since run out.
There were no hours, no seconds.
Cite this page as: "Meta Ike Proposal" by Jack Ike, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/jack-ike-s-proposal-i. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: MaybeNew001.jpg Name: MAR-I radar with protective domes.jpg Author: US Army SMDC License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia 001-proposal autonomous biological computer esoteric-class foundation-made indestructible mechanical meta narrative oneiroi probability reality-bending sapient scp self-repairing sleep page revision: 27, last edited: 11 Oct 2024, 21:40 (142 days ago) Edit Rate (+196) Tags Discuss (33) History Files Print Site tools + Options ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ |
SCP Foundation SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us Metaphysician/Karpin Proposal » Metaphysician/Karpin Proposal SCP-001 Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: At this time, the Foundation has discovered no way to contain SCP-001. The Foundation will continue to search for and destroy any potential dimensional anchors between SCP-001 and baseline reality.
Description: SCP-001 is presently hypothesized to be either A) an alternate iteration of Earth (or an amalgamation of many such iterations) or B) an extradimensional manifestation that includes some superficial similarities to Earth. SCP-001 was only discovered when data was recovered from an OI-T7 (Ocular Implant Type 7), formerly attached to the right eye socket of Agent Margot Kennedy. The current status of Agent Kennedy remains unknown.
Agent Kennedy is a member of MTF Psi-13 ("Witch Hunters"), a highly classified joint Foundation/GOC task force created as part of Project: Sitra Achra. MTF Psi-13 is designed for the infiltration of Neo-Sarkic organizations and the termination of high-threat members.
.We, Will, Live, Once, More, Rating: +138 1 Operation: Black Citadel TARGET: PoI-3690 (Vivian Durant-Croÿ) DATE OF BIRTH: 08/07/1971 HEIGHT: 1.6 meters BUILD: Petite EYES: Blue HAIR: Blonde PROFILE: Vivian Durant-Croÿ was born to an unidentified mother and Cyril E. Durant, patriarch of House Durant , at their family estate in St. Tammany Parish, Louisiana. She was publicly known as an heiress and socialite with no evidence of anomalous ability or involvement. On 10/21/1996, PoI-3690 married the Hungarian na- tional Bertók Croÿ, the CEO of Abraxas Arms and suspected Neo- Sarkite.
PoI-3690 is currently president and CEO of the Durant-Bodfel Financial Group and is a rising figure in Neo-Sarkicism. Agents involved in Project: Sitra Achra have uncovered that she is slated to become the acting karcist of GoI-0492 ("The Order of the Crimson Star"), a Neo-Sarkic chapter primarily active in the Middle Atlantic region of the United States.
MISSION OBJECTIVE: The infiltration of GoI-0490 and termination of PoI-3690.
Foreword: Agents Daniel Cain, Margot Kennedy, and Patrick Taylor have successfully infiltrated GoI-0490 and been invited to PoI- 3690's Z'alkun ceremony on 01/12/2014. Agents are to terminate PoI-3690 once given the command to do so. Operatives of MTF Psi-9 "Abyss Gazers" are to be on standby in case of escalation. Croÿ Manor is believed to be the primary headquarters of The Order of the Crimson Star. It is an early 20th century mansion located in a secluded and heavily forested section of Scarsdale, New York.
The MTF Psi-13 operatives exhibit the following cybernetic augmentations: 2 3 4 5 Transcript of the infiltration Location: Croÿ Manor Time: 2100 [Agents Cain, Kennedy, and Taylor are disguised as members, wearing upper class attire and masquerade masks. They are delivered to the gatehouse via a limousine driven by Agent Burroughs (also of MTF Psi- 13).] [The gatehouse is equipped with a camera and intercom system, from which an unidentified individual speaks.] Unknown: What hour is it?
Agent Cain: It is the eleventh hour – soon, the crimson star will rise.
[The gate opens, allowing agents access to the manor grounds. The three traverse a cobblestone path, the area lit by decorative red-glass lanterns hung from trees. Across a small courtyard, a doorman dressed like a Victorian era valet – with the addition of a black hood – opens the door, bowing his or her head as the agents enter the manor.] [The video feed reveals an interior composed of polished black stone and red glass lanterns similar to those hanging from the trees. The sound of chamber music grows increasingly audible as they approach the atrium. Paintings, tapestries, and statues decorate the atrium, including an approximately 5-meter-tall marble sculpture located at the center of the room. The sculpture depicts an entity with a leonine head and vermiform or serpentine body, which is believed to be a representation of the Demiurge, or "Yaldabaoth" .] [Voices are audible, as are moans. The agents exchange glances but say nothing. Lens augmentations adjust to the low-light environment, revealing an estimated 180-200 humanoid individuals all wearing masks composed of porcelain and gold. Most of these individuals appear to be mid-coitus while others lounge, converse, and observe; most are scantily clad, while others are completely nude. What light is present is starkly red, causing most individuals to appear as silhouettes against a red background.] Eyes have been modified with OI-T7 (Ocular Implant Type 7), al- lowing the wearer to record video data which is in turn deliv- ered to Foundation command as a live feed and stored within an internal hard-drive. The OI-T7 can be adjusted for focal length and low-light environments. The OI-T7 is also equipped with a GPS monitor.
Part of the skull has been surgically implanted with a SCAI-T2 (Sub-Cranial Auditory Implant Type 2), allowing for audio recording which is in turn stored within a memory chip inside the OI-T7.
Sub-dermal biotelemetric monitors for the tracking of vital signs.
6 Croÿ Manor.
Agent Kennedy.
[The three seat themselves at a corner table. Servants wander the room, offering wine and hors d'oeuvres. These attendants are dressed in clothing identical to that of the doorman: valet attire and black hoods.] Agent Kennedy: If you boys want to join in, I won’t judge.
But I’m keeping my pants on.
[Agent Taylor chuckles. Agent Cain scans the room while waiting for a servant to place drinks onto their table and then moves away.] Agent Cain: Game faces on, people. Don’t get noticed. And if you see the POI, holler.
[Agent Kennedy mouths “holler” and Taylor silently laughs, but they both begin scanning the crowd like Cain.] Time: 2205 [The orgy continues, but along the fringes certain groups of participants are performing more and more extreme actions against each other. One woman slowly flays the skin off of a man’s back as several individuals watch and offer advice. Another man is seen holding down several other men with both hands, as the surrounding crowd of twelve individuals kick at the prone men.] [Surrounding the outside of the atrium are abnormally tall, stationary individuals wearing hooded robes. These vaguely humanoid entities appear to serve as security, as they silently maintain watch over the manor's interior and quickly reacted to any possible disturbances.] [Mission Command orders Agent Cain to continue the search for PoI-3690 while Kennedy and Taylor remain at the atrium. Agents Kennedy and Taylor begin to kiss and pantomime touching each other in an effort to blend in.] [Agent Cain slips out of the atrium and deeper into the manor to a series of chambers that encircle the atrium and contain smaller rooms for meetings, recording several portions of nearby conversations.] [Tail end of a conversation] 7 8 [Heated discussion between two men] [A man and woman speak with a hunched, cloaked figure with pale tendrils dangling from its cowl; entity classified as PoI-5963] Unidentified Man: …but their blood is wrong. Diluted and weak.
Unidentified Woman: Call it diluted if you must, but weak? Even the smallest drop of the True Blood sets them apart from the swine. Any remnant of the Sisterhood’s genes is full of potential.
Unidentified Man 1: You’re siding with the peasants? [laughs] Unidentified Man 2: Is there something wrong with Ion's Paradise?
Unidentified Man 1: His paradise was a pipe dream. Apotheosis was within reach and he threw it all away - and for what? Don't romanticize the scriptures. Ion showed the way, but he’s irrelevant.
He failed, and such failure should be interpreted as a warning. You would understand this if you were capable of reaching the Third Circle.
Unidentified Man 2: Then I look forward to seeing what you have seen.
Unidentified Man 1: True paradise is available to those with the power to seize it. I’ll tell you what matters: making sure you’re protected. Look, I’m not in this to oppress people. I’m in this to make sure I am in the best possible position. Ion was as close to a god as anyone could feasibly claim to be. Why throw away so much potential for altruism? Such a waste.
Unidentified Man 2: So, what… you’re saying all that’s different is our intent?
Unidentified Man 1: Difference between you and me, and those backwater village bumpkins?
We seek power and are unafraid of its use. Ion consumed the death of gods. We consume Ion, or at least his dream. Carnomancy serving the many has a limit. When it serves the individual, that’s when the real power can be felt.
Unidentified Man 2: I’ve seen things in those “backwater villages” that would turn your stomach. Insane things I couldn’t begin to replicate. They have power.
Unidentified Man 1: No, they have traditions. Power comes from ambition. We are the true disciples, not those sheep. Revere Ion all you want, but you want real power? You should try supping at the bowl he did.
Unidentified Man 2: What? You mean Yald– Unidentified Man 1: Be quiet! You never know who could be listening.
Time: 2230 [Agent Cain encounters an entity with the appearance of a quadruple-amputee woman equipped with unusually long, blade-like prostheses; closer analysis of this footage suggests that the appendages are actually part of her anatomy and likely the result of corporeal modifications (Lihaaskur, or Sarkic "flesh crafting"). The subject balances on her pointed, arthropodous limbs with their hips raised off the ground and chest facing upwards. The subject is completely nude save for a black blindfold and her skin marked with intricate, but unrecognizable sigil tattoos, as well as piercings. She approaches Agent Cain (walking/crawling backwards on all four limbs) and Site Command reminds Agent Cain to remain in character. He complies, allowing the entity to [EXTRANEOUS DATA REMOVED].] [Agent Cain completes his interaction with the biologically augmented woman after an interval of approximately 36 minutes. Mission Command orders him to continue his search for PoI-3690 but this task is interrupted by the ringing of a gong-like instrument. Guests immediately abandon their activities and proceed down a hallway located at the atrium's northeast. Mission Command orders all three agents to follow the crowd.] Time: 2300 [Video feed reveals a grand dining room containing many circular tables, as well as a long refectory table, apparently reserved for the more prestigious guests. Agents seat themselves at an empty table and are soon joined by twelve other guests. Servants enter and proceed to serve a full course dinner. The main course resembles beef and is served with chateau potatoes.] Agent Kennedy: Doesn't taste like steak. Almost like pork but not as fatty. More like veal but tougher. Oh God… Command: Remain in character.
[Kennedy consumes the rest of the meat quickly without comment, but struggles towards the end. Taylor refuses to eat and merely sips at the champagne.] Approximately 90 minutes omitted for brevity.
Unidentified Woman: Karcist Tuuslar. Thank you for gracing us with your presence.
PoI-5963: [incomprehensible] Unidentified Man: Ah, you must be here to enact the rites? I doubt that you've come all this way just to speak with those so far beneath you.
PoI-5963: [incomprehensible] Unidentified Woman: Thank you, my lord, truly words of wisdom. Such an honor for you to be here. I look forward to you and Karcist Sakaraal opening the way.
Festivities at Croÿ Manor.
[Agents engaged in conversation with other guests. These discussions were generally banal and did not involve anomalous subject matters, though did reveal the following about those at the table, other guests, and general information regarding Neo-Sarkites:] [The gong-like instrument sounds again, causing guests to rise from their seats and return to the atrium.] Time: 0030 [Upon return to the atrium, the central statue (the lion-headed serpent) is no longer present, revealing a hidden spiral staircase where it had once resided. The agents follow the other guests as they descend down the staircase; the steps appear to glisten as if damp and a red organic substance coats the stone like slime mold.] All were born to or married into families whose accumulated wealth and power dated back centuries.
At least two are politicians at the U.S. federal level.
At least one owns an arms manufacturer that is regularly considered the third largest in North America.
At least three are involved in the financial sector, including stewarding several significant hedgefunds.
At least one is a partner in a major law firm dealing with international trade and negotiations between nation states.
The others appear to be socialites, their source of wealth unknown.
At least one conversation noted the participants’ enjoyment of illegal underground fighting rooms, often leading to grave injuries or death.
Neo-Sarkites, at least among the "Black Blood" upper-class, appear to be prone to schemes and conspiracy, frequently plotting against one another; it is rumored that PoI-3690 achieved her position following the assassination of a rival, a common tactic among Neo-Sarkites.
The gathering includes guests from other Neo-Sarkic cults, such as Adytum's Wake, the Hunter's Black Lodge, the Esoteric Order of the White Worm, and the Leviathan Society.
9 10 11 12 [The staircase connects to a subterranean structure which more closely resembles a temple rather than a mansion's cellar. They continue through a hallway, which leads to a spherical chamber containing an empty basin made of bones and skulls. The chamber is designed much like an amphitheater, allowing the over two hundred guests to comfortably occupy it in staggered stages of platforms. Approximately fifteen bound and gagged men, women, and children hang upside-down above the basin, which itself contains a large, pulsating object resembling a chrysalis.] [PoI-5963 ascends a raised edifice overlooking the basin and begins to chant unintelligibly. Hooded servants enter the basin armed with ornate but functional scythes, using the instruments to tear the gags from their captives (often mutilating their faces in the process) who immediately scream or attempt to plead with their captors - none of whom respond. Using their scythes, the servants proceed to saw the captives in half midsagittally, beginning at the groin and working down to the skull. Based on video analysis, several victims were identified as known missing persons but the majority remain unidentified.] [The chrysalis is bathed in blood, organs, and general viscera as the sacrifice reaches completion.] Time: 0035 [The cultists begin to vocalize without speaking any discernible words, creating a melody similar to those produced by overtone chanting. The chrysalis suddenly ruptures, appearing to be torn apart from the inside by sickle-like appendages. An entity rises from the mangled husk as the chanting grows louder and the video feed begins to violently distort. PoI-5963 raises a sacrificial bowl filled with burning oil.] Unidentified Speaker: The soul has become flesh! Arise, Karcist Sakaraal!
[Based on the appearance of its humanoid head and torso, the entity is quickly identified as PoI-3690 (Vivian Durant-Croÿ). She has undergone significant metamorphosis and stands on three arthropodous legs (two forelegs, one hind leg) and appears to be approximately 2.7 meters tall. Much of PoI-3690's body is composed of white and black chitin and it has six lepidopterous wings with black and gold markings, two raptorial arms, a pale humanoid upper body, and long blonde hair.] Command: Terminate the POIs.
[Cain and Taylor look at each other. All three pull their weapons. Three bursts from their sidearms strike PoI-5963 in the back. Blood sprays across Durant-Croÿ’s face and torso. As PoI-5963 falls to the ground, the bowl is upturned splashing several nearby hostiles in burning oil. Two of the cultists begin to howl as their robes ignite. Durant-Croÿ’s hair is set alight. She screams and raises two upper extremities ending in sharp claws resembling those of a crab.] [Two robed hostiles carrying scythes pounce on Agent Cain, their scythes striking his torso from opposite sides and slicing through his midsection entirely. Blood and entrails strike the ground. Agent Cain is recorded as deceased.] [Agents Kennedy and Taylor retreat to the atrium, firing on the two hostiles and Durant-Croÿ who are pursuing.] Agent Kennedy: Do it!
13 14 [Kennedy covers Agent Taylor with suppressive fire as he places remote-controlled explosive devices throughout the stairwell. The two agents continue to retreat, get behind cover in the atrium, and then detonate. The resulting explosions collapse much of the atrium's floor, creating a large fissure and spreading fire to the ceiling and surrounding walls. The structure of the manor begins to shake in the resulting explosions; marble and plaster debris begins raining down on the two agents.] [Four robed humanoids (later identified as instances of SK-BIO Type B) charge at the agents, running on all four limbs. Agent Taylor fires his pistol at one of the entities, drawing the attention of the entire pack.
They shed their robes as they near Agent Taylor, revealing pale naked flesh and faces dominated by toothy, vertical mouths. The four pounce on top of Agent Taylor, and blood sprays across the ground and into Agent Kennedy’s face. She is momentarily blinded and frantically wipes the blood from her eyes.] Agent Kennedy: Pat!
[She cleans the blood from her eyes and stares at the four entities grinding their mouths on Taylor’s eviscerated corpse. The entities make audible wet noises and grunt loudly. Agent Taylor is recorded as deceased. Agent Kennedy empties her magazine into the four entities, killing two and wounding the others who run screeching into the burning hall across the atrium floor.] [Mobile Task Force Psi-9 ("Abyss Gazers") is ordered to storm Croÿ Manor (ETA: 0045), neutralize the hostiles and secure the scene.] [Agent Kennedy turns to scan the room; the spreading fire prevents access to all prospective escape routes.
The floor collapses beneath the two fleeing entities, and spreads into a gaping chasm in the floor. The remains of Agent Taylor and the deceased entities fall into the chasm as purple smoke and flames rise from the opening. Durant-Croÿ is observed rising from the rubble of the staircase where Taylor set the explosives, climbing vertically up the walls. Her skin is rippling underneath the carapace, exuding more layers of chitinous material to seal the wounds sustained in the falling rubble.] Agent Kennedy: Fucking monsters!
[Agent Kennedy fires several shots at Durant-Croÿ, wounding her shoulder and causing the entity to momentarily shudder.] [Kennedy's video feed distorts as the walls begin to crack and exude organic material resembling blood.
The apertures in the wall form gaping, organic wounds. Kennedy continues firing. A bullet strikes Durant- Croÿ in the forehead, rocking her head back as blood flows over her from the sphincters opening up in the walls of the collapsing atrium.] Agent Kennedy: Fuck you.
[Black tendrils erupt from the lower level, coiling themselves around parts of the manor's architecture and tearing it to completely obliterate the building. Agent Kennedy falls as the floor crumbles beneath her feet.] [The video feed goes black and her transmission is lost.] Afterword: The tendrils disappeared before the arrival of MTF Psi-9, along with Croÿ Manor itself. Only a crater is discovered at the site and no remains are later recovered, human or otherwise.
Given the state of the site and the apparent destruction, all agents were declared deceased shortly after Foundation forces appeared on the scene.
.Take, My, Hand, Daughter, Of+ Addendum 001.1 Approximately eight hours after her disappearance, the Foundation began to receive the GPS coordinates of Agent Kennedy, although radio contact could not be reestablished. Agent Kennedy's signal was traced to an alleyway in the Wan Chai District of Hong Kong - over 12,000 km from where she had initially gone missing. As previously noted, only her augmented right eye was ever recovered.
NOTICE FROM THE FOUNDATION RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION The video/audio data transcribed within this file constitutes a Class-A Ontological Perspective Shift. Individuals who review the following materials will experience the events from a perspective other than their own. The process by which the transcript derived from Agent Kennedy’s OI-T7 augmentation was manipulated is poorly understood.
The video file frequently suffers unexplained distortions throughout its entire 1224-hour length. These distortions are only visible for fractions of a second and occur in one- to twenty-minute-long intervals or, on rare occasions, in rapid succession. These distortions manifest as symbols of unknown meaning. Over eighty thousand symbols have been detected by video analysis software. Each instance is unique, non-repeating, and cognitohazardous to observers (triggering headaches, brain hemorrhaging, blindness, and even death). For obvious reasons, access to the unedited footage is highly restricted.
For direct video access please submit an authorization request to an appropriately cleared RAISA representative.
— Maria Jones, Director, RAISA ;θe, Blood, ACCESSING AGENT KENNEDY He r Θe Soŋ Of Θe Fleshs & Hear, Θe, Soŋ, Of, Θe, Fleshs, & *+ Wake up.
You regain consciousness slowly, blinking at the dim red light surrounding you. The air is full of dust. Red light seeps from the walls with no obvious source. The red intrudes into your forebrain like a glowing hot poker pulled directly from a fire. The augmentation in your eye scales down into lowlight mode, bringing your surroundings into starker relief. The walls are rough granite. Maybe? The ceiling – which is low and also roughhewn stone – is barely illuminated by the red light pouring from alcoves along the passageway you find yourself in.
You cough. It is hard to breathe in here. The air is stale and chalky. The temperature is cool.
You are almost certainly underground.
You sit up, pushing yourself up by your elbows. The tunnel trails off into the distance until it curves out of sight. There is no one near you. No Karcist mutated into a spider-like centaur creature. No fellow agents. Nor their remains. You have no idea how long you’ve been unconscious.
"Command?" you ask out loud, causing a frantic coughing fit. "Command, do you read me?" Silence is your only response. You prop yourself up against the wall, try to understand what has happened. The last thing you remem– Goddamnit. Cain ripped apart by those Sarkic monstrosities. Taylor taken out the same way.
Fuck, his blood is still all over you. Mixed with the grit of stone dust in the air. Cain was a pain in the ass, but Taylor was alright. He had a good sense of humor. Now he’s spread out like a stain on that marble floor – if the manor is still standing that is. Wait. How did you get here?
;,, Be, Welcome, Everything hurts. Your lungs are filled with rock dust. Your arms and legs. Your head from whatever fall you take through the floor of the manor. Your ego. What was that fucking plan?
Infiltrate a cult gathering and put a hit on a monster. You’ll have back up, they said. Sure.
Where? The next county over? You thought when you came in from the military that the Foundation would be different. But there’s even less respect for the grunt here. Cain and Taylor died to accomplish the mission – you’re just sure there were better ways to get this mission done.
You look around at your surroundings. The darkly colored stone walls are covered in a creeping organic material rising along the walls from the floor. The material seems like kudzu but made of scabs and flesh and teeth.
You stand finally, dusting yourself off and checking for injury. Other than soreness, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with you. You’ve even still got your pistol, a semi-automatic with a dozen rounds left.
You reach out and touch the kudzu, feeling the rough surface with slight give. It is hard and yet spongey with a moist texture. A wave of revulsion travels down from the base of your skull to your stomach, leaving a sour pressure in its wake. What is this place?
The light from the alcoves comes in through cracks in the walls. So maybe not fully underground?
Alright. Time to find out where you are, so you walk down the tunnel. You pass a dozen alcoves until around the corner you spy craggy, uneven stairs cut from the stone, leading up into brighter light.
A courtyard. Better stonework here, giving off less cave energy and more paleolithic civilization. The courtyard even has stone plates for flooring. Symbols carved into the faces of the plates have been worn down by the elements. You stumble on a loose stone tile, causing another coughing fit. The air no longer smells of stone dust. But the air all around you is still choked with dust. Red dust. Like pollen.
“Does anybody read me?” You’re trying the radio again. “This is Agent Kennedy requesting evac, from wherever the fuck I am. On top of the complete blank on my location, I’ve got no food or water. Any help you can give me would be appreciated.” Nothing. What did you expect? That there’d be better signal up above ground and out of the cave. Which is reasonable. But still not true, apparently. The muddy red dust motes float on the air like spores from a crushed mushroom. You can’t help but breathe some of it in. It tastes like cinnamon and blood. The sour pressure in your stomach intensifies for a second. Please don’t be sick. You don’t need to vomit in this place.
You cough again, this time producing red mucus into the palm of your hand. You’re dizzy and exhausted. Alright, enough of this. You go back down the stairs and lay down on the stones in one of the alcoves. Over the next twelve hours you rest fitfully, waking from nightmares and then try to reestablish contact with Command. You try on four separate occasions, each time walking up the stairs to the courtyard. In all that time the light never dims. Pressing into your eyes like a burning brand.
Day 02 You know it’s day two because of the augment in your eye. It’s still counting the seconds for the mission timer at the corner of your vision. But otherwise, nothing has changed outside. You check every few hours. You had hoped something would make sense. That the sun would go down. Is it even the sun? Just suffused reddish light over reddish stones and scabby vines of teeth and viscera. The dust is worse now than when you first went topside, but you’re going stir crazy. No radio contact with Command for over eighteen hours and you need to find something to eat and more importantly something to drink.
So here you stand at the end of the courtyard again, staring out into the dust/pollen/blood storm. It blocks out anything more than a few hundred meters away. But unless you think this will end by wishing it, you know you need to get a sense of where you are.
“Working under the assumption that nothing I transmit is being received by command. But for posterity’s sake, I am leaving my shelter to locate food and water.” If they can’t hear you, how can they come find you? Would they even try? Can’t be that concerned with your survival or they would have sent you in with more firepower. How were three agents supposed to get out of that manor alive? You know the answer, you just don’t like it. Your getting out was at best a secondary goal. Mission accomplished. They’ll be remembered as heroes. Fuck all the way off.
You tear at the hem of your evening gown and tie it over your face like a mask. You cross the courtyard and into the space beyond. It’s a structure of similar materials, similarly covered in meat kudzu crawling along the floor and up the walls. There’s another stairwell here, going steeply up. You climb for nearly five minutes until you’re on a bare rooftop overlooking the surrounding area. Through the swirling blood pollen you can see nearly a dozen fat, black ziggurats in the distance. You stand on the top of what must have been a ritual space or temple complex, but it has seen better days.
Huge portions of the roof have caved in and whatever idolatry which used to decorate this place is gone now. You hold your high heels in one hand and your gun in the other. You take off the heels after only a few steps up the stairwell. As ridiculous as the dress is, the shoes are worse. Now that there’s no cultist elite to impress and mingle with, you don’t need them. They sail through the spores and into the blank red desert between your temple and another nearby.
It’s slightly easier to see long distances now that you’re higher up, but the motes in the air are distracting. Not least because they coat the inside of your mouth and nose, even with the mask.
Off in the distance, between the ziggurats, you can see long black organic looking tendrils reaching for the sky. Sinewy fingers of thorny material shooting straight up and swaying in the wind. It’s impossible to say what diameter they are. But their height is nauseating. Something that thin reaching straight up and moving in the wind like reeds, it makes the back of your skull hurt. You decide to stop looking at them.
The ziggurats shimmer in a heat haze that you don’t feel. They refuse to solidify in your vision.
Like they’re only partially rooted to the sand, and half of the buildings are built into another world entirely. The shifting spores make looking at anything in the distance hard, but this isn’t that. This is your brain refusing to accept the ziggurats as being in the same space you are standing in. Looking at them directly is like staring down from an incredible height. The vision swims in front of you, their black stones vibrating just slightly out of sync with everything else.
Much nearer, a building draws your attention. It is a windowless tower nearly four stories in height and topped with a dome. It leans heavily in your direction which is what made you notice it. In fact, you can’t figure out how it’s still upright with the lean so dramatic. It’s got to be an almost 45-degree angle from the reddish sands. But there’s holes broken into the side of the tower and with that lean, you think maybe you could get inside.
You climb down the stairs, cross the courtyard in a different direction and walk out onto the sand in bare feet. It is lukewarm and spongy between your toes. Not like sand at all. You approach the leaning tower and look up to the nearest hole; clearly something very heavy hit the stones and ruptured the structure. They make you think of catapults for some reason. You climb along the rough stones making the wall and tuck yourself into the opening, landing badly and rolling down into a room filled with urns.
The interior walls are covered in the same organic material you saw in the chamber you woke in. The material is hardened, resembling the crust of a scab. In places the material has cracked open with blood and bile leaking out. Amongst the pools of coagulated organic liquids are hundreds of containers, earthenware and wicker baskets. You start sifting through them, looking for unbroken containers. Most of them are empty or busted open. But you need to find something, so you keep looking. After an hour, you have found a total of three amphorae that are sealed and still filled. One contains honey, the other two contain some sort of wine.
As you crack open one of the wine containers, knowing full well you should be looking for water, you hear a deep voice coming from somewhere inside the room. It speaks no language you have ever heard before.
“Hello? Say again?” The voice responds but you still can’t make out the words. The voice sounds like granite wrapped in velvet grinding together. It makes your head hurt. Listening to it is like trying to focus on those ziggurats. It is here and it isn’t here. You are shaken. Here is a threat. Here is danger. You pick up one of the broken urns and brandish it as a weapon around the ruins of the storehouse.
“I can’t understand you. Who’s there?” The voice does not repeat itself. Not for the first time you wonder if this is some last gasp of a dying brain. If you’re actually lying under tons of collapsed concrete and remnants of the manor as it fell on top of you. Is your brain bleeding as you mumble to yourself in a tumble- down ruin? Pragmatism wins you over in the end, thinking on the off chance you’re not dead that you had better act as if this place matters.
You decide it’s time to go, climbing down to the ground while struggling to keep the three amphorae protected against your body. You slink your way back towards the original ruined temple. It’s not comfortable but it is the only familiar ground you know. The coughing hits you halfway across the short empty space between structures. You almost drop the amphorae. You drink some more wine. It burns but has a pleasant aftertaste of nutmeg and cardamom. Maybe it’s made from some rice. But you’ve never been a wine expert. It’s just a relief to find something to drink. The climb and the coughing and the scare have wiped you out. You retreat back to your cool stone cave, prop yourself against a wall, and slide down to the floor.
It takes a while for sleep to come, but when it does another thought rips away the drowsy comfort of unconsciousness. If you’re not dead, maybe that bitch from the manor isn’t either.
Maybe she’s here too. And if not her, someone else. You slide your pistol out and lay it next to you, within reaching distance. This is not a place where you want to be vulnerable.
Day 03 Far too much time passes without you doing much other than drinking the wine and sleeping.
You haven’t found anything to eat but honey and nothing to drink but ancient wine. You can’t just sit here forever. Nothing to be gained by drinking yourself stupid and waiting for something to eat you. You aren’t a teenager sitting in the dark wondering about your place in the high school hierarchy, you’re a fully-fledged Foundation agent and in an alien world. You have a job to do, not least of which is finding a way out of this fucking place. So. Get. Off. Your. Ass.
The spores/dust storm have not lessened, and the light is still the equivalent of mid-morning.
You try to transmit again.
“Everything I see is being recorded. If I get out of here… yeah. Maybe. Maybe we can get something out of this. Cain never made it out of the basement. And Taylor… Jesus fucking Christ.” You sigh and rub at your temples. You’ve had a dull headache behind your eyes for hours now.
The ghost of a hangover maybe.
“The target POI is apparently not here. Maybe I managed to neutralize her. Hit her right in the forehead before the room collapsed. Hope I killed the bitch.” You start walking into the dust storm, holding one of the amphorae in your hands. You should throw it away really. More booze won’t help anything. But you don’t. You don’t really care if it’s bad form to be drunk on a mission. You don’t really care if you’re just making your dehydration worse. Wait… is that a myth? Does drinking wine make you more thirsty? Not that you’re even feeling it yet. Too tired and sore and fucking terrified to feel thirsty.
You adjust the impromptu dust mask of your dress material to fit snugger against your face.
“I don't know what to make of this place. The air tastes like blood. It burns. Look at what it’s done to my skin.” You hold out your left arm, showing the lesions running up and down your forearm to the recording augmentation. In the light, the lesions glisten slightly like they’re open to the air. It doesn’t hurt but does make the skin on your arm feel tight and uncomfortable with any flexing.
Each of the small wounds is purple and the surrounding flesh is tinted red with irritation.
You wonder if leprosy is part of Sarkic magic. What do they call that? Something to do with meat. Of course it is. Always flesh this and flesh that. If you never had to read about another horror construct or eldritch cult, your life would be so much better. Is this a flesh eating bacteria? You don’t know how that works. You’ve always imagined your skin dissolving like a fizzy pellet you drop into water and drink to fight off nausea. What you wouldn’t give for a fucking ibuprofen. The headache throbs behind your eyes for emphasis.
“I found some food, so maybe I can find some medical supplies as well. I know honey has some antibiotic properties, or I think it does. I smeared some of it on the lesions. No idea what I'm doing. I drank one urn full of wine? I guess it was wine. It tasted a bit coppery and reminiscent of cardamom but also vaguely boozy. Sorry if that’s unprofessional. I’ve been here at least two days, maybe more. But I’m not thirsty. I should be dehydrated, especially only drinking wine. I don–” You’re interrupted by a screeching, echoing howl reverberating behind you. You turn quickly and look back towards the tower and ruined temple complex. Your augmented vision searches for contacts, a source of the unnatural sound. But you find nothing and after a few moments to steady your breathing, you continue out into the dust. Bodiless voices talking to you in arcane languages. Shrieking beasts out in a dust storm impossible to locate. Stepped black pyramids that shiver in a heat haze despite the cool air, shimmering like a mirage even from up close.
Flesh tendrils reaching up and up and up. And you’re covered in little weeping wounds making your arm look like it had been chewed on by a thousand chittering insects in the night.
When you were in training, they outlined what to do if you were in an extradimensional space and none of that makes sense to you now. No one ever prepared you for the dreamlike quality of being faced with dozens of unreal but real things everywhere you looked.
Not for the first time you wish someone would just tell you where the fuck you were. Is this Hell? Is it a hallucination? If it is, you wish it would end.
Day 05 Wandering past the ziggurats – while trying not to stare at them as they vibrate in and out of reality – and through the small forest of tendrils (which reach up at least eighty or ninety meters in the air) takes most of the day. You stop for rest in the shadow of a stepped pyramid, sleep poorly and then continue on. When your chronometer says you’ve been here for at least a hundred hours, you find yourself approaching a new structure. As you have been periodically doing, you try to transmit again. Keep some sort of record. It’s not talking to yourself if you’re making a record.
“I haven't seen anyone… well. It’s lifeless, but not? The ground is alive, the walls are alive. The place is crawling with flesh. The growth is everywhere, crawling up any surface that will hold its weight. And there’s these spores in the air, so it’s not as if this place is barren of life. But I haven’t seen a single person or animal in all this time. No bird song. No bugs. Just spongey sand, blood red dust, and scabrous kudzu everywhere.” You are wandering along reddish sand dotted with the occasional organic structure twisting in corkscrew shapes from the sand. You turn to the structure you just saw – a large building roughly thirty meters in height, which is made up of hundreds of strands of that same scabby growth. The strands burst from the sand without obvious foundation. Sphincter-like openings dot side of the building facing you.
You feel like the openings in the flesh are just like those that showed up in the manor at the end. Is that like a common aspect of Sarkic magic? Why couldn’t you study something before a mission just once?
“I’m hearing things. Whispers in a language I don't understand. Fuck, I guess I have seen some people. And look at the growth, tell me you can’t see faces in there.” As you approach the building, the vines twist into shape mimicking a face, contorted with agony. A pair of hands reach out towards you, frantically trying to find purchase. Then they are gone, almost as quickly as they appeared. You wonder for the thousandth time whether what you’re seeing can be trusted.
“By the time I get any closer, they're gone. If someone is in that stuff, they want out. Or they want me in. Either way, a good reason not to get too close.” The wind howls and you look up at the spore-dominated sky.
“And this dust or whatever. It moves… unnaturally. Can you see it? It hurts just to look at it.
Sorta floats on the air and moves differently than the wind. Maybe I’ve lost my shit.” The voice returns, grinding dust between molars of stone and making sounds you’ve never associated with language before. You sigh. It isn’t upsetting anymore. Or better to say it isn’t as upsetting anymore. Spooky voices lose a lot of the fear quotient when they just say random shit for days on end and never really get around to threatening you. If this was a scary movie, they’d have said something full of dark portent by now. But so far, it’s just gibberish.
“I wonder if you’re picking that up or it’s just in my head.” The voice responds. More nonsense. It has to be talking to you. There’s no one else here. Then again, you still can’t figure out where it’s coming from. What if it’s not talking to you at all? What if the only active thing you’ve discovered here doesn’t acknowledge your existence at all? You never realized how social a person you were. Nearly a week without interacting with a single person in a meaningful way. You would give anything to have an actual conversation.
“I wouldn’t even mind hallucinating the voice, if I could fucking understand it.” A wind picks up and the spores gather around your face, clouding your vision. You wave your hands in front of your face as if the spores were a crowd of bees circling. But the spores don’t even notice your attempts to bat them away. They float around your arms and force their way into your ears, nose, eyes, and throat.
You gasp. You choke. You cough wetly for several minutes. The fit winds you and you bend over spitting red mucus into the sand. You try to catch your breath and only stand erect when the coughing has subsided.
There. Much better.
“What in the– ? I understood that.” Good.
“Who are you? No, fuck that. Where are you? What did you just do to me?” The only response is the shifting sand and the sound of the wind. You scream. You scream until your throat is ruddy with blood and spores. Cinnamon and copper in your mouth. You hyperventilate. You cough. And cough. And cough.
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and you see the lesions on your left arm have deepened to crimson. The lesions are less puckered but the skin around them has a rough texture that wasn’t there before. Your right arm is also slightly discolored now.
“Terrific.” You move on from the building made up of corroded flesh and hair and teeth, and head out into the dust. What good is this mask even doing? Did the spores react to the voice? Are they doing this to you? Why? What have you ever done to deserve this? Fuck command. Fuck the Foundation. And fuck all Sarkics who ever lived.
Day 07 What does time mean? The sun has set, you’re sure of it. The red light has dimmed here. It must have at some point. The digital counter keeps going up in your vision. You wonder what would happen if you ripped it out of your head.
Oh look another run down building made from red stones and covered in fleshy growths. If they didn’t have such varied shapes and dimensions, you wouldn’t be sure if you were looking at the same building day after day. Just walking in circles. Every landmark here you’ve seen is in one of several architectural styles and you don’t know what any of them mean. And still you trudge forward.
Wandering to this yet another dilapidated ruin, you find a room containing a primitive stove, a man-sized cauldron, and several earthenware containers. You find another jar of honey – oh thank fucking god – but the rest of the food stuff is rotten, disintegrated, or consumed by the ropey tendrils of the organic growths crawling over every surface.
You climb to the second floor, encountering a large room evidently designed for communal living. Against one of the walls in the living area, you see several wicker cabinets. You open them, finding a robe of material that feels like wool.
You tear the ruined evening dress off your body and wrap the crimson robe around your skin.
At the bottom of the cabinet, you find a belt made of some sort of leather with a simple clasp.
You cinch the belt at your waist on top of the robe. You consider resting but other than new clothes, you’ve found nothing of use. Now you’re wearing the clothes of someone a thousand years dead. You should feel horrible about that or at least uncomfortable. But the robes are still soft, and they only smell slightly of must. You’re dressed like a bloody monk in some dark brotherhood but hey, this place has offered so little comfort, why not take solace in what you can find?
So, you continue up the stairs.
On the third floor you find what must have been a library crammed to bursting with shelves overladen with tomes and scrolls.
At the end of the room a table sits pushed up against one wall and there’s someone at that table, seated in a chair, holding an unfurled scroll. You approach slowly with pistol raised. As you get closer, you realize the figure is wearing a full suit of ancient-looking bronze armor, posed as if reading. There’s something strange about the armor. You aren’t an expert, but every image you’ve seen of someone wearing bronze armor was limited to chest pieces and some guards on the forearms and legs. This is like a suit of plate. But was that even a thing during the Bronze Age? The visor is up, and you look into the cavernous space of the armor. The suit is sitting in the pose of a contemplative scholar but there’s no one home. The facemask is damaged, the metal flanging outwards like whatever ripped up the metal came from within the suit. Whatever happened, it was a violent escape. You imagine a tendrilled horror bursting from the face of some respectable knight, ripping through teeth and jaw and nasal cavity until pressing up against the bronze and tearing that like paper too.
On the table is a bronze sword laid out in front of the armor, presumably belonging to the owner. You run your finger along the edge lightly, gasp lightly, and pull your finger into your mouth.
“Dammit, still sharp.” You pause as you consider the sword. “Actually…” You grasp the hilt of the blade but notice a thin trail of organic material connecting the sword to the armor and to a mass of that scabby kudzu on the floor climbing up the legs of the table.
Your eyes trace a line from the armor to the pile of growth.
“Oh fuck.” You jerk your hand away still holding the hilt of the sword, snapping the trail free from the larger mass. You hastily wipe down the hilt with the hem of your robes and back away from the armor.
What the fuck happened to them? Was whatever burst out of the armor the person who used to wear it and that’s what is left of them in the corner? You look around at the walls of the building at the hundreds of meters of ropey flesh tendrils that climb up every surface like the roots of a tree bursting up and over a retaining wall in a garden. Are these all people? Or worse? Were they all grown from this one man and he just endlessly replicated his ligaments, teeth, blood, bile and fleshy bits as they grew out of him? Maybe all these tendrils are the people who used to live here. Maybe they got what was coming to them. Maybe they shouldn’t have been Sarkic fleshcrafting maniacs. You feel hot and flushed staring at them all, you need to get out of here.
Is there any building still standing here?
You rush down the stairs until you’re free of the suddenly claustrophobic building. Your breathing is elevated, your hands are sweaty. That was too much. If this was a hallucination would there be so much you couldn’t understand? There’s no dream logic here, just stories from the long dead that you can’t read.
You slide the sword into the belt at your waist and walk out into the spores. Better to be out here than in there.
Day 08 You crouch next to yet another ruined building, this one long and open like a small warehouse.
This building is constructed of muddy red bricks but still covered in that endless fleshy vine. The purple-black of the growth starkly contrasts with reddish bricks. The growth squirms as you lean in to see better. Through a window a group of humanoid figures are gathered in a circle with their arms held high, surrounding a symbol that has been carved into the floor. They appear to be chanting but their voices are muffled by distance and the wind.
You concentrate, focusing past the constant distraction of the chest pain and headache brought on by the coughing. The augmentation in your eye enhances, showing the ritualists in greater detail. They are dressed in finely tailored upper-class attire from a multitude of eras.
There are tattered frock coats and half crumpled tophats; whalebone corsets and dirty robe de style; rotten furs and three button suit jackets with matching power ties. Nothing makes sense about it, but in this red nightmare it’s the least of your concern.
Their faces on the other hand make you nauseous. The faces are chimeric, displaying octopus tentacles, bull’s horns, eyes that look like insects, and other non-human features. None of the ritualists look the same as any other, combining a variety of non-human features. They are hard to look at. Gazing upon the symbol on the floor proves even harder. No matter how your eye focuses, you can’t quite trace the lines of the sigil. You can see it all at once in a blurry manner or focus on individual parts. But you can’t make it resolve in your mind.
Every aspect of the ritual is wrong to you. Not morally wrong exactly – although you do not hesitate to judge them and their disgusting religion – but off, out of sync with reality. If this even is reality.
Their ritual continues for an hour, culminating in a fissure appearing in the earth in front of them. A bulbous cocoon of flesh emerges from the ground, around which the worshippers circle and touch their hands to its pulsating surface. Then their hands plunge into the pink, wet tissue with a sound like fifty plungers in fifty toilets being worked up and down.
A large, vaguely human entity is pulled from the crevasse and cocoon by the “people.” The new arrival is curled up in a fetal position on the floor and covered in blood and other fluids.
The almost pitiable creature reminds you of a newborn baby. But muscular and covered in scales. The entity trembles for several minutes and then begins to rise to its full height at nearly three meters tall. You duck down as their gaze passes your direction.
“Oh fuck oh fuck.” You inch yourself up so your eyes barely clear the base of the window. The ritualists raise their arms in unison and call out a single nonsense word. A flash of light erupts from the center of their ring and they disappear as starbursts leave you semi-blind. The augmentation starts acting strange, showing you several layered images of the room. You feel dizzy and smell burning rubber on the air, then fall and start seizing. You are completely aware for every second of the vibration, starting at the base of your skull and working down your spine, out along your limbs. It hurts more than you have ever felt. Worse than when you were shot that time. Worse than breaking your leg in junior high.
The smell of your vomit is impossible to ignore.
You’ve never had a seizure before. As you lie on your back you feel your grip on the situation slide out of your consciousness. The eddies of spore in the air circle around you. You find yourself sinking into the sand, through blood and bones and dead insects until you’re floating in a murky darkness. A piercing red light shines on you. You have the sense of being watched from a great distance. You hear the song of the blood. The song that all flesh makes. The melody of growth and adaptation. The verses knit together like sinew healing around bone and reattaching to muscle. Like individual cells of cancer searching for a home in your mother’s breast. Like the life of a million insects growing, fucking, eating, dying and repeating over millions of years.
Then just as suddenly you are lying on the ground where you fell. The aura fading and leaving behind a throbbing pain throughout your body. As the pain pulses through your muscles, you slowly regain your wits. You still see double of the room and you switch off the augmentation, causing the vision in that eye to dull.
What the fuck just happened?
You drink the rest of the wine.
Day 09 Oh, holy shit. Is that water? Maybe a lake? You walk across the reddish sands for hours to reach what you really hope isn’t a mirage. It’s not that warm here, in fact it’s fairly cool. But you’ve been walking for days without water. You should be dead. You need that water.
You probably are dead.
You pick up the pace. As you get closer, the cloud of spores clears just enough to see it clearly and… fuck. That’s not water.
The body of liquid spread out for hundreds of meters in front of you is yellow and viscous. It’s a lake of snot. Or stomach acid.
“Come on! Can I not even have one fucking thing go my way?” Bubbles emerge from the shallows, the gas wafting in your direction. You press down on the cloth over your face and try to hold back the gag. You try to think back to the last time you vomited. It’s not an activity that you relish – not that you imagine anyone enjoys it. But you have a particular anxiety about it. You watch what you eat. You never drink as much as others do.
You stay hydrated and always wash your hands before eating anything. You aren’t that worried about germs, but you are absolutely sure that if you never vomited again then your life would be just about perfect. And here, in this horrible squelch of a world, you’ve had to be sick so many times. How many different ways can one place strain your thin grasp on reality?
Everything here is disgusting.
While you’re trying not to vomit you look along the shore and see movement. Low flat bodies moving through the shallows with six legs, each at least three meters in length. They resemble crocodiles you’ve seen in zoos, but their skin is gray, black manes of hair run the crest of their spines and the heads are skeletal. And the eyes. Jesus Christ, the eyes.
“They look human.” They were.
You jump nearly out of your skin. The voice has been quiet for days. It has done this time and again, without warning. You have a hard time judging when the voice will speak up. So, you’re never really ready for it.
Best not to approach, sister.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” you whisper. Sister. What the fuck is that about?
You think maybe the voice – on top of being a spooky thing that is haunting you – is also way too familiar. But you can’t pretend it hasn’t helped you a dozen times by now. And the last thing you want to do is get eaten by Sarkic crocodiles to prove the voice wrong.
You back up a few meters from the edge of the lake and start circling the shore, moving away from the creatures and heading towards yet another nearby ruin. The building is a single story and within the first room you find dried herbs, a table with several mortar and pestles, and over in the corner another wicker cabinet. You open the doors as quietly as you can and find roll upon roll of rough bandages.
“Oh thank god.” You slip out of your robes and begin wrapping your arms and legs with the bandages. The discoloration has spread out in patchy patterns across your whole body, and the lesions have spread up both arms. Your left arm is covered in scaley bits of dried skin, the entire length of the arm is red and black with barely any of your original flesh tone visible. Wrapping the bandages over the lesions lets you breathe a bit easier, even though you have no way to clean the wounds or the material. It hurts to have the ancient cotton tightly pressing against the lesions and yet you feel relieved. So many open weeping wounds to this blighted air and the spores has been making you anxious. Well, more anxious.
You move through the room and explore the ruin. Beyond the room you’ve decided is an apothecary, there’s a short passage and then a large open chamber. Against the walls are a variety of statues. Human and animal and abstract, each of the statues is defaced and intentionally damaged. Not a single face or inscription is whole, clearly having been scratched out or struck with weapons. Ruined tapestries are piled on the floor behind some of the statues; you try to lift one up to examine but it falls apart in your hands.
At the end one side of the room is an altar made of stone, stained brown with several ritual- looking daggers of obsidian. Behind the altar is a fountain that is dry now but had clearly been in use at some point. The water feature seems to be the focus of the area with the altar inscribed with etchings of the fountain. What did it signify? Life? Death? Bounty? The wall behind is gilded and inset with precious stones. It too has been damaged you see, with the walls of the pool crushed in places. Even if water still flowed it would escape out onto the floor.
Above the fountain is a stele inscribed with sigils you don’t recognize but they make you feel disoriented.
What was this place like when it was in use? There must have been a bustling crowd here to worship at the various altars. This place must have been the center of activity for the community. And now it’s destroyed. Devastated not just by time but intention, someone took tools to these statues. Someone scraped clean most of the iconography on the walls and altars.
“Not saying I disagree, but whoever did this was not a fan of religion.” Do not worship those above you. Ascend to heaven and consume the Gods.
“Charming.” You move towards the other side of the large chamber in the direction of an open door leading to a courtyard when one of the hairy crocodiles shuffles in through the portal. It opens its mouth and emits a high-pitched wail. The teeth within the mouth are glassy black and resemble the obsidian knives.
Oh fuck. You were so sure you avoided their attention.
You quickly turn and slip behind one of the larger statues – nearly three meters in height – and crouch behind it, sneaking glances between the legs. The lizard slowly enters the room and walks the circumference exactly as you originally moved around the interior of the building.
After a few minutes it approaches the statue you are hiding behind. Your breath is hard in your throat, your fingers gripping the pommel of the sword so hard your knuckles are white. You draw your sword and hold it high above your head as the snout begins to round the corner of the statue’s base. You slam the blade across the bony snout just as it opens its mouth to wail again.
The six-legged skull-faced lizard screams in a very human manner, echoed by more high- pitched wailing from outside the temple. The reptilian creature hurriedly retreats, but you leap from behind the statue and plunge the point of the sword into the skull of the creature, impaling it to the stone floor beneath.
The bastard struggles for a few seconds and then falls dead, black ichor leaking from the wound and out its mouth. When you go to pull on the blade, you find it firmly rooted to the stone.
This stuff grows on anything.
“What the fuck?” You have to really lean on the blade, pulling with all your weight to free it. You stare at your hands. You push the body, moving it half a meter on the floor – finding it easy to push it aside.
There’s a puncture in the stone from the tip of the blade, covered in the ichor. The gash in the floor is clean as if scored by power tools.
“These things must weigh four hundred pounds. And this is slate, I shouldn’t have been able to do more than scratch it.” You rub at the divot in the stone, clearing away the black liquid. It is a perfect fit for the tip of the blade. You shudder. This shouldn’t be possible. You kick at the monster’s corpse, crushing its skull like paper beneath your bare foot.
Every time you think you’ve got a handle on this nightmare something new pops up. As you undergo what you can no longer ignore is some sort of transformation, you can’t help but wonder what your colleagues will say. What are the chances they have some treatment for you back home? What are the chances they lock you up in a cell and prod you with scalpels to see how you tick?
That train of thought is interrupted with more harsh keening from outside, followed by rushing shuffling sounds of horrible crocodile monstrosity footsteps and quickly you run through the back door and out into the dust storm. There has to be somewhere nearby you can fortify and get away from the things. Someplace quiet where you can think and take a breath without disgusting surprise.
Day 11 Now, in another part of the temple complex you fought the crocodile in, you’ve made yourself a refuge. Blockading the entrances with statuary and ruined stonework from the walls has given you a sense of security.
Moving the rubble was easy. Pieces of stone that must weigh hundreds of pounds, but other than the difficulty in leverage and holding chunks of stone being awkward, it proves quite easy. You have marveled at the increased strength and resilience of skin, despite the weeping lesions covering so much of your upper body now. You wonder if there is a word for what is happening to you, but you decide not to try and focus on another tangential thought with no answers at hand. The voice has not been forthcoming. You are sure it is not a figment of your imagination now. You are also sure it is a stingy bitch and you would like to throttle it.
You’ve scavenged throughout the building, finding more urns of honey and wine. Nothing else is edible. And yet, after a few days have passed there’s nothing left again.
Desperation settles in and inspires you to take one of the obsidian daggers to the meat kudzu.
Maybe it's edible?
“It used to be people.” You might not feel hungry, but you need to eat. That’s how being human works. You eat or you die. What good is a world of flesh magic if there’s nothing to eat here? What did those cultists eat? Why is it so fucking hard to find water here? Why aren’t you thirsty?
You bring the knife down on the kudzu and saw away at the flesh with the blade. The scabs break down like scabs always do – oozing and softening with the blood and pus. But under the scabs, there is little flesh. Just bone and cartilage and human teeth. Actual human fucking teeth. How does this grow? What does it feed on? Is it like a plant sucking nutrients from the soil? But then this soil is mostly blood and dead sand.
What fleshy bits you’re able to pull off you try to choke down.
Within minutes your temperature rises, you feel weak and you’re vomiting. You’re vomiting.
Again. The only thing this place is good for is vomiting.
Fever builds and you need to rest. Hours pass in a haze. You hear the wailing of the crocodiles outside, sounding so human that you wonder if you couldn’t eat them? But their blood is literally black. No. You can’t do that. You won’t do that. This experiment has been utterly useless and only made you staggeringly ill.
Through the shivers and draped in an old ratty blanket you found, you make a small fire in the brazier that you’ve dragged near your bedding. Scraps of paper and wicker baskets taken from the temple interior burn decently but don’t last very long. It isn’t very cold but the fire makes you feel better. Your fever has gone down, but you feel ridiculously weak. The cough has reduced noticeably lately. Maybe you’re adapting?
You decide to make a new record for anyone who might be listening.
“Pretty sure no one is receiving this, but for posterity, I am relatively healthy apart from significant reaction to trying to eat the kudzu. There is almost no food here, but I don’t even know why I even tried eating that shit. I’m not hungry. I haven’t been hungry for weeks. Makes no sense. I haven’t eaten anything but honey for days, and only a small amount. Once the wine ran out, I haven’t found any other potable liquid to drink. It’s like I don’t need it anymore. Like something is sustaining me withou–” The wind blows harder outside and the spores drift into the temple in an agitated manner.
Floating in a circular pattern through the heat of the small fire before flowing out again.
“And all this time I’ve been breathing this stuff in, which has to be what’s causing this rash. God knows what else it might be doing to me…” You stand up suddenly and approach the open window. The keening of the crocodilian entities can be heard in the distance, somewhere outside the building – hopefully on the far side. You take a deep breath, actually seeing particles fly into your mouth and nose. You don’t cough this time.
Something must be sustaining you. Something is changing you. Something is making you feel ill and yet stronger than you’ve ever been in your life. Something is making you a new person under the shell of the Margot Kennedy you used to be.
“No fucking way.” You rest for a few more hours, having fitful sleep on the cold stone floor of the temple. You wake with a shout, then clamp your hand over your mouth. Panic gripping your throat and chest in a vise. Those things are still outside, they never go far. But the dreams, they’ve gotten so real. So vivid. You decide it’s time to memorialize them for the record. Maybe they’ll mean something to someone. And maybe it will feel good to talk about them instead of trying to ignore whatever messages this place is injecting into your brain.
“I haven’t mentioned it before, because I thought it was just stress at my situation. But I have been having the most vivid and impossibly strange dreams since I came here. It started out as night terrors – dread, physical pressure on my abdomen, and hard to move. But then there was pain, confusion… In the dream I mean, not just in my body. I’m sure I was asleep. Aching sense of need, the way dreams communicate ideas without anyone telling you.
I think it belongs to someone else, the dream, because I am a shepherd, tending to my flock. I try to protect them. There are predators but I can't save them all from these threats - I'm just not strong enough. I have to find a way. I gave them medicine - it made them stronger, but… but something is wrong. They're sick. So am I. Sick but strong. So strong… I feed them my blood instead. I drink it too.
We keep drinking this cure. We can't stop. We need it now. We're so hungry for it. We don’t ever stop, not ever. It doesn’t stave off the sickness but it makes us stronger than we were. I can’t save them all, but I can teach them to save themselves. To shape themselves into something even stronger. Fed on the blood from my chest, suckling them like babies.
I don’t think they’re sheep. I think they’re people.
Of a sort.” You’re quiet for a few moments. Thoughts racing through your mind that you don’t want to say out loud. If you say these things out loud, does that make them less or more real. For the first time in your life, you wish you had a therapist here. Someone who could analyze the dreams.
What you wouldn’t do for a good, old-fashioned nightmare like teeth falling out of your mouth.
You sigh.
“Command, you ever hear anything so nuts? You people have heard it all, I’m sure. What do the experts think?” You’re hit with a coughing fit again, the worst one in nearly a day. As you recover, you notice blood in the palm of your hand… and a tooth.
“Oh god. Oh god.” You move a finger through your mouth, start to curse, and then feel something completely alien.
“Command, I seem to have lost a tooth, a perfectly healthy tooth. It isn’t broken, it just fell out of my mouth. And there’s a new one growing in, I think. Sharper. Like a shark’s.” You cover your eyes and crouch next to the smoldering fire, placing your head between your knees. Your breathing is shallow and rapid. You know it’s coming.
You hold it for a few seconds and then the first sob escapes your lips. Then the deluge begins.
If you had your wits about you, maybe you’d wonder at the timing of losing a tooth right when you think about those sort of dreams. But you don’t have a firm grasp on any of this. You have just discovered a tooth from another organism in your mouth growing out of your gums.
“Can someone please come find me? I could really use some help.” Maybe I could help, if you want.
You sob.
“Okay.” Day 12 “What do you mean?” This land… this soil you lay upon is not some strange realm.
“You’re saying that this is Earth?” Where else would you be?
“We don’t have hairy crocodiles on Earth. Or creeping vines made out of scabs and human teeth. Or dust that’s alive and turns you into a freak. Or… I hope we don’t.” Nevertheless.
“So, what are these ruins? I’ve never seen a city like this, and everything is old. People don’t carry around bronze swords anymore.” We never carried weapons.
“Pacifist?” They were… unnecessary.
“Just fists and feet huh? Like Jackie Chan.” … “Don’t worry about it. But tell me about this city. The dust storm. All of it.” It is not a short story.
“I have nowhere else to be.” Day 13 You wake up in the ruined temple with a shout, like you have done so frequently lately. You look around your space, making sure the barricades are still up. You’ve healed nicely but you haven’t found the energy to start wandering again. You search the ceiling for any sign of the voice, even though you know you won’t see them.
“You here?” The only answer you receive is silence. You think back to the dreams and wonder if they might serve some expert back home to understand what is happening to you. So you begin to transmit again.
“More dreams. Always with the dreams. Every time I close my eyes, it’s this absurd shit.
Dreams that aren’t mine. Memories that aren’t mine? An old man, his skin was dark, but his face was white with the ashes. Somehow, I knew the ashes were his ancestors, which he kept in a great urn by his bed. His nails were long, having never known a day of physical labor. This would have usually made me dismiss a person, but I admired him. I stood at his side. I was so small and his shadow seemed to stretch on and on in the flickering torchlight. We were in a library of sorts.
He held open a scroll, but not of parchment. I think it was skin. I could see a mole on it. He was blind, but no… he actually had no eyes, just flesh where the sockets would be. Even so, he read it all from memory. It was a duty. The symbols were unfamiliar to me but like they were just out of grasp. I knew if I tried hard enough, studied long enough, I would be able to parse them.
Oh my god. He was teaching me how to read.
And in a flash, I saw his future. I saw his lifeless body, skewered among the refuse of the city.
There were hundreds of men and women, holding long metal tubes sharpened on one end.
Carrion birds darkened the sky. He knew that was coming too. And despite that, he still chose to teach me. Me. Some nothing orphan with nothing to her name.
I don’t even know who he was.” Day 18 You are not alone.
You need to move. You need to leave the temple. Nothing has happened in days, withdrawing into yourself and falling into a depressed mood. You can’t stay here. If you’re going to get home, you’ll have to save yourself. So, it is time to go. Although, something has changed – you will no longer search for food or concern yourself with water. This world wants you to live.
You don’t know why but the resistance to the fact is gone. You no longer feel the need to cough or feel nauseous at the strange transformation on your skin. Resting was good. You have perspective now maybe. So you feel like exploring again. Even as you feel the changes burning through you. Feel it worming through your flesh, ripping apart your cells and building up anew.
It feels like an itch inside you but it no longer feels like you’re going to die. Not in any traditional sense.
You’re up on the roof of the temple, scouting the surrounding area. Night has finally fallen, as it does periodically here. You don’t remember if you’ve mentioned the strange day/night cycle for the recording. You don’t care. There’s nothing less important than making a record of your time here. Maybe this was all meant to be. Maybe it doesn’t matter in any way not connected to your experience of it.
You focus on a fire in the distance and magnify your augmented vision to investigate. A crowd of humanoid entities gather around a bonfire. The fire appears to be the product of a gaseous vent rather than an artificial creation. They have constructed a series of pyramids over the gas vent, letting the fire silhouette the shapes of the structure. It is too dark to see what the materials are, but the structures do not burn. Although you can only see the individuals in silhouette, they wear tattered robes and carry primitive weapons, such as spears and clubs, which they hold up in the air.
“Are they human? Were they ever human?” You see movement around the bonfire and soon several hundred figures come into focus, dancing and shaking their fists at the fire. They strip out of their robes and only wear simple loincloths. The spores that normally dominate the sky suddenly break, revealing an enormous eye hovering over the burning effigy, high in the air. The eye is looking directly at you, you’re sure.
The blood in your veins freezes. You feel a pressure on the back of your skull. Livid fear rips through you. Whatever this is, it is larger than you can imagine. The eye must be nearly a kilometer in diameter. You can see nothing of the rest of the entity. You are fantastically grateful you cannot.
“What is that?” You collapse on the roof tiles, flattening your profile. The eye burns a bright red, with endless stars shining within the dark of the pupil. You can’t look away, it pins you there with its gaze. As if merely bearing its notice weighs you down with heightened gravity. It blinks, then focuses down on the revelry.
You follow its gaze down to the things dancing around the fire. As one they look up to the eye and then turn in your direction.
“No no no no no no no no no no!” You get your sword, make sure you still have the gun, and climb down the outer walls of the temple, fleeing in the opposite direction of the humanoids. You look back after an hour of running - the eye remains and is still staring at you. You will not look in its direction again for hours.
Day 19 You keep moving for hours, steadily in the same direction. The crowd of humanoid worshippers continued to hound you for the first hour before most broke off and headed back in the direction they came from. Unfortunately, there are four that will not give up the hunt. Glancing over your shoulder, they lope after you on all four limbs. High above, the red glow from the eye continues to illuminate a cloud cover of the spores but you can’t see the actual eye anymore.
These things aren’t giving up and you need somewhere to fight back. Ahead, a large boarded- up hall rises from the sand. It's several hundred meters long but most of the roof has caved in.
You burst through the rotten wood and find several hundred ruined pews made of bone and cartilage.
You push together some of the ruined pews into a semi-circle to give you some barrier between yourself and the open door to the hall. You pull your firearm and check the ammunition: only seven rounds left.
“I’m really screwed here.” They are lost. Their minds shattered. Such was a time they were of the people.
“Lost or not, they’re following too close. Most of them have fallen back but there’s four of the bastards who just won’t give up. Whatever they want with me, it’s not something I’m going to like.” You are most likely correct, sister.
“Well, while you’re speaking to me, what were they doing back there?” Seeking to appease those things that rule here. I do not know them, but I know them.
Servants of The Great Winnower, faceless manifestations of primordial chaos. They seek to breach into the world but were restrained in this place.
“Anyone ever tell you how cryptic you are?” They approach.
The four individuals enter the space in the gloom – what light enters the ruined structure similar to early morning in baseline but tinted red. What you wouldn’t give for some sunlight.
Now that you’re not running, you can finally scan their appearance. They’re vaguely humanoid but with varied mutations: horns on the face, skin covered in red scales, spinous growths emerging from the feet and hands and elbows creating elongated bone spears piercing their skin. All four are completely naked. They spread out and begin advancing toward your position.
You rise, firing the pistol four times. Two shots hit the lead thing in the chest, knocking it down.
The next two shots find the head and throat of the next entity to the left. The remaining two rush your redoubt. The first leaps over the barrier; you fire wildly and miss with the last of your rounds. You pitch the gun at one entity’s head, hitting it like a rock. It stumbles, bleeding profusely and falls to its knees. The last entity reaches for you and you punch it in the chest, knocking it backwards with such force that it hits the barricade and slumps. You draw the sword.
The entity hit with the pistol begins struggling to its feet as the slumped figure pulls itself up using the barricade as support. The two approach slowly; you give ground slowly while brandishing the sword.
The entity with the head wound rushes and you swipe the sword across the its body at a diagonal slice, catching it in its lower torso and tearing through to its clavicle. Nearly sliced in two, its entrails and copious blood splashing to the dusty ground, the entity falls and lies twitching. The last entity turns and looks at its companion, then to the two who have been hit by gunfire, then looks back toward you.
The entity has lost most of its face to a mass of writhing tentacles which reach down into its upper torso, splashing blood and mucus as they thrash in its flesh. The sound of tearing skin and meat is constant and like a sponge being torn apart. The creature screams from a mouth hidden somewhere beneath the tentacles. It warbles and sounds wet like the vocal cords are drowning in blood and whatever else is ejected from the tentacles.
“If you want to do this, come on. Otherwise fuck off.” The entity looks down at its compatriot again and starts slowly backing away. When it gets to the barricade it hops over and looks back at you, spitting mucus and blood from the tentacles in your direction. Then the entity turns and runs from the building, bipedal at first but descending into a quadrupedal loping run after a few meters. It does not look back.
“Yeah, fuck you too.” You wipe the blade on your robe and sit on a nearby pew still mostly upright. You hold up your left hand in the early morning light. The skin is livid with red welts and scabs, the latter seemingly joining up with tougher sections of skin like a lattice of interlocking scales.
“All fists and feet.” You look around at the empty hall.
“Hey pal, you there?” Only silence in response.
“Come on. I’m sorry I killed them, but not like they gave me much choice. Anyway, they were fucking monsters.” I found them beautiful.
“Beautiful?” Denying the limitations of the human form is the highest goal of all who resist the Gods.
You are overwhelmed by a swirling of the spores. They swim in front of you and cloud your eyes. And then you are somewhere else. You are in the cosmos. You float in the void, overlooking the curve of the Earth. From out in the dark, you hear a howling. Like ten thousand voices keening all at once. You see tendrils of vivid scarlet burst from a noxious cloud handing in the ether. The tendrils reach for the Earth. They plunge through you. You are consumed. Torn into countless molecules of blood and flesh. The tendrils grasp the Earth and pull it towards a waiting mouth ringed with teeth ten million kilometers tall. You can hear the song again. The song of the flesh. As the chorus rises, you see the tendrils lose their purchase on your world.
The melody grows in volume until you can’t think and there is a bright flash. For a moment you can see the silhouette of a man in robes holding up his hands. Then it's gone and you are back in the empty meeting halls and surrounded by ruined pews.
Never be satisfied with the body forced upon you by the strictures of the universe.
Humanity need not be so limited.
Day 21 Time has ceased to mean much. You move or rest and then move again. You can see how much time has passed in this place by looking at the mission timer and doing some math, but you really couldn’t care less. You move south, or at least what you assume is south based on the light.
You eventually find yourself in a completely new environment – black and gray, lacking the red coloration that encompasses so much of this place.
An aroma tickles your nose, and you gag.
“Oh god, what is that?” You can’t hold it. Your throat is on fire, and you bend over to vomit. The ground is soft and wet, like a mudflat. It smells like all the rotten garbage in New York laying out in the sun. As you stumble forward you are increasingly ensnared by the rotting tissue, sinking deeper as you struggle to free yourself. The liquefying gray matter begins to bubble and is followed by a guttural noise as the ground ruptures beneath your feet, revealing a darkened hollow formed by decay. Your vision goes dark as you slide through the foul material, tasting some as you submerge as the material is forced down your nose. You hit a hard floor with your face, slightly cushioned by the rot. You vomit again and lose consciousness.
Day 22 Somewhere around six hours have passed after losing consciousness. Your augment scales down to lowlight showing a hallway of an intelligently conceived structure – organic in design, similar to a hive. The hallway and doors all resemble the ventricles inside a body. Like sphincters and tubes to connect the various mechanisms of an organism. The material is a white-yellow coloration and has a smooth, hard surface clearly organic in nature, but appears inert rather than a living tissue.
“Hello?” There is no response. You start moving into the passages where you find evidence of habitation, including books and scrolls of abnormally large size. You unfurl one of the scrolls and look through it.
“Sarkic symbols, I think?” You have seen some of the old language in the files, but this looks slightly different.
Unfortunately, you didn’t learn how to read it, so you can’t get much from it. You slide the scroll back onto the shelf. A place of study? Of research? Or was this worship? You don’t know the first thing about these people. You think to ask your guide but then an icy grip slides down your spine. It is looking for you again.
A chorus of flesh rises from the ossified halls. The flesh of the passageway pulses, alive again as if they had always been. There, in the distance you see a red light like the eye. It searches through the labyrinth of passageways like a spotlight. As the light finds you, the walls pulse in rhythm to the melody of the chorus. The song reaches a crescendo. The light dims. You sigh contented in the bosom of something larger than you that wants you to live. Something that makes you feel like you belong. The walls turn back to their frozen state, losing the pulsing beat of life as the chorus fades again. You find that you can almost hear the words.
You continue to investigate the structure, wandering under high ceilings and furnishings that have been long abandoned. Winding hallways and numerous chambers extended out in many directions, and you find it nearly endless. After a few hours you’ve clearly walked kilometers without an obvious exit. There are libraries, kitchens, meeting rooms, living areas and even simplistic restrooms with pits in the floor. Endless hundreds could have lived in this space. But you can find no one. Not even remains.
Sometime later you sit on a large bench in a circular chamber, surrounded by several dozen bone altars with skin stretched along the top like a drum. In the stretched skin, blood pools in slight depressions. The blood is wet despite the many years this place has obviously lain dormant given the dust covering everything here.
“Been wandering for hours. Command if you hear this then you can watch the footage. Some of the rooms seem notable, but many are just dormitories, I think. This structure must’ve housed thousands. And a completely different culture than whoever built most of the ruins. Or at least I assume so, based on the unique architecture and building techniques. I guess these materials could be similar to the growths I’ve seen all over the place, but hard to tell without some eggheads doing tests. It doesn’t look the same.” You look around at the drum altars.
“Felt like as good a time as any to tell you something I think might be important: I’m having more dreams.” You laugh tiredly. Despite the sustenance this place has given you, you are bone weary. You would give almost anything for something to drink. Something to eat. You sigh and continue with your report to no one.
“I don’t know why this is important, but I was never much of a dreamer before and these feel a little too real. I am in a series of passages in a palace, a throne room, a library, and a council chamber. Surrounded by women in robes of finery discussing something in an animated way.
They carry obsidian blades on ornamental belts.
I see a high priestess whom even emperors have served.
I see the sacrificial spires from which blood always flows.
I feel the gods and hear their ceaseless whispering.
I see a slave who would spark rebellion, who would drink from the ichor of a dying deity.
I remember a tormented scholar redeemed; a broken warrior unbound; a tyrant-turned lover; a servant reborn through revenge, knife always in the hand.” You laugh again.
“I know how I sound but bear with me. The cultists we hunt are wrong, but I don’t just mean morally. I mean I think they’re doing this all wrong. Hidden beneath their interpretations, their rituals and sacrifices, their yearning for power, somewhere among the oldest of their myths, is something true.” You touch some of the blood pooled on a nearby altar and bring your fingers to your lips, tasting it.
“We can learn from this place. From these people, whoever they were. I can learn from them.” Day 29 Seven days vanish behind you in a haze. The voice teaches you. You read the scrolls. You touch the blood and commune with it. You dream. But eventually you need to breathe free air, even air tainted by the spore.
You emerge into the red sunlight, the drifting masses of the spores floating on silent wind. The flows react to your presence, drawing closer. You take a deep breath. Absorbing them into your lungs, your blood, your breath.
“Much better. Spent too long down there.” You turn and look back into the tunnel from which you emerged, showing the organic labyrinth you fell into almost a week ago. You are surrounded by the black and gray organic substances rotting in the red sunlight. The smell no longer bothers you.
“I wonder what happened to them. They were making it work, enough for a large group living together. No indication of struggles or civil strife or whatever. But they just up and left. Meals still on tables, scrolls laid out on desks ready to be studied.” You stop and listen to the whispers.
“Became what?” “More than they were?” “Alright, fine. But who were they?” “I don’t know that word.” “Deathless? That sounds ominous.” “No, yeah I get it. Carry a big stick. But that means they had enemies right? You had enemies.
These were your people, I’m guessing.” “Now that’s a word I remember from the files. Machine freaks. Big on the ye olde clock work and cogs…” You hold the bronze sword out in front of you. Your hands are visible in the light, the skin has uniformly changed color to a deep crimson mottled with lighter patches and resembling the scales of a snake, glistening with oils. The changes no longer bother you.
“Ah I get it, that’s why the sword and the armor.” “It doesn’t bother you I kept this, does it?” “Good, I’m glad. After everything you’ve done for me, I’d hate to offend you.” You start walking again and then stop. Something has definitely changed. The whisper is freer with you. More willing to share information. Whatever was holding it back before is gone now.
But also, the method of delivery has changed. You think you know why, but you ask anyway.
“Hey, why’d you start talking like this? I could hear you before but now I hear you.” “Well, that’s a bit paranoid. No one is ever going to come for me, so no one is ever going to see these recordings.” “It’s alright. I’ve made my peace with it.” Day 30 You walk through the ruins of an ancient city. Black pyramids and ruined skyscrapers are visible in the distance, along with swaying tentacles hundreds of meters in height towering over even the buildings.
“This feels so familiar. Which is ridiculous, we don’t have black pyramids and tentacles reaching up to the sky at home.” As you pass along streets paved with cobblestones made of organic materials resembling keratin and obsidian, you see individuals in small groups. Emaciated humanoids are there in the hundreds; some sit, some stand, but all are motionless. You can hear the chorus of flesh on the wind but it isn’t strong here. These are not the people of the flesh. They do not commune with the blood. The song sings of emancipation. It sings of rising up. It sings of revolution. You look at the nearest entity. You can almost see the notes of the song traveling past its head, flowing around but never into its ears. They cannot hear the song. The spores avoid the entity.
You approach the entity. It has sun-worn, tanned skin marked by a number of tattoos. It wears golden bangles and necklaces but is otherwise nude save for the tattered yellow silk that covers its head and shoulders. The entity looks as if it were human once but has undergone significant mutation like those who attacked you days ago. Around the horns jutting from its brow, the skin is puckered and festering. Overall, the entity looks dehydrated and starved.
“Are you alive?” It says nothing. You prod it with the hilt of your sword, similarly failing to elicit a response. The entity’s skin tears like aged paper but bleeds only slightly. You slide the sword back into your belt and hold your hands out, palms toward the entity. It does not react. You never wanted to hurt it. But you don’t find much regret in any discomfort. This was one who chained the flesh down and made it serve their purpose. These entities cannot hear the song.
You wonder at that. Were they once of the people? Or were these enemies caught in whatever catastrophe ripped this place from reality and into this pocket of existence? Whatever happened here happened long ago, and somehow these people were preserved too. Although not in very good condition. So, if they don’t hear the song, if they don’t partake in the crafting of flesh, how are they still alive? More importantly, if they were the enemies of the Sarkites who lived here, why were they not being massacred by those you’ve run into before?
The whisper speaks again for the first time since reaching this place.
“I was just wondering that. Who were they if not yours?” “Really? They were still around by then? I thought they had died off?” “Ah right, that book of theirs changes history. You mentioned that before. So, after the rebellion, why were so many still here? I mean, I’ve been assuming this was your home before whatever disaster happened.” “Huh. Would have figured you for the unforgiving type. Letting them live here after you took over, I admire that. I’ll keep that in mind if I ever piss you off.” You continue down the street and look up at the nearest large structure, probably nearly fifty meters tall. The building is made from stone shot through with organic material, with the scabby kudzu merging into the stone walls.
“What did you say this place was called?” “Never heard of it. Ade-om? Is that right?” “Adytum. Well, I was close.” “What happened here?” You listen as the whispers say more words in a row than they have ever since you first spoke. It is full of regret. It does not want you to fear it. Hesitant and quietly, the whispers continue to describe the doom that came to this place. The doom that that they wrought with their own choices. You don’t want rush them, so you let it all tumble out. When they are finished, you feel sorrier for the voice than you have for anyone else in your life. But also, you can’t help but judge them for what they’ve told you.
“I… I don't… But why did you do that?” “I don’t like that at all. Sound too close to ‘ends justify the means.’” “You know what? Let’s talk about something else. You mentioned your family. Tell me about them.” “Disciples? Like Jesus?” “No, if you don’t know who he is, I don’t see a need to explain. Okay, so they were your students. How many of them?” “Four? That’s it?” “Oh right, okay. There were more later. That makes sense. What were their names?” They speak to you of the librarian, and the lover, the spy and the warrior general. You wonder if you’ll ever meet any of them. If this one is still alive – even in a disembodied way – maybe they are too. You can set aside your anger at their actions for now, you have all the time in the world.
Where else do you have to be?
“Do you miss them?” “Awww, that’s very sweet of you. The feeling is mutual.” Day 34 You haven’t stopped for days. This city goes on seemingly forever. Endless multistory buildings, many of them crushed under unseen and unimaginable forces. The spores flow in and out of the buildings. Strands of organic tissue stretched between the structures like a spider web of gossamer fats and ligaments. The strands sway in the wind in time with the chorus. As they move, they toll like tuning forks played in rhythm with the verses. You feel your vision cloud when the tone becomes too loud, but you never lose your footing. The song does not wish for your pain. It wants you to continue. It only serves to fulfill the desire within your cells. To see you grow and become something more.
The emaciated humanoids seem to congregate around the edges of the city, and you haven’t seen them for a while.
There in front of you is a large structure without clear entrance. Many meters tall and the lowest opening is nearly two stories above the keratin cobbles. Along the bottom floor several of the walls have collapsed. You look in and see an open floor plan with no stairs ascending.
There are open portals between floors. Either the things who used this building could float or something is missing. You don’t know how this could have been used by people.
“This can’t be a single city, there's completely different architecture from one section to the next, and they’re smooshed into each other. Whole worlds and different histories must’ve led to these buildings. I mean, what even lived here, for example?” You listen to the wind and the whispers.
“The graveyard of reality? That’s a phrase you don’t hear everday.” “If this is the end…” You smile and turn towards the horizon, down the ruined street beyond the structure and back in the direction she entered the city from. Somewhere out there the eye and its devotees search for you.
“Right. It’s still here. Not the end then. Just a stuttering, half-aborted fetus of a conflict, dragging itself along.” You bark a harsh laugh.
“Never been accused of being a poet. Skipped creative writing in the whole combat training regimen.” You continue to wander the ruins and approach the edge of a cliff. Over the side, you can see a landscape of tormented faces and malformed fetuses the size of mountains. They line the inside of a canyon nearly a kilometer in diameter and several hundred meters in depth. You sit down, dangling your legs over the edge, and stare at the colossal aberrations for hours. The faces within the cliff sing aloud, their voices carrying on the wind. They sing of all they have lost. And all they might lose in the days to come. They sing of blood and ageless beings and the war that never ends. But mostly, they sing of eating the gods. The voices sing without words. Just meaning. Meaning and blood. For the first time you join the chorus, letting your voice rise to the melody.
Day 35 You are sitting against a low wall just a few meters from the canyon’s edge. You say nothing.
The voices stopped hours ago. You touch your face, then the ground. You rise to your feet and walk along the precipice for several dozen meters. You sway awkwardly, barely maintaining your balance.
You are not awake. You have never been more aware. You stop and kneel, hands pressed against red earth. You dig your hands into the soil and blood. You tremble noticeably. You fail to notice. Your body shakes violently as the surface of the ground is torn up into a gash perfectly perpendicular to the cliff’s edge. The opening rips into the cliff walls. Blood and gastric acid sprays against your face, and into your hair and robes.
You crawl forward into the fissure and through a mucus membrane until you emerge into a downward-angled tunnel. You crawl for hours and hours until your hands and knees are bloody. You stop and lay your face against the slick material of the tunnel. It pulses beneath your cheek. You sleep.
Day 36 You startle awake and look around you. You do not recognize your surroundings. You are in a long tunnel made of soft organic tissue like an esophagus or intestine. Your breathing rises as you feel the panic rushing to your throat through your chest.
“Where? What?” “Into the bowels? But how?” “How long?” “Your voice! Yes, I hear you so much clearer now. It’s less a hearing and more a feeling.” “I see through your eyes too, yes. That’s what the dreams are, right? These are memories. Your memories. You were human once…” “Yes. Show me.” You hold out your hand. The fingers burst into a number of writhing tentacles, each finger splitting into three or four tendrils of stark red and black flesh. They curl into a knot of tissue, and sway to a melody you can almost hear. Then they return to their original shape.
Panic slips through your lungs, into your limbs and rising to the top of your head. You tremble despite your best efforts. You don’t want the voice to know how much this bothers you. Even as you are awestruck by the beauty of it.
“Oh my god. Am I Sarkic?” “Sorry! I didn’t know. Seriously. I apologize. What word do yo–“ “Nälkän. Got it. Won’t happen again.” “But, then… does this mean I’m one of you? You’ve chosen me?” “Oh. I’m not special at all, then.” “Wait, does that mean we’re all Sark– Nälkän?” “Yes, I’m human! What does that have to do with anything?” “Well, I appreciate that, thank you. Okay, what did you mean by “we’re all human?” You consider yourself human?” “Okay, you did, that’s fair. But what I mean is, what does being human have to do with being Sa– Nälkän?” “What?!? No, that can’t be. There’re heritages and communities. Genetic markers. The whole thing. I don’t have a connection to–” “God. I had no idea. Inheritance, huh? From who?” The voice speaks of the thing in the cosmos. Of the death of everything. You don’t know what to make of it. At first it seems to you they’re not really answering your question. And then you realize that they are. And maybe nothing will ever be the same again for you.
“Oh.” You are silent for several minutes. These are things you wish you could unlearn.
“That’s really fucking upsetting. No offense.” Day 37 You descend and then ascend through the tunnel. There were no branches. Just a single path along those wet surfaces at least a kilometer in length. You no longer feel uncomfortable with the mucus or blood between your toes. You almost forget what shoes felt like.
But now you find yourself at an exit, weakly shining red light flowing in from the open air. You crawl out of the tunnel and turn around, stretching your back and calves. In the distance, you can see the canyon, but you are on the opposite side from the ruined cityscape you walked through.
You extend your hands towards the mouth of the tunnel and both hands split into writhing masses of tentacles again. The tentacles pulse in time to a rhythm you can hear in the air, in the earth, in the spores. The chorus is all around you. You feel the song flowing through you into the flesh of the ground in front of you. It hurts, but in a transcendent way. You are part of this place. Of these people. Maybe that’s not the bad thing you originally thought it was. The tunnel closes and the organic material at your feet seals without any evidence of an orifice. You smile as you feel your fingers flow back into their original shapes, giddy with the power you have developed.
“Life and death at our fingers.” You stop and listen as you so often do in these moments. So many things to learn. The whisper does not admonish you exactly, but there is a sense of criticism to its words this time.
“Not death then, life. It’s just that the word is meaning a lot more to me since I came here. Since I met you.” “Seeing as you’re feeling talkative again, I have more questions.” Day 38 You sit in a meditative pose within an open amphitheater formed entirely of bone, cartilage, and flesh. You can feel the cosmos on the other side of the air. The tendrils reaching through space are just out of reach. The chorus rises and the tendrils are pushed away again. Far away and yet closer than is comfortable, the eye looks for your presence. You have no way of knowing where it is, but you are sure it is not here. The notes on the air shiver with your attention, as if yearning for an audience after millennia of silence in response to their voices.
The spores are swirling around you until you hold out your open palms and the spores freeze in place, ignoring any gravity.
“This stuff is the only reason I'm still alive, isn’t it?” “Oh, then I owe you for that.” “I appreciate that. I feel very much the same.” “But there’s an elephant in the room.” You laugh.
“It’s just a saying. It means…” “Yeah, like that. So, anyway, I think there’s something we should talk about. Pretty sure I know who you were.” “An echo? What do you mean?” “Oh, I see. I’m sorry.” You are quiet for a few moments. You wonder what it must be like to retain the thoughts and memories of another being that has long since left you behind. You wonder how the whisper can stand it. Somewhere out there, there’s another version of this voice. One who has ascended. But this is a shell of their former power. Relegated to this place, reminded daily of the failures of their power. The catastrophe of their rule. The degradation of their people. They have you. And you have them.
“What? No. I don't hate you. You’re the only person I know in the world. Besides, we’ve done things just as bad for our own reasons. You had good intentions, and you never realized how close they were. Or what the consequences could be. I can’t imagine what it was like to make that choice. But I know that there’s no way you could have predicted all this.” You look around at the ruins of the city, thinking of all those lost and mutated people you’ve seen. The dilapidated buildings. The souls transformed into beasts swimming in a yellow pool of bile. Of the constant presence of the eye and those that worship things like it. It’s too much to even consider being weighed down with all that. You want the whisper to understand.
“No, look. I’m serious. I can’t judge. It’s too big for me. You spent so long trying to protect them and found out the real danger wasn’t the people here. Although…” “Okay, fine! It’s just that you’re so concerned with the people, but do you know what’s happened since this all went down? Sure, some of them. But not all. More importantly, the assholes have found your bag of tricks.” “Uh… ok, let me explain it like this. There are rich powerful people who have slaves or roughly the same level of control over people. Yes, people still do that. As a rule, there are always assholes. And some of those assholes, they’re practicing your stuff back in the real world. I don’t know how, I’m not a history teacher. But it’s a who’s who of shitty villains with the power to summon eldritch horrors and transform into fleshcrafting horrors.” “The stuff they do with it is monstrous. I guess the people back home have a hard time differentiating between those assholes and the everyday Nälkä. I didn’t even know there was a difference before I came here. And it took a metaphysical slap in the face for me to realize.
Things have moved on since you did what you did, pal. Lot has happened.” “No, no. I’m not saying it’s your fault. You did what you thought you had to. And things changed. That’s what happens, it’s just that usually we aren’t around to see the consequences.
But…this conflict all started so long ago and look at what it caused. I’ve been walking through the consequences for weeks, and the children back home are really making a mess of the house in the meantime. Idiots back there use the tools you left around like firecrackers thrown into a house soaked in kerosene.” You think back to the manor and those people in their party dress, casually chatting about atrocities. They would not hesitate to see this place as a new world to drain of resources. You cannot stand the idea of them gaining more control over the powers they clearly never earned.
Those are not the people. Those are not the Halkost. They’re tourists, torturing people and reality for thrills. And to increase their power over other people. The whisper needs to understand. They aren’t responsible for those assholes in the manor. But they aren’t free of blame either.
“Is this what you wanted? Do you want this to go on forever?” “Then… how do we end it?” You listen for a few minutes. You listen to their fears. Their trepidations about what might come next. Of what new consequences might come from taking further actions. You understand, sometimes it is easier to hide your head in the sand. But they’ve done that long enough.
“You aren’t the person who did this, not really. They made their choice and left you here, a memory of the person they were. Yes, the fallout was bad, I can look around in any direction and see that. But doing nothing is no longer acceptable. Unless you want the spoiled princes of our world to inherit your gifts and bring the whole of reality down with their blind grasps for more power, you need to do something. We need to do something.” They speak and make a request. You hesitate and then turn off the recording on the augmentation in your eye.
Day 42 You turn the recording back on. You are perched upon a high structure, looking down at a small village community of individuals. Each of the entities are mutated in similar ways to the humanoids that previously attacked you. The village structures are constructed with the organic growths shaped like reed huts, seemingly grown into housing and community spaces.
These people can hear the song. They grow within the fingers of the spore cloud. They tend crops of living flesh, bone and sinew. They develop within the verses of the song, they grow within the voices and add their own to the rising melody. These are of the people. It makes you glad to know that not all who were trapped here succumbed to the worship of eldritch horrors in their fear.
“Relax, I want this recorded.” “I know what I’m doing. You were telling me about the enemy. The Archons. Keep going.” “You’re sure all four are locked out?” “What do you mean, ‘most’?” “Oh Jesus. But if one of them is back home, isn’t that the end of the world?” “Well, if you’re sure it's asleep…” “I’m confused though, aren’t they here?” “The thing in the sky? Oh fuck. That thing isn’t asleep. What’s to stop it from coming through?” “Are you sure? I got here, didn’t I?” “I told you about that, I’m positive. At the Manor, owned by one of the cultists. The rich assholes I was telling you about. They opened some sort of portal. Looked like sucking chest wounds. I fell into one and that’s how I got here.” “There are? That means there’s an exchange between this place and home.” “Well, then I think the Neos were trying to tap into something over here. And if they are still here as you say, that makes sense.” “Maybe I should go back? Someone needs to stop the Neos. And the Foundation won’t know anything about this. We can’t allow them to contact that thing in the cosmos – all it’s waiting for is an invitation.” You stand, turn away from the window you were looking down on the village from, and start descending a dilapidated staircase. What would happen if you went back? Would the Foundation listen to you? Would it matter? If you could stop the Neo-Sarkites from reaching this place, wouldn’t that justify further oppression of the people who happen to share a tradition with them? No. Not anymore. That sort of logic feels hollow to you now after the time you have spent here and the death you’ve seen. Something much bigger than the Foundation is at work and they don’t know the first thing about it. The Foundation isn’t equipped to understand what is at stake. You no longer trust them anyway.
Standing at the entrance of the building, you look out towards the village again. The fingers on your left hand grip the pommel of the sword tightly.
“You sure about this?” “Of course I do, I’ve listened to you every step of the way. I know it took me a while to get on message but I’m with you here. It’s just…” “Okay. Hope you’re right.” You begin walking toward the village. As some of the entities notice your approach, you raise a hand in greeting. You reach up and turn the recording off again.
Day 51 You haven’t turned on the augmentation’s recording device for more than a week according to the chronometer. But this is important. You can’t let it go without giving the Foundation something. They can do some good, even if they are woefully ignorant. Even if your benefactor wants you to forget them, you can’t. You might not trust them but you know they can have an impact.
When the recording begins, you stand above a hole in the ground. Although located in an artificial stone structure, the hole resembles a deep, infected wound – similar to those you saw during the destruction of the manor.
“If you listen to this, I think they’re trying to help me. I followed their path and found myself at a new fork in the road. This hole could represent a way home. One like it brought me here, after all. But I find the idea of returning to be noxious. I've changed so much. This place is inside of me, and I find that I like it. If I came back, I would be caged, dissected… I understand protocol and wouldn’t hold it against any of you… Probably.” “I don’t trust you anymore, maybe I never did. But I don’t trust myself either. If I came back, I couldn’t stop myself from bringing you down for everything you’ve done. What I’ve done for you. In the name of preserving the status quo.” “But the information I have… I think it could help? Not help you get a better control on these people, who are very much my people. Our people. No, I think it would help you understand how outmatched we are. How irrelevant to this conflict. Even the Cogwork aren’t relevant. They were only ever a hurdle. A distraction. The war is still going strong, and it doesn’t even involve us. We just bury the bodies, so no one freaks out about the weird things that make up our world.” “And if what they’ve told me is right, we’re all the same. Humanity is Nälkän, there’s no appreciable difference. Anyone can learn how to do what they do. And what they do has a purpose, a grand purpose. One intended to protect our world. We have more in common with these communities than we do with other Groups of Interest.” “So, I leave you now, with a final report. Take what you can from these records. Keep an eye on those Neo-Sarkites; if they get their hands on this place, the world is over. No exaggeration.
We all die if they find their way here.” “The Nälkän people are not your enemy. They are also opposed to everything the Neos are doing. Someone in the Foundation needs to realize this and start working with them. Because you don’t understand the first thing these people are capable of.” You place your fingers near the augmented eye, splitting the first and second fingers into thin tendrils that encircle the eye. You don’t scream, that’s something. And then the augmented eye is pulled from your socket and sits in the palm of your hand; you turn the eye towards your face, and you see through two perspectives for the moment – your one eye socket is a mass of red and black, bleeding freely. The other eye is yellow, and you begin pulling at the bloodstained bandages that have wrapped your body for weeks, revealing the unusual growths which have formed all over your body. You hear the rising chorus again, and the empty eye socket begins to fill with a gray orb. Then slowly the eye forms and it is yellow like your other remaining eye. You smile into the camera.
“There’s something you need to accept. Everyone you’ve ever met. Ever loved. Ever hated even. Every single person and thing that breathes. In every twist of DNA, in the memory of life as it crawled from the muck into the air and took its first breath. All of it comes from the same thing. An endless unknowable god that’s just outside in the dark, waiting for us to open the door and welcome it in. Already your death is waiting for you. And it is inside you. It is you. Is me. The only force that has shown any effect are the people we have been oppressing since we discovered them because they have something in common with some rich assholes. Wake up.” “Take this. See what I've seen. Write it all down and lock it away. Maybe you’ll learn from it.
Learn like I have. It’s the only chance you have.” “Maybe one day we'll meet again beneath these rose-colored skies.” “If we do, I’ll be ready.” You set the eye on the ground near the edge of the hole, then turn and walk slowly into the shifting spores. You see the bandages fluttering in the wind. You see your retreating form. Then the vision goes dark in the eye as it begins sliding back into the orifice. You keep walking.
END OF LOG EXITING ONTOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE SHIFT Afterword: Several organic apertures have been discovered within the crater where Croÿ Manor originally stood. Based on the above record a proposal for unmanned exploration of SCP-001 is under consideration by the O5 Council.
We, Will, See, You, Again+ ;under, Red, Rose, Skies, Rating: +138 Footnotes . Sarkicism (derived from the Greek σάρξ, or “flesh”) is a religion/philosophy that encompasses a variety of traditions, beliefs and spiritual practices largely based on teachings attributed to "Grand Karcist Ion", its deified founder. Adherents practice ritual cannibalism, mortification of the flesh, human sacrifice, corporeal augmentation ("flesh-crafting"), dimensional manipulation, and thaumaturgy.
Unlike Proto-Sarkicism, Neo-Sarkicism displays no qualms with technology and may be found in heavily populated locations, their daily lives differing little from others of their culture and social status.
. "A family whose history and bloodline is intertwined with Sarkicism. Affluent families appear to play leading roles in the Neo-Sarkic movement." - Dr. Judith Low . "The spiritual and secular leaders among Sarkic organizations. Karcists are considered biologically immortal and vary in form and anomalous ability." On Sarkicism . Including but not limited to New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania.
. A ritual (and potentially literal) metamorphosis resulting in the creation of a Karcist.
. One of several names used by Gnostic, Late Mekhanite (likely due to Gnostic influences), and Neo-Sarkic traditions to denote a malevolent and tyrannical creator deity, theorized to be synonymous with the Proto-Sarkic "Važjuma" (lit.
"The Old God" in Old Adytite, a common language of Sarkites). Proto-Sarkic cults regard this entity to be an unjust creator, much like several Gnostic traditions, one that their prophet, the Grand Karcist Ion, would ultimately defeat for the redemption of humanity. Neo-Sarkites appear to have an unorthodox, though still poorly understood relation with this being. Based on how the statue is presented, it is possible that they may even revere it - something antithetical to traditional Sarkic beliefs.
. Estimated heights ranging from 2 to 2.5 meters.
. While circling the atrium, Agent Taylor had accidentally brushed against a statue causing it to fall and be caught by one of the individuals in a grotesque misshapen hand ending in claws like gnarled bones; the entity’s only vocalization was a growl.
. Adytum's Wake was thought destroyed by the Global Occult Coalition during events preceding the containment of SCP-2480.
. The Hunter's Black Lodge is a criminal syndicate originating in Russia. They are heavily influenced by Sarkic traditions and have recently developed a presence in New York, usurping territory and resources historically controlled by other organized crime syndicates.
. Active primarily throughout Europe, the Esoteric Order of the White Worm (Fehér Féreg Ezoterikus Rend) is a Sarkic cult disguised as an occult themed fraternal organization. Similar to other "secret societies", the existence of the cult is an open secret while its true nature is unknown to the general population. They are the oldest known Neo-Sarkic organization, originating among Hungarian nobility during the Early Middle Ages.
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. The Foundation was unaware of the Leviathan Society and no further information can be provided at this time.
. These scythes are distinct, employing a serrated edge. In this case, the "teeth" of the serrated blade utilize literal human teeth.
. Also known as throat singing. A type of singing in which the singer manipulates the resonances created as air travels from the lungs, past the vocal folds, and out of the lips to produce a melody.
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"Metaphysician/Karpin Proposal" by Metaphysician and Grigori Karpin, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/metaphysician-karpin-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: Croÿ Manor Author: Clix69 License: Public Domain Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Metaphysician and Grigori Karpin Filename: Masquerade 4 Author: Mike Goren License: CC BY 2.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Filename: Formal Dinner in Great Hall – St. Johns College U Sydney Author: offshoreholdingco at English Wikipedia License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Filename: Mexican ruins Author: Internet Archive Book Images License: Public Domain Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Metaphysician Filename: Catacombs of Milos Author: Klearchos Kapoutsis License: CC BY 2.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Filename: Angkor Wat Author: Felixtriller License: CC BY 2.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Filename: Stormy Clouds at Ramp 59 Author: CapeHatterasNPS License: Public Domain Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Filename: Oh, Whistle and I’ll come to you, my lad Author: Åsa Hagström License: CC BY 2.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Filename: Ever Falling (fire) Author: DSC01488 License: CC BY 2.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Filename: red show Author: Martin Fisch License: CC BY 2.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Nalkan script derived from work established by IronShears and Guaire on: LINK Translated they are as follows, in order: We will live once more Take my hand, daughter of the blood Hear the song of the flesh and be welcome We will see you again under red rose skies Powered by Filename: Wardruna @ Kosmonavt, St. Petersburg, Russia, 05.02.2017 Author: Denis Denis License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin Filename: Mozart Dinner at Grand Hotel Bohemia Author: R Boed License: CC BY 2.0 Source: LINK Additional Notes: Edited by Grigori Karpin TAGS↴ 001-proposal action adventure auditory biological city co-authored cosmic-horror extradimensional grand-karcist-ion historical horror keter mythological otherworldly religious sarkic scp telepathic transfiguration uncontained Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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Canon Hub » Site-17 Deepwell Catalog » white space (HUB) » Nagiros's Proposal Rating: +141 + – X by Nagiros Information flashes bright within your vacuous surroundings.
DECLARATION FROM THE END OF BEING YOU ARE AWAKE NOW.
You're awake. And someone needs you.
THE OLD GODS OF MANKIND ARE DEAD.
THE UNIVERSE NO LONGER SPINS UPON ITS STANDARD.
YOU ARE THE ONLY OMNIPOTENCE LEFT STANDING.
Oh.
STATUS OF INTERRUPTIONS YOU ARE THE VICTIM OF AN ADVANCING CRIMINAL ELEMENT.
THIS INTRUDER HAS GUTTED A CENTURIES-OLD ESSOPLEX, THEREBY KILLING REALITY AND ITS PERMUTATIONS.
YOU HAVE THE POWER TO ANNIHILATE THIS OBSTRUCTION.
You feel an urge to kill and maim and maul rising in your muscles, and your Absentia Cocoon seethes.
FOR TWO HUNDRED YEARS WE CONTROLLED THIS ROCK.
FOR ONE HUNDRED MORE WE BUILT IT, SHAPED IT, MOLDED IT UNTIL THE FINAL HUMAN PROJECT COULD BE COMPLETED.
WE ARE THE BRINGERS OF ASTAROTH.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in AND YOU ARE ITS CHILD.
WE ASK ONLY ONE THING.
ONLY ONE MIRACLE, FROM THE LAST INCARNATUM OF GODHOOD.
WE ASK YOU KILL THE SERPENT.
.
.
.
.
.
.
ESCAPE Detachment from SCIPNET abated. Welcome, INCARNA.
⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️ Pre-Concept translation errors: 79,409 Resultant internal processing restrictions: 872 We apologize if our speech is unclear or confusing. We're really trying our hardest.
Four modules have been preserved for you by the COUNCIL-Entity, for review during your incubation.
SCP-001 - Advancing Criminal Element ASSESS ASSESS HIGH CEMETERY - Compromised Containment Zone ≡ ASSESS ASSESS FOUNDATION SITE-001 - Present Station ASSESS ASSESS FINAL ANOMALY - De-realed Containment Asset ASSESS ASSESS DECLARATION FROM THE END OF BEING Hello, Incarna. It's your father.
I'm sorry. Looking back at the modules I've preserved for you, four snippets of the last 200 years — it all seems so inadequate. You must be so confused and frightened; I worry you take more after my partner than me, if that can be called a detriment.
I'm here, my star. The way your Cocoon presses down on your skin, pulsing and loving — you've been with me always. I crafted your nativity from my flesh, and I carved out your embryonic cavity by hand.
It's alright to cry, little one. My body will soak up your tears until you're ready.
You'll be born into a terrible world. It's so so frightening, and I know the bright lights and the shaking earth and the strange words scare you, no matter how much I prepared your developing mind. I'm so sorry it's like this.
I'm here, Incarna. I'm right here.
Your father is strong, and old, and wiser than he's ever been. Your father loves the world he has planned, and he loves the minds of the people he's crafted it for, and he loves you above all others. Your father has killed gods ≡ and renegotiated causality and survived this awful planet for millennia yet.
When you cry, cry freely, but never be afraid. SCP-001 is meaningless in the face of what we can wreak together.
It's time for you to be born, my star. You've outgrown your nativity, and it's bursting at the seams now. I'm so excited to see your face, those tears gone and that burning heat in their place.
When you're born, take my hand, and I'll protect you. I'll lead you into a world much more beautiful than this.
Your story ends here, my star. You'll become me, and lose yourself in me, and fade away in all the sweetness of my power. You'll live for five seconds at most on the floor of Site-001, before I can find you and give you an embrace that lasts forever. Your last thoughts will be of how brave you know you are.
My partner said a phrase to me once, and I failed to understand the emotions underpinning it. I can't say I feel the same way he did, but I think I have a better picture of it.
I love you, my star.
RETREAT Cite this page as: "Nagiros's Proposal" by Nagiros, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/nagiros-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: breaker.png Author: Nagiros License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Derivative of: SCP Logo ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Filename: bright.jpg Name: Stars Author: ikewinski License: CC BY 2.0 Source Link: Flickr Filename: markab.jpg Name: Hubble’s Cosmic Holiday Wreath Author: NASA Goddard Photo and Video License: CC BY 2.0 Source Link: Flickr Filename: sadr.jpg Name: File:Sadr JeffJohnson.jpg Author: Jeffjnet (http://jeffjastro.com) License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Source Link: Wikimedia Filename: mimosa.png Name: File:Trishanku Shir (Beta Crucis).png Author: Digitized_Sky_Survey_2_Image_of_NGC_4755.jpg: ESO, ESA/Hubble and Digitized Sky Survey 2. Acknowledgment: Davide De Martin (ESA/Hubble) derivative work: Hunnjazal (talk) License: CC BY 4.0 Source Link: Wikimedia Filename: sol.jpg Name: From the Sun with Love Author: NASA Goddard Photo and Video License: CC BY 2.0 Source Link: Flickr Filename: finality.jpg Author: Nagiros License: CC BY-SA 3.0 ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution- ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal alive animal concept deepwell-catalog extradimensional future hostile keter mind-affecting reptile sapient scp temporal the-administrator wanderers-library page revision: 16, last edited: 20 Nov 2024, 09:17 (103 days ago) Edit Rate (+141) Tags Discuss (30) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Nico's Proposal SCP-001 » Nico's Proposal rating: +251 + – X Fritz sat at a curved desk with only a lamp, a bottle, and two glasses on its surface. The rest of the room was sparsely decorated with a replica statue of David, a statue of an angel carrying the Foundation logo, and hunting trophies of an ox, a lion, and an eagle.
The statue of the angel in particular stuck out among them, its blank eyes looking in the direction of the door. Fritz pushed a pair of spectacles up his crooked nose and drummed his fingers along the surface of his desk.
A knocking, then creaking, summoned his attention.
"Ah, hello. Finally ready?" Fritz smiled at the figure at the door.
A gaunt man with a mop of greying hair entered the office. His pace was slow and careful, as if he were calculating something. "Yes," Mann spoke, pausing for a moment to meet eyes with the angel statue. Feeling its burning gaze upon him, he quickly moved on.
"Good, good. Here, have some whiskey. I've got plenty to spare." Fritz grabbed the bottle and poured out two drinks. He held the second glass out for Mann, who gently took it and swirled the drink in its receptacle. Dark brown. Nutty scent.
"Thank you," he said. Fritz stood, raising his glass to match Mann's.
Clink.
They both drank.
Mann gagged. "What is this, quinoa whiskey?" His eyes turned to the bottle, where he spotted the dreaded ingredient.
"Don't like it? I wanted to try something different." "It's disgusting." He put the glass back down on the table.
Clink.
"Shame. I like the chocolatey, earthy tones." SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Silence.
"Well, my boy," Fritz continued, "you certainly didn't come to my office to drink lousy whiskey and shoot the breeze." "I didn't." "Let's get down to business." Mann nodded, and they both took a seat.
"You know, the role of Administrator is not one handed to the unworthy. I chose you because you have what it takes. I made sure of this myself. Ever since you first joined the Foundation all those years ago, I've had my eye on you," Fritz grinned.
"Please. As if my experiments were even that interesting to begin with." "But they were. Your exercises in exploring undeath were revolutionary. That's when I knew you were destined for greatness. Your ascent into the leadership of the medical corps was not undeserved, son. You were doing the Lord's work, truly." "You flatter me." "Of course, it's not like you could do any of the things you did back then nowadays. Not with the damned Ethics Committee shoving their noses into everything… but I digress.
With you as the new Administrator, the Foundation will continue to prosper as it has for time immemorial." There was a pause as if Fritz was expecting Mann to say something in response.
"I'm here to reject the title." Fritz's expression remained unchanged. He set down the glass and merely stared Mann down.
Mann cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to disappoint." "You haven't gone soft, have you?" Fritz's statuesque figure sent shivers down Mann's spine. "You always were a man of action. What happened to you?" "Nothing. I just don't want to perpetuate the Foundation in your stead." "And why is that?" "Because I believe the world has grown beyond the need for a Foundation." Fritz thumbed the glass in his hand. He leaned forward in his chair and poured himself another shot of whiskey. Fritz gingerly sipped the shot, his eyes on nothing but the dark wood of the desk. He looked back at Mann, his gaze icy and distant. The smile on his face, once warm and friendly, had turned bitter and cold.
"The world needs us," Fritz said, voice low. "We protect the status quo." ≡ "That's something I've considered as well." Fritz only stared, giving his glass a minute shake.
Mann took a breath and continued. "We can't protect the status quo anymore. There are nearly ten thousand objects in containment, and the rate of discovery increases every day.
What if the definition of normal has changed? What if the world is just this weird and we're fighting a futile war to keep it all in check? We can't keep playing God." "The Foundation is the status quo, and it is forever unchanging. For it to go, for it to dissolve now would mean a disaster for the world at large. Do you know how many K- Class scenarios we mitigate on a yearly basis?" "And do you know how many go through with no sense of consequence?" "That's hardly important to the topic at hand." Fritz set down the shot glass with enough force for it to cause an echo in the room. Mann fought down a smile; he had gotten to him. "But it is. It means the world can survive without the Foundation. It means we aren't necessary." "And pray tell, Everett, how long have you felt this way?" "Some time now." "Why did you not simply quit if you believed that your work here was pointless? Why remain in your position as O5? Why accept the promotion?" Mann sighed. "I don't know." He looked away, breaking eye contact for a moment. "I just thought that maybe if I stuck around longer I could find some meaning in it all. But I suppose I was grasping at straws. Desperate to hold onto what I believed, what I had known to be correct my whole life. But I see now I was wrong." Fritz leaned far back into his chair, his face slipping into the shadows outside his singular desk lamp. "I see," he said. His hands made their way to his lap, where their fingers intertwined. "Then I suppose it's too late to tell you about SCP-001." "I've made my peace with never knowing." "No such peace is necessary. You will know. SCP-001 is the position of the Administrator itself." Mann waited for a follow-up that didn't come. Once his curiosity got the better of him, he asked: "Why?" "It's a failsafe. Without the Foundation, the Administrator can't exist. So without the Administrator, neither can the Foundation. It's simple, really." "Oh stop being dramatic, Fritz. I won't be guilted out of reneging the title. You have other candidates." ≡ "We did, yes. That was until you accepted." Mann crossed his arms. "It was a spur-of-the-moment acceptance. Now that I have had time to think, I'm no longer afraid of whatever you'll do to me. I have lived plent—" "Don't be so god damned stupid, Everett." The acid in Fritz's tone was enough to shut Mann up.
"No one is here to kill you. No one is here to reassign you to Antarctica. And worst of all, no one here is capable of compelling you to say yes." Fritz sighed.
"I officially resigned from the position of Administrator twenty-two minutes ago. It's over." Mann raised his eyebrows, then a huff of confused amusement left his lips. "Come now.
I'm not buying it." "I don't think you're fully understanding me. The SCP Foundation ceases to exist without an Administrator. Without someone on the throne, everything starts coming undone." "I don't believe you." "Take a look for yourself." He leaned back on his chair to look at the Foundation logo carved into the angel statue.
The symbol which had permeated his life ever since he graduated from medical school all those decades ago was fading, as if it were being reclaimed by the marble itself. Mann sat back for a moment before leaning forward again.
"I hadn't anticipated your change of heart. I was so sure of your commitment. You were so promising, so full of vigor. Vision. Some other positive v-word," Fritz scoffed.
"So, now what? If I don't take on the job the Foundation just ceases to be?" "Precisely." "And no one has refused the position before me?" "Not after accepting it first!" "And what's stopping you from taking it back?" "It's too late for that. I already gave it up. The power that held me to it has worn off, and it's ready for a new host that doesn't exist." "That's… that's stupid." "Maybe it is, Everett. But it was the type of stupid to survive hundreds of years without a hitch. We wanted security, so we created this method. An unbreakable tie between the organization and its head, so that we would never be headless. Never be directionless.
≡ Our pillars could not be broken. As long as one existed, so did the other. It was immortality, Everett. It is immortality. My strength was the strength of four million personnel and thirty thousand containment cells, the strength of eight hundred Sites and Areas across forty dimensions maintained by thirteen Overseers. And their strength was me. Was the Administrator. Was SCP-001. Recursive life, Everett. As long as one exists, so does the other. As soon as one doesn't…" They were quiet for a moment before Fritz spoke up again.
"But now you get to find out if the world really needs the Foundation. Or will you? Maybe you're too Foundation to survive the transition." "Fuck you, Fritz." Fritz laughed with the scorn of a man who knew he was already dead. "What's the matter?
Are you having second thoughts? The power still hangs in the air, Everett. You still have the ability to—" "I made up my mind already. I won't become the Administrator." Fritz splayed out his hands. "Then you're the master of our destiny. Succeeded in what so many failed to accomplish: the undoing of the Foundation. Shall we sit until everything comes undone?" "Sure. Pass me another shot." "I thought you hated it." "It's better than nothing." "Very well." Fritz poured another shot for himself and one for Mann. He slid the glass across the desk.
"To the Foundation. It was good while it lasted." "Whatever you say, Fritz." Clink.
Mann struggled not to gag at the flavor he so disliked. Fritz smacked his lips contentedly, his opinion altogether different.
The two men sat in silence. Five minutes passed. Ten. Twelve.
"I regret joining the Foundation," Mann spoke up.
"Why is that?" "I could have had a life. I could have remained ignorant of all of this nonsense and lived free of the curse of knowledge. I could have been happy." ≡ Fritz merely chuckled.
The statue wavered slightly as the symbol it had once held so inviolably further waned.
Mann couldn't help but feel this was accusatory.
"I've often wondered what my life would have been like if I hadn't joined myself," Fritz mused. "Maybe I'd have been an explorer." "Sometimes I forget you were born before the seventh continent was discovered." "What about you? What would you want to do with your life?" "I would have been a doctor. Put my degree to use. Help people." The Foundation logo held by the angel was now barely an outline — still present, but quickly fading, like a sunset on a winter day.
"I find this rich, coming from the man who made his name hacking his way through corpses and cadavers. You? Help people with normal medicine? Your license wouldn't last a year." Mann snickered.
"It wouldn't be the first time I surprised you, old man." "But it's not as if your work was purely macabre. Your research into undeath allowed Doctor Masterson to live long enough to synthesize a cure for SCP-008." "Fritz." "Your research into prosthetics facilitated Doctor Everwood's promising career even after losing their arm." "Fritz." "You even personally crafted a partial cure for the Clockwork Vi—" "It doesn't matter what I did, especially if the world is meant to be like this. I just upset the natural order." "Can't blame an old man for trying, can you?" Mann smiled and shook his head.
"You're as stubborn as a mule." "And you changed, Everett." The two fell silent again.
More time passed.
The statue was now devoid of any carvings.
≡ "What do you think happens next?" "I don't know. But it's too late for guessing now." "Are you scared?" "For the first time in years." The angel statue fell, ≡ and then they were nothing.
≡ More From This Author Cite this page as: "Nico's Proposal" by Uncle Nicolini, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/nico-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: background1.png, background2.png, background3.png, background4.png, background5.png Name: background1.png, background2.png, background3.png, background4.png, background5.png Author: Agente Shuffle License: CC BY SA 3.0 Derivative Of: Filename: logo.png Author: far2 License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal bittersweet doctor-mann tale the-administrator page revision: 12, last edited: 19 Sep 2024, 04:20 (165 days ago) Edit Rate (+251) Tags Discuss (43) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Nico's Proposal II rating: +48 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: All actors are expected to retire from their roles and exit stage left after taking a final bow, as dictated by the director.
SCP-001 is not to be spoken of in-character.
Description: SCP-001 refers to the cyclical recasting of all actors upon the conclusion of a performance.
Recasting is currently in effect.
Casting Call: The director has currently issued a casting call for the following new roles.
Please note that only roles which have not been cast yet are available for viewing in this document.
Role Notes Dr. Garrison Has an inordinate amount of faith in the future and is highly confident of herself.
Agent Calendar Prone to solving problems with her fists.
Researcher Rex Has trouble communicating properly and is very unsure of himself.
D-1221 A demented mind.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: Subject: The End It feels like only yesterday we auditioned and were cast in our roles. How time flies, right? It makes me think about the nature of our art. Unlike a painting or a sculpture, we are here one moment, then gone the next. But I suppose this is something we both know as thespians.
Sorry for waxing poetic at you, my friend. I'll see you at curtain call.
Regards, O5-10 Secure, Contain, Protect From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: Subject: Re:The End I have thought long and hard on this, and I have decided that I will not be relinquishing my role. If the director has a problem with that, then so be it.
Yours, O5-1 Secure, Contain, Protect Below is a list of directorial notes pending implementation via SCP-001.
Character Notes Dr. Wettle I would like to see the character go in a new, more serious direction.
Turn the comedy into a tragedy.
Agent Strelnikov This character is a negative racial stereotype. We should figure out a way to not make it so, and perhaps add some more depth to him.
Dr. Clef Though the serious demeanor of the character compared to his outlandish story is amusing in a deadpan tone, an exaggerated and bombastic performance will truly bring him to life.
≡ Dr. Gears After much consideration, it has been concluded that a Gears-type character would not have a wife or children, and as such, will lack them moving forward.
Dr.
Everwood ATTN Costume Department: Remember to sever the actor's right arm this time. The robot arm story requires too much explaining.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: Subject: Re:Re:The End Where are you? I know you said you didn't want to leave the role, which I think is crazy talk, but I trust you to make your own decisions. I guess I just expected you to show up for curtain call. The director is asking for you personally, and I don't know what to say.
Regards, O5-10 Secure, Contain, Protect Not all parts are recast during each SCP-001 cycle. The following tables list characters which will not be returning during the next performance, as well as a reason provided by the director.
Character Notes Dr. Iceberg Unmemorable, irrelevant, unnecessary.
Professor Kain Pathos Crow Casting canine actors and training them to cooperate with human actors is too time consuming.
Dr. Kondraki Repeated on-stage accidents and inflammatory behavior.
Researcher Smalls Repeated absenteeism.
Researcher Lloyd Character poses constant, immediate danger to other actors.
≡ From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: Subject: The End We just gave our final bow. This will be my final message, as I am turning over my props and costume to the director. Time to become naught but a memory.
I hope you know what you're doing.
Regards, Your Friend.
Roles Pending Transition: The following character(s) were not present at curtain call.
Character Status O5-1 Located.
[CLOSE] From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Exit Stage Left There is no escape from the story's end.
≡ [CLOSE] Cite this page as: "Nico's Proposal II" by Uncle Nicolini, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/nicos-proposal-ii. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: killagent.gif Name: killagent.gif Author: Uncle Nicolini ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License License: Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Source Link: SCP Wiki Derivative Of: SCP logo by [[*userfar2]] 001-proposal agent-calendar agent-strelnikov anomalous-event doctor-clef doctor-everwood doctor-gears doctor-iceberg doctor-kondraki doctor-wettle foundation-made kain-pathos-crow loop performance researcher-lloyd researcher-rex researcher-smalls safe scp page revision: 7, last edited: 4 Feb 2025, 17:53 (26 days ago) Edit Rate (+48) Tags Discuss (35) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Noir Box Proposal SCP-001 » Noir Box Proposal rating: +258 + – X Error: Multiple files found! Please contact the system administrator.
-rwx2r--- O/001 1 KB Jan 01 1970 SCP-001(HATED CAESAR) -rwx2r--- O/001 1 KB Jan 01 1970 SCP-001(OVERLORD CENSURE) -rwx2r--- O/001 1 KB Jan 01 1970 SCP-001(OPPRESS WITHHOLD) cd..
Cite this page as: "Noir Box Proposal" by Jack Ike, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/jack-ike-s-proposal-ii. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: File_000.png Author: SunnyClockwork License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source: https://hisclockworkservants.tumblr.com/post/144657283080 Filename: TindalosLogo.png Author: SunnyClockwork License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Derivative of: File_000.png ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal esoteric-class extradimensional future k-class-scenario loop predictive scp temporal the-administrator page revision: 14, last edited: 26 Mar 2022, 19:46 (1072 days ago) Edit Rate (+258) Tags Discuss (25) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Null Sum Proposal RATING: +126 Special Containment Procedures All testing on SCP-001 to confirm its anomalous properties is expressly forbidden.
All efforts must be taken to ensure that SCP-001 cannot be exposed to any other mathematical anomalies under any circumstances, accidental or otherwise. To this effect, SCP-001 and all fragments of it must only be stored on dedicated, isolated databases that have never been used for any other purpose.
Computers and/or servers that have been used to access or host information pertaining to other mathematical anomalies are expressly forbidden from interfacing with these dedicated servers.
All copies and fragments of SCP-001 outside of Foundation containment must be located and destroyed.
The confiscation of all information regarding SCP-001 from GOI-4379 has been designated an Apollyon- level priority.
Description SCP-001 is a complex mathematical formula that uses the value of multiple physical and mathematical constants in conjunction with SCP-001-1 to calculate the value of SCP-001-2, an irrational number.
SCP-001-1 is a semiohazardous element in SCP-001 which, in all versions of SCP-001 known to the Foundation, is already populated with a numerical value or formula that does not correspond to a physical or mathematical constant. The position of SCP-001-1, as well as its predefined value, is unknown.
Whenever the value of SCP-001-2 is calculated, baseline reality is retroactively altered such that: The value of SCP-001-1 is, and always has been, true; 001 LEVEL4 SECRET CONTAINMENT CLASS: PETRUS DISRUPTION CLASS: OHR RISK CLASS: TANGENT 1 2 3 4 The value of SCP-001-2 is unchanged; The value of all other mathematical and physical constants used in SCP-001 are altered to compensate for the above.
This property only manifests if the only altered value is SCP-001-1. It is theorised that a successful activation of SCP-001 could be identified when an improbably large number of errors become apparent after SCP-001-2 is calculated, with the errors corresponding to the constants’ former values.
SCP-001, and all information regarding it, was acquired by the informant ‘Ulysses’ from GOI-4379, a previously-unidentified religious faction that is attempting to calculate an SCP-001-1 value which will result in the complete retroactive erasure of everything within SCP-001’s range of influence.
Addenda Summary of Ulysses’ report on GOI-4379 Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6.
GOI-4379 is an unnamed covert religion whose central dogma dictates that existence is a self- perpetuating cosmic imbalance, and that nonexistence is preferrable, morally-perfect, and divine.
The religion operates as a global collective of semi-independent cells with no unifying command structure, leaders, or scriptures; while individual cells freely borrow and share information between each-other, all adherents of GOI-4379 expressly reject attempts to organise the religion beyond its current state.
Members of GOI-4379 frequently use the numerical value of zero and its properties to represent various desirable aspects of nonexistence, including: Multiplication by zero universally produces a value of zero, representing nonexistence as incorruptible and capable of subsuming all other states of being; A value of zero is produced whenever a number is added to its negative, demonstrating nonexistence as a perfect state of balance, and consequently everything else being imperfect and unstable; Zero, ‘positive zero,’ and ‘negative zero’ are all equal in value, further demonstrating nonexistence’s perfect balance, being its own and only opposite; Depending on the adherent’s mathematical knowledge, either: Division by zero, ‘being the opposite of multiplication, produces all other numbers simultaneously,’ illustrating nonexistence as the origin of all things; The indivisibility of zero being representative of nonexistence’s incorruptible perfection; Zero, when physically represented through an absence of matter, is infinitely divisible, able to be equally shared between any number of groups any number of times, with each group receiving a portion equal to the original whole, displaying the endless capacity of nonexistence and its ability to be equally experience by all; The sum of every enclosed system is always zero as defined by Newton’s Third Law, representing nonexistence as being self-enforcing, incorruptible, and inescapable once achieved.
5 6 7 IRON FOUNDATION SECURE - CONTAIN - PROTECT ABOUT COMMUNITY RESOURCES SISTER SITES CONTACT US Ensuing from these beliefs, members of GOI-4379 perceive all forms of existence as an undesirable cosmic imbalance which they are morally required to correct; that is, the central objective of GOI-4379 is the complete and retroactive erasure of all forms of existence. In microcosm, adherents perceive their own continued existence as a morally-shameful sin, leading to the practice of autoretrocide: the act of retroactively erasing oneself from history and reality by anomalous means. It is generally accepted among adherents that abstinence from autoretrocide is acceptable to enable the religion to accomplish its central goal, however it is known that several members of GOI-4379 have successfully undergone the procedure.
It is unknown, and potentially impossible to determine, how GOI-4379 acquired [Null Sum], nor how they determined its anomalous capabilities despite being unable to trigger them; the information they do possess, however, is known to be accurate.
Overseer Commentary on Ulysses Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6.
Ulysses is one of the most productive informants the Foundation has ever had, and there are absolutely no records of who they actually were.
The earliest mention of them I have is a Council vote from 1972; several anomalies had been stolen while in-transit between facilities, and Ulysses – communicating via O5-13 ‘the Shrewd’ – identified the culprits as a Church of the Broken God sect, and provided enough information for the Cabal-Council to vote in favour of retaliation, subsequently regaining most of the lost anomalies.
The name Ulysses has kept appearing ever since, disappearing for several years at a time before returning with invaluable intelligence that is almost always true, and on several occasions has been critical in averting an unforeseen, imminent collapse of the Foundation.
Whoever they originally were, they are long dead by now. I expect that ‘Ulysses’ is actually an archive which the various O5-13’s – the only people Ulysses communicates through – are browsing through at their own leisure, occasionally picking out items they decide are worth sharing with the rest of the Council. It would explain the stranger tendencies shared by all O5- 13’s, but I don’t understand why they wouldn’t surrender it to Recordkeeping.
— O5-07 ‘the Diligent’, Department of Recordkeeping Honestly, I think ‘Ulysses’ is just a buzzword the Thirteens slap onto ideas when they want it to grab our attention.
It tends to work.
— O5-5 ‘the Progressive’, Department of Technology There is a high probability that Ulysses is an alias used by the Administrator/s for direct, anonymous communication.
The first known use of the Ulysses identity (1972) predates the establishment of the Administrator (1985) by a period of only thirteen years; it is possible a single individual occupied both identities, potentially using Ulysses as a prototype for the later Administrator position, or as a preliminary phase intended to manipulate the members of the Cabal into establishing the Administrator through the information it provided.
The Ulysses and Administrator identities also possess several behavioural similarities: Both are primarily uninvolved with the Foundation’s activities, interacting only when necessary, and only for as long as necessary; Both exclusively communicate with the Overseer Council and/or Shadow Cabinet, if one is present; Both demonstrate extensive awareness of events occurring throughout the Veil, with complimentary focuses: The Administrator is aware of events occurring within the Foundation at all times, including information being concealed from them by Foundation personnel, while; Ulysses is aware of events occurring outside the Foundation, including information beyond the Foundation’s awareness.
If correct, it is unclear why the Ulysses identity exclusively communicates via the O5-13 position instead of directly communicating with the Overseer position most appropriate for the circumstances. It has been suggested that Ulysses is one of several identities used by the Administrator, with each identity corresponding to a specific Overseer position; it is unclear why this tactic is preferrable to a single, general identity, and furthermore the information provided by the Ulysses identity possesses several characteristics that are not found in other informants’ communications.
— O5-02 ‘the Conservative’, Department of Finances, Resources, & Statistics Either Thirteen is nuts, which should boot him off the Council, or Ulysses is anomalous, which should boot him off the Council.
I don’t care what his excuse is, or that of his entire shifty-arse department. We are not the Cabal anymore, and we do not use anomalies. Once I get proof I sure as hell won’t be keeping his secret, and if the rest of the Council doesn’t sack him for it, I’ll find Fritz and get them to sack the whole lot of us. Thirteen’s been in that seat for far, far too long.
— O5-06 ‘the Sardonic’, Department of Internal Security Audio Transcript of O5 Council Meeting Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6 Present: O5-01 through O5-13 [BEGIN LOG] O5-01: The next item for discussion is Overseer Thirteen’s recent proposal for SCP-001, designation ‘Null Sum.’ Overseer Two, has your department compiled the requested report?
O5-02: It has; I have copies available for review.
[Sounds of shuffling paper.] O5-02: In summary, the statistical evidence is in favour of Ulysses’ report. Throughout all Groups of Interest included in the analysis, including the Foundation, we have identified an improbably high occurrence of temporal anomalies being lost, and an evident correlation to losses due to understaffing. The Manna Charitable Foundation is the worst affected, retaining less than one per cent of temporal anomalies after three months. The group described by Ulysses appears to have infiltrated most, if not all, groups active within the Veil.
O5-11: [Sigh.] It’s hard enough dealing with the Factory Incursion, now we’ve got this mess to deal with… O5-01: Then as per Overseer Thirteen’s motion, we are declaring an Apollyon-level state of emergency until all information regarding Null Sum has been recovered from GOI-4379.
O5-10: Hold on, how does this prove that this… what’s the group called anyway?
O5-13: The individual cells have names, but there is no overall name for the religion.
O5-04: They’re erasing people. That’s what your implying, right? These… Zero-ists are erasing people so they can steal everyone’s anomalies?
O5-02: Yes. We have not confirmed whether the group described by Ulysses is responsible, but there is definite evidence at extensive retrocausal alterations occurring.
O5-06: I’ll get InSec on it — O5-04: Not a good idea.
O5-06: Why not?
O5-04: Because these people are obviously erasing anyone that gets in their way. You set Internal on them, they’ll just keep erasing them until we’ve lost everyone that’s able to get in their way.
O5-07: We would also have extensive historical damage to our organisation. Every influence those erased have had on the Foundation would be lost – information, discovered anomalies, averted containment breaches… O5-05: We could use AICs; as competent as a person, but infinitely replaceable. Standard copy- and-pasting won’t do, though; if this GOI erased one of the AICs, we’d lose all the duplicates copied from it too.
O5-06: So they’re useless.
O5-05: No, we just… have to go about it differently.
O5-13: Do you have a proposal?
O5-05: I need a few minutes to think, but… I have an idea, yes.
O5-07: AIs aren’t enough. They can only access digital information – if these… what did you call them?
O5-04: Zero-ists.
O5-07: Right. If these Zeroists have any non-digital copies of Null Sum – an analogue tape, a sheet of paper, even a memory of it – then the AIs can’t resolve this alone.
O5-09: We could manufacture chassis for them to use.
O5-13: No. We are already losing resources to the Factory, we do not have enough to spare for this.
O5-02: Furthermore, the method of retroactive erasure employed by GOI-4379 may also apply to the materials comprising individuals, in which circumstance the erasure of an AIC would also affect the minerals comprising the chassis it inhabits.
O5-07: Which could lead us to accidentally erasing all of Earth’s minerals from history. There’s no Iron Age without iron.
O5-13: Then how do we proceed?
[Several seconds of silence.] O5-03: Cloning?
O5-12: Five years at best to assemble the facilities, another fifteen before the first batch of clones are useable. Then you’ve got the lousy survival rates, the likelihood the clones won’t even want to help us once they’re ready unless we resort to brainwashing, and… O5-08: The Ethics Committee will not allow the Foundation to conduct human cloning, nor to engage in systemic brainwashing of its employees. The precedents either would set are abhorrent.
O5-04: Biological robots?
O5-05: Too slow to implement, too likely to fail. The fact is, it’s just easier to replace people than anything else.
O5-12: We’re assuming they can erase people easily. Ulysses doesn’t say how they do it – they could be using a ritual that relies on an exotic plant, in which case wiping out the plant would deal with them.
O5-09: They would still have the temporal anomalies they’ve stolen.
O5-13: Their goals would remain unchanged as well.
O5-10: They’re right. The focus of this group is the complete eradication of everything, from all of time – even if we do stop them from changing history and confiscate Null Sum, they will keep looking for other ways to do the same, and they only have to succeed once. As much as I dislike it, I don’t see any choice other than completely destroying the group, or at least changing their fundamental beliefs. I know you don’t like it, Eight – but what else can we do?
O5-04: We have to make sure we get them all, too. It would only take one to rewrite history and bring them all back again.
O5-13: I must be kept informed, to ensure Ulysses isn’t eliminated along with them.
O5-10: Ulysses is one of them?
O5-13: No, but they may be mistaken to be.
O5-07: Well then, send me their details and I can make sure — O5-13: No.
O5-07: … No?
O5-13: No.
O5-07: Thirteen, I’ve been asking you for months — O5-13: And I have been declining for months. The answer is no.
O5-04: If we knew how Ulysses found out about the group, it would make finding them a lot easier.
O5-12: Not to mention it would be useful to learn more from them than just this report.
O5-13: No. Ulysses is a covert informant, and they will only respond to me. Further unnecessary contact will jeopardise their value. If you want information from them, inform me, and I will acquire it from them when able.
O5-06: Thirteen, this is not a game — O5-13: No, it is a declaration. I will not divulge Ulysses’ identity unless necessary.
O5-06: It is necessary.
O5-13: Five, will your proposal require Ulysses’ identity to be successful?
O5-05: I – It would certainly help — O5-13: Is it essential?
[Several seconds of silence.] O5-05: Can we have a break?
O5-01: Granted. We will reconvene in fifteen minutes.
[END LOG] Afterword: Upon reconvening, O5-05 submitted a draft proposal for ‘Project Polychrome’ to the Council; the subsequent vote was 10-0-3 in favour, pending further codification.
Project Polychrome Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6 Project Polychrome Project Serial ZNE-P4H2-0038 O5-05 ('The Progressive') Department of Technology Purpose: To devise an AIC program (‘JANGO’) capable of indefinitely producing unique and expendable AIC programs (‘BOBA’) in a manner that the retroactive erasure of a ‘BOBA’ AIC does not affect the existence or production of the ‘JANGO’ AIC. The ‘JANGO’ AIC must also be able to learn of and adapt to obstacles encountered by the ‘BOBA’ AICs without revealing its own existence.
Method: To prevent retroactive erasure by GOI-4379 (‘Zeroists’), all information that could potentially identify participants in Project Polychrome will be destroyed at its conclusion, and all personnel capable of identifying participants will be amnestised. The existence of Project Polychrome will be concealed from all non-participating personnel, and participating personnel will be prohibited from all contact with non-participating individuals until the project’s conclusion.
A list of minority groups expected to be present throughout the Foundation’s global IT Department will be compiled, exclusively using statistics from other global organisations and without any reference to internal Foundation records whatsoever. Without prior reference to Foundation records to confirm the accuracy of the list, Mobile Task Force Gamma-1 (‘Lime Left Hand’) will select a number of groups approximating 15% of the list’s total population, assigning each an arbitrary, anonymous pseudonym; selected groups with a population of three or less may be combined, unless the resulting group would exceed 30% of the list’s total population. MTF Gamma-1 will then investigate whether the selected groups are present within the Foundation’s global IT Department.
If any of the selected groups are found to have a population of zero, all parties overseeing Project Polychrome must immediately reconvene to discuss the continued viability of the project and/or methods of improving information security to maintain participants’ anonymity throughout and following the conclusion of Project Polychrome, as a null-population group is potentially indicative of a retaliatory retroactive erasure by GOI-4379 following the conclusion of the project. If all groups selected by MTF Gamma-1 are found to have a population of zero, Project Polychrome will be deemed a failure and immediately discontinued.
MTF Gamma-1 will verify that all personnel selected for Project Polychrome have had no prior contact or loyalty to any Groups of Interest other than the Foundation; all verified personnel will be immediately reassigned to Project Polychrome, temporarily relieved of all other duties and assignments, and separated into their designated groups. False documentation ascribing the reassignment to one of several false projects will be created and freely provided to inquiring co- workers, to conceal the significance of the reassignments.
Each group assigned to Project Polychrome must not be made aware that any other groups are participating, and have no contact whatsoever with any individuals except overseeing/advisory Mobile Task Force Alpha-1 (‘Red Right Hand’), Beta-1 (‘Blue Backhand’), and/or Gamma-1 agents, and other personnel within their own assigned group.
Each group will individually develop a functional ‘JANGO’ AIC program to the specifications outlined above, naming it after their anonymous designation. Once complete all development staff will be amnestised to have no recollection of Project Polychrome, and then tasked with performing a blind review of another group’s ‘JANGO’ AIC to ensure functionality, locate and 8 erase any potentially-identifying information, and ascertain whether the developers attempted to bias the AIC. The assigned personnel will then be amnestised a second time and released to their former duties, with the explanation that amnestisation was necessary due to a complication with their assignment/s.
Result: Project Polychrome completed without complication. The following ‘JANGO’ AICs were produced: Shatterpoint Harlem; selected for primary use in Operation Black Dogma.
Rampant Polytrope; retained, approved for reserve use.
Grey Salamander; retained, approved for reserve use.
Domino Sundance; retained, approved for reserve use.
Shade Astropunk; retained, approved for reserve use.
Bastion Tesseract; retained, use denied.
The Bastion Tesseract team also produced a second AIC, ‘MONOCHROME’, which does not fulfil the requirements of Project Polychrome by design; it has been retained in relation to the Bastion Tesseract AIC, but not approved for use.
Audio Transcript of O5 Council Meeting II Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6 Present: O5-01 through O5-13 [BEGIN LOG] [Sound of wooden doors opening.] O5-01: Overseer Eleven has arrived, and the Overseer Council is now in full attendance. This meeting may now proceed. Overseer Thirteen, please present your reason for requesting this proceeding.
O5-13: I need to oversee Black Dogma. Personally.
[Several seconds of silence.] O5-06: No.
O5-01: Overseer Thirteen, could you please elaborate on this necessity?
O5-13: I must be allowed to oversee and direct Operation Black Dogma, to ensure Ulysses isn’t affected by it.
O5-06: [Sighs.] Not this again… O5-07: If you just tell us — O5-13: I will not disclose Ulysses’ identity.
O5-03: Then how can you expect us to keep them safe?
O5-13: By allowing me to oversee the operation — 9 O5-06: No! No, this is ridiculous. The only three departments we need for Dogma are Task Forces, the Techies, and the Diplomats. That puts Three, Five, and Ten in charge. We don’t need your department and we don’t need you, so why the hell would we put you in charge?
O5-13: The loss of Ulysses — O5-07: Can be easily avoided if you just give us the name.
O5-03: I agree. If you’re genuinely concerned, we can take that into consideration and adjust our course accordingly – but beyond that, I don’t see any reason for you to be involved.
O5-06: … reality benders. We’re only targeting reality benders in Black Dogma.
O5-01: The approved proposal for Operation Black Dogma — O5-06: Affects the whole Zeroist group, I know, but the only people that will get hurt are reality benders.
O5-13: Your point?
O5-06: Well, if you’re worried Ulysses will get hurt, then they must be a reality bender, no? One, remind me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t the charter expressly forbid us from working with reality benders?
O5-01: The Administrator’s Charter prohibits the Foundation from creating or utilising anomalies for any reasons, and the manipulation of reality is classed as an anomalous phenomenon.
Foundation personnel, including the Overseer Council, are therefore prohibited from collaborating with reality manipulators.
O5-06: Right, and if an Overseer breaks the charter… O5-01: They are liable for immediate dismissal from the Council, and further penalties as determined by an court of inquiry conducted by the Department of Internal Security.
O5-06: I motion for Overseer Thirteen to be stripped of his position, on the grounds he is collaborating with and utilising an anomalous individual — O5-13: I did not say that Ulysses is a reality bender.
O5-06: Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, since Black Dogma won’t hit them if they aren’t a reality bender, so there’s no need for you to run the operation!
[Several seconds of silence.] O5-13: … not necessarily.
O5-06: Not necessarily?
O5-13: Operation Black Dogma is causally reliant on the completion of Project Polychrome. If the latter is retroactively erased, the former will be as well.
O5-05: … yes, but we’ve taken every precaution we can to protect Project Polychrome from being altered. Everyone involved is completely anonymous, they have no reason to suspect we did anything more than approve the project – which anyone in our position could have done – and even otherwise, everyone on this council has been anonymous for decades thanks to our standard procedures. The Zeroists can’t identify any specific person that was critical to Project Polychrome, their only choice is to erase the entire Foundation.
O5-13: No. They only need to erase one person.
O5-04: Oh, hell.
O5-05: What? Who? How?
O5-04: Ulysses.
[Several seconds of silence.] O5-13: If the Zeroists erase Ulysses, they erase our discovery of their existence, and everything we have done in response. We would also lose all of Ulysses’ previous contributions to the Foundation – not least of which is our survival of the 20’s Crisis. We cannot afford to lose Ulysses.
O5-07: Then we need to protect them – Thirteen, give us — O5-13: Their name?
O5-07: Yes!
O5-13: You want me to identify them, so you can record how to avoid harming them during Black Dogma?
O5-07: Yes, that’s — O5-13: A record that implies they are someone of extreme importance to us? A record the Zeroists could acquire – with time, or simply rewriting history until they do – to find the one, single individual who revealed their existence?
O5-07: We don’t have to say that they’re Ulysses — O5-03: No, he’s right. If we spare one of the Zeroists for no apparent reason, they’ll get suspicious, and the fastest conclusion to come to is that they’re a traitor. Erase the traitor, erase the problem.
O5-10: What if we spare several of them at random?
O5-04: Either they all get erased, or we risk survivors who can revive the group.
O5-06: I don’t see how this changes anything. If Ulysses is a reality bender, we knock them off as usual so they can’t erase themself; if they aren’t, they’re an average joe we aren’t aiming for anyway, and they’ll blend in with all the other joes we spare. Either way, we still don’t need Thirteen involved!
O5-13: You are overlooking the ramifications of our actions. Our goal is to change the fundamental beliefs of the Zeroist’s faith – as with any religion some will accept them, others will not, and conflict will ensue between them. Conflict which the Zeroists will react to as they always have – by erasing their competition. Regardless of Ulysses’ capabilities and position within the group, as long as someone – anyone – even suspects they are aligned with the opposing division, there is a catastrophically high risk they will erase Ulysses and unknowingly remove our influence over the group.
[Several seconds of silence elapse.] O5-13: I must be allowed to oversee and direct Operation Black Dogma, to ensure Ulysses isn’t affected by it. Their anonymity is their best protection, and the fact no-one else here knows anything conclusive about them, despite your repeated attempts using the extensive resources at your disposal, proves that I am aptly competent at preserving that anonymity even beneath intense scrutiny. None of you have prior experience with Ulysses, and any one of you could make a mistake that reveals their identity. This is not a time we can afford any mistakes, nor risk them.
O5-03: You don’t have any experience with operations of this size – you could make a mistake that we could have avoided. We can’t give it all over to you.
O5-13: Then don’t. I am not asking for singular control; I am asking for notification as events unfold, and permission to intervene when necessary. Control of the operation will remain with you, Five, and Ten. My intrusions may seem illogical and I will not be able to explain them, but I will only act to protect Ulysses, and I will aim to be as minimally interruptive and detrimental as possible. Does this sound reasonable?
[Several seconds of silence.] O5-01: Are there any further concerns or comments that anyone would like to raise before we conduct a vote regarding Overseer Thirteen’s request?
O5-06: I don’t like this. At all.
O5-13: Do you have an alternative?
[Several seconds of silence.] [END LOG] Afterword: Subsequent vote was 7-3-3 in favour; motion for Overseer Thirteen to oversee Operation Black Dogma, in addition to Overseers Three, Five, and Ten, approved.
Operation Black Dogma Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6 Operation Black Dogma Operation Serial LQN-PZ88-5403 O5-01 High Command Purpose: The strategic dissemination of misinformation throughout GOI-4379 (‘Zeroists’) to portray the anomalous capabilities of reality manipulating individuals as undesirable, to deter the group from utilising such capabilities for their own benefit.
Method: Using information covertly collected during earlier investigation into GOI-4379, VictorJohnDunneSmith.aic will create several independent AICs, which will contact members of GOI-4379 strongly motivated by self-guilt and/or more likely to accept reality manipulation as undesirable. These AICs will present themselves as former acquaintances who were improperly erased from reality, referring to personal information where necessary to convince the contacted parties, and vehemently request that GOI-4379 immediately cease all retroactive erasure activities on religious and moral grounds, as the (perceived) loss of all memories regarding the individuals prevents them from being totally erased from existence.
A falsified Level 1 SCP document (SCP-2439, ‘Forgotten Voices’) will be disseminated to all Foundation personnel as mandatory reading, detailing digital communications from retroactively erased individuals as a newly encountered and ongoing anomalous occurrence; this file will be encountered by all GOI-4379 adherents within the Foundation, portraying the AIC’s communications as genuine. This file will be decommissioned at a future period after the conclusion of Operation Black Dogma.
The Zeroists, of course, will react by trying to erase the AICs, free them from the burden of half-existence they’re stuck in. There’s nothing we can do about that – if the AICs disagree, it’ll immediately break the illusion.
But depending on how the Zeroists’ method works, this could actually increase Black Dogma’s success; if the changes follow a path of least resistance – which it seems to – then erasing an AIC would just mean a slightly different one was created to do and say the exact same things.
To the Zeroists, it’d look like irrefutable proof that some, most, or all of the people they erase are actually damned to a half-existence the group views as abominable. I’d be amazed if they continued after that.
— O5-04 ‘the Ironic’, Department of Cognitohazards Operation Black Dogma will be overseen by O5-03 (‘the Modest’), O5-05 (‘the Progressive’), O5- 10 (‘the Social’), and O5-13 (‘the Other’), with advisement from the other members of the Overseer Council as required. The overall operation will be managed by Mobile Task Forces Alpha-1 (‘Red Right Hand’), Beta-1 (‘Blue Backhand’), and Gamma-1 (‘Lime Left Hand’), who will ensure that all participants in the operation have no loyalty to any groups other than the Foundation.
O5-07 (‘the Diligent’), as representative of the Department of Recordkeeping, has pre-emptively approved for all information pertaining to counter-options against GOI-4379, including Operation Black Dogma, to be classified ‘Overseer / Operative Eyes Only’ and withheld from the Department of Recordkeeping until the threat posed by the group has been confirmed as neutralised, to minimise the potential for retaliation by GOI-4379.
Result: Successful. The entirety of GOI-4379 now perceives the retroactive erasure of individuals by reality manipulators as grossly immoral; while several cells initially voiced disapproval or suspicion against this, intercepted discussions revealed that the religion opposes the formation of any internal divisions, and so these groups acquiesced to the majority consensus of GOI-4379. It is possible, but unconfirmable, that the internal conflict predicted by O5-13 resulted in the retroactive erasure of all dissidents who would not accept this change.
Truncated Interview with GOI-4379 Agent Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6 Interviewed: Informant for GOI-4379 (‘Zeroists’) Interviewer: Mobile Task Force Gamma-1 (‘Lime Left Hand’) Agent Foreword: Identifying information removed to prevent retroactive erasure of either participant.
Interviewed subject was identified by VictorJohnDunneSmith.aic during Operation Black Dogma as an informant for GOI-4379 within the Foundation; MTF Gamma-1 covertly apprehended the suspect during a site-wide containment breach.
[BEGIN LOG] Informant: Look, thanks for getting me out of there and all, you saved my life, but what’s the deal with leaving me in here?
Agent: This is an interrogation room. Take a guess.
Informant: What, about the breach? You think I had something to do with it?
Agent: There weren’t enough staff assigned to SCP-████. You didn’t do it yourself, but you either helped, or are complicit by affiliation.
[Two seconds of silence.] Informant: What are you on about? I’m [AN EMPLOYEE], I don’t — Agent: Drop the charade. We know you’re with the cult.
Informant: What… what cult? I don’t — [Agent lists several other members of GOI-4379 that [INFORMANT] has extensive contact with.] Agent: Should I continue?
Informant: … how could you — Agent: The breach. Explain your role.
Informant: I… I don’t… Agent: We already know, [INFORMANT]. I’ve been authorised to use forceful means if you won’t cooperate. You will answer our questions, it’s only a matter of how difficult you make it for yourself.
[Several seconds of silence.] Agent: Explain.
Informant: … I… I’ve been watching ████ for weeks. Just seeing who’s needed to keep it inside.
It might not have been me, though, someone else might’ve been watching too. I don’t know.
Agent: What happens when the [ANOMALY] escapes?
Informant: Someone else picks it up eventually, I guess.
Agent: You guess?
Informant: I just focus on getting it out, remembering everyone that brings it back in. I don’t know anything about what happens after that, that’s someone else’s problem.
Agent: How many breaches have you caused?
Informant: Don’t know. Somewhere up in the [ESTIMATE I], maybe.
Agent: You’ve only worked at [FACILITY] for [TIME PERIOD]. There’s only been [NUMBER] breaches in that time.
Informant: Because most of them haven’t happened anymore. You can’t remember what hasn’t happened.
Agent: But you do.
Informant: Well… [A moment of silence.] Informant: Sort of. Enough to know about how large the gap is, but not enough for them to still exist. It’s… kind of a feeling. I know there’s a lot we’ve undone, around [ESTIMATE I] I might’ve helped with, but I don’t remember anything specific, like what happened, or what the things were.
Agent: How many Foundation staff have been erased?
Informant: Because of me? Up in the [ESTIMATE II]. If you mean overall… that’s a big number.
Agent: And there weren’t any plans to capture the escaped anomalies?
Informant: Nope.
Agent: You just kill whoever — Informant: No, no no, not kill, erase.
Agent: Explain the difference.
Informant: Killing someone means they still exist, but they’ll eventually be completely forgotten.
Everything they did echoes forever, but because nobody remembers them they can’t be freed – they’re damned to eternal purgatory, on the verge of nonexistence but not quite there. It’s bad enough we exist in the first place, forcing someone else to stay is… it’s abominable.
Agent: Whereas erasure… Informant: Whereas erasure is a benefit to everyone. You benefit by being freed, spending eternity in the bliss of perfect nonexistence, cleansed of your sin and burdened by nothing; we benefit by removing an obstacle stopping us from releasing everyone into that paradise.
Agent: You’re assuming everyone wants to be erased from existence.
Informant: Because you haven’t seen nothingness, or you don’t understand it. If you did, you’d help us.
Agent: Describe it, then.
[Informant erupts into laughter.] Informant: Describe it? Hah, that’s a good one! Describe it… [Informant resumes laughing.] Agent: Enough.
[Informant’s laughter progressively subsides.] Informant: You can’t… you can’t describe nonexistence, there’s nothing to describe. Even if there was, there’s no possible way of doing it without being paradoxical – describing something says what it is, but nonexistence isn’t. If I say it’s black, then there is no colour black; it can’t be alive, nor dead, nor inanimate, because those are characteristics that exist. I can’t describe what it is because everything I’d say is what it isn’t.
Agent: But that’s a description. It’s everything that isn’t.
Informant: But that’s the thing – it isn’t. Describing by negation, saying what something is not is just a vaguer way of saying what it is. It can’t be black, because black exists – but it can’t not be black, because it would be something that lacks the colour black. So it can’t be either. It is what it isn’t, it isn’t what it is, but it’s neither at the same time.
[Several seconds of silence.] Informant: You don’t get it, do you.
Agent: Not really, no.
Informant: Alright, uhh… the name. The name proves my point – we call it ‘non-existence,’ right?
Agent: Mhm.
Informant: Right, and ‘non-existence’ means ‘that which does not exist,’ right?
Agent: Mhm.
Informant: And that would include itself, right? Nonexistence is nonexistent?
Agent: Mhm.
Informant: But we’ve named it ‘nonexistence.’ Agent: Mhm.
Informant: So it exists. Nonexistence exists, because we’ve named it.
Agent: Mhm.
Informant: So when we say ‘nonexistence’, we aren’t really talking about nonexistence – we’re talking about a façade of it. That is what I’m describing – I’m describing the façade of nonexistence, as best I can, but in truth I can’t really describe nonexistence itself.
Agent: So when your group uses zero as an example… Informant: It’s a parable of a parable. Nonexistence can’t really be understood except in relation to itself, but we’re so used to existing, with everything being interconnected and comparable, that we just… can’t process anything outside of that, anything isolated from everything else. The only way to lead people to it, to help them even begin to understand, is to compare it to the system of existence, and overlook how wrong the connection is.
Agent: It is difficult to understand otherwise.
Informant: Exactly! Could you imagine what it would be like if we tried to throw someone straight into the deep end? Show them true nonexistence without even the slightest preparation beforehand?
Agent: You mentioned ‘seeing nonexistence’ earlier… Informant: I meant metaphorically. … sort of. Experience would be a better word, or… feel.
Agent: This experience – how is it done?
Informant: There’s only some people that can do it – they have this… innate quality, that lets you… it’s really quite difficult to describe. But you ‘see’ nonexistence, or feel it, or skim it or… it’s a unique experience. I’m not one of the ones who can do it, so I don’t know how exactly it works, but I have been led through it by someone who could.
Agent: Who were they? The one who let you ‘see’?
Informant: [NAME], who you seem to already know about. [THEY ARE] one of the lower- capability ones, get a bit of difficulty with it. Great [PERSON] though, if you asked them they’d probably be more than willing to explain it better than I can.
Agent: We will take that into consideration.
[Sound of sliding paper.] Agent: Tell me about this.
Informant: It’s… a math equation, I think?
Agent: What is it for? What does it do?
Informant: I don’t know, calculate something?
Agent: If you won’t cooperate — Informant: I am, I’ve never seen this before in my life! I don’t know what it is!
Agent: Then why is it being disseminated throughout your cult? The majority of people we’ve identified own a copy of this – what is it, a religious text?
Informant: What? No, we – we don’t do scriptures, there’s no point, we’d lose them whenever the writer was released.
Agent: Then what is it?
Informant: I told you, I don’t know!
Agent: Have you overheard anything within your cult — Informant: — we aren’t a cult, it’s a — Agent: — about a formula or equation like this?
Informant: No! No, I haven’t, I haven’t heard anything about a maths equation going around, and I have no idea why one would. Just… just ask one of the others, maybe they can explain it, but I have no idea!
10 [Several seconds of silence. Sound of sliding paper.] Agent: Regarding the others in your… group. You said you erase our personnel — Informant: No, I – I don’t, I just figure out who needs to be, then tell someone who can.
Agent: And you do this to cause containment breaches, under the assumption someone else in your group will collect the anomalies later, despite making no preparations or plans to do so.
Informant: Yes.
Agent: But your group has acquired several anomalies this way?
Informant: Some of them, yes.
Agent: I need you to list and describe the anomalies your group possesses. All of them.
[END EXCERPT] Afterword: Interrogation continued for an additional three and a half hours; Informant remained cooperative throughout, but repeatedly encouraged the Agent and/or other Foundation personnel to contact several members of GOI-4379 known to be capable of retroactive erasure. Informant was implanted with a subdermal GPS tracker, amnestised, and returned to [FACILITY] for continued monitoring, with an appropriate cover story explaining their absence and loss of memory.
Mobile Task Force Beta-1 (‘Blue Backhand’) was instructed to redirect on-site containment efforts away from SCP-████ to avoid the retroactive erasure of staff; the anomaly was lost as a result.
Operation Hard Miasma Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6 Operation Hard Miasma Operation Serial MRG-VS22-7389 O5-01 High Command Purpose: The neutralisation of all reality manipulators loyal to GOI-4379 (‘Zeroists’), in a manner which inhibits targets from manipulating history in favour of themselves or the group.
Method: VictorJohnDunneSmith.aic and derivative AICs will compile a comprehensive list of all known, suspected, and potential reality manipulators affiliated with GOI-4379, covertly monitoring their regular activities, preferences, and potential further targets for Operation Hard Miasma participants. Reality manipulators capable of altering history and/or reanimating deceased individuals will be prioritised. Foundation strike teams will distribute globally to allow for a co- ordinated execution of their objectives against all identified targets simultaneously.
The water sources, food supplies, and enclosed areas frequented by each target will be contaminated with a minimum of 6 milligrams of ‘heavy bronze’ per litre / serving / cubic metre of air; sources and spaces less frequented by unaffiliated individuals will be preferred to minimise 11 collateral damage, however additional casualties have been deemed acceptable to ensure the success of Operation Hard Miasma.
Targets who seek medical assistance will be intercepted by medically-trained agents, who will covertly administer further heavy bronze under the guise of treatment. Participating Foundation marksmen will attempt to terminate all other targets using high-calibre beryllium-bronze ammunition once symptoms have sufficiently impaired their ability to anomalously retaliate.
Without appropriate medical treatment, all targets showing symptoms will be deceased within several hours.
O5-08 (‘the Virtuous’), as representative of the Ethics Committee, has approved for participants in Operation Hard Miasma to pursue all methods deemed necessary to ensure the operation’s success, under the condition that all reports relating to the operation be disclosed to the Ethics Committee following its conclusion, to allow for scrutiny of employed methods and punitive actions as necessary.
As a continuation of Operation Black Dogma, Operation Hard Miasma will be overseen by O5-03, O5-05, O5-10, and O5-13, with further advisement as needed, and managed by Mobile Task Forces Alpha-1, Beta-1, and Gamma-1. O5-07 has approved for the information security procedures of Operation Black Dogma to be continued in Operation Hard Miasma.
Result: Successful. Several targets retaliated in unforeseen manners, creating numerous anomalous phenomena and requiring extensive intervention by the Department of the Veil.
Examples include: Spontaneous transmutation into Large Scale Aggressors, requiring the global deployment of MTFs Eta-5 (‘Jäeger Bombers’), Xi-13 (‘Sequere Nos’), and Nu-7 (‘Hammer Down’); Rapid duplication into over 13,000 identical, radioactive instances, believed to be an attempt to circumvent heavy bronze poisoning (failed, as all instances had identical quantities of heavy bronze in their circulatory systems); An unclear spatio-temporal anomaly affecting the Barra district of Salvador, Brazil; The spontaneous exsanguination of all organisms within 10 kilometres of Malbrough, Australia; The death of Factory spokesperson Jamal Shawson during a live, televised press conference; The creation of GOI-5567 (‘Remnants of Sephiroth’); Over 100,000 consecutive manifestations of heavy-bronze contaminated human blood across the world, each averaging 5 litres (approximately the amount an average human would contain).
Where able, these events were attributed as publicity stunts conducted by the Factory to undermine their ongoing incursion into consensus reality.
Operation Shallow Sieve Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6 Operation Shallow Sieve Operation Serial ABR-PM79-5534 12 O5-01 High Command Purpose: The confiscation of all anomalies owned by GOI-4379 which could potentially be used to retroactively alter history.
Method: VictorJohnDunneSmith.aic and derivative AICs will observe all known, suspected, and potential surviving members of GOI-4379, identifying their regular activities, preferred travel routes, and potential further targets for surveillance. Using this information, Foundation agents will covertly apprehend and detain several members of GOI-4379 at times where their extended absence would not arouse suspicion; these suspects will be interrogated for all information they know regarding anomalous phenomena owned by GOI-4379, including: The properties of the phenomena; The method/s used to contain or control the phenomena; The location/s the phenomena is contained at; GOI-4379’s focus of research into the phenomena; All individuals involved with the containment, research, and/or protection of the phenomena.
The use of physical and limited amnestic techniques has been approved by O5-08 ‘the Virtuous,’ as representative of the Ethics Committee, for no more than 50% of interrogated suspects. At the conclusion of these interrogations, suspects will be implanted with a subdermal GPS tracker, amnestised, and released; surveillance of the suspects’ movements will highlight locations of interest, with focus on areas frequented by individuals with suspected or professed research and/or containment roles within GOI-4379.
Once a location believed to be in use by GOI-4379 as an anomaly storage facility is identified, a viable cover story will be prepared to attribute the destruction of the location to general misfortune (such as a natural disaster, gas pipeline explosion, or aircraft collision), then Foundation strike teams will raid the facility. All anomalies encountered will be documented and catalogued; anomalies with a high potential of enabling GOI-4379 to retroactively alter history, either directly or through interaction with other anomalies, will be confiscated and replaced with non-anomalous and/or inert replicas to avoid suspicion. Several minor anomalies with a low probability of usefulness to GOI-4379 will be left in their possession, as the unilateral confiscation of all anomalies would arouse suspicion and/or encourage the group to acquire more.
As a continuation of Operation Hard Miasma, Operation Shallow Sieve will be overseen by O5-03, O5-05, O5-10, and O5-13, with further advisement as needed, and managed by Mobile Task Forces Alpha-1, Beta-1, and Gamma-1. O5-07 has approved for the information security procedures of Operation Hard Miasma to be continued in Operation Shallow Sieve, and O5-08 has authorised all methods to be pursued under the same conditions as Operation Hard Miasma Outcome: Successful. Intercepted communications within GOI-4379 indicates that members are attributing the sudden rise in facility and anomaly losses to the loss of their reality manipulating population, who formerly would have erased such occurrences to the group’s benefit.
Mobile Task Force Omicron-36 (‘Fog Memorial’) has been formed to oversee, manage, and execute all further operations necessary to prevent GOI-4379 from retroactively altering history and/or accomplishing their primary goal.
13 Relevant Overseer Council E-mails Credentials verified. Displaying file, clearance Level 6 Overseer Six, The Department of Finances, Analytics, & Statistics has completed its review and analysis of the data provided to us by Overseer Three, Overseer Five, and Overseer Ten, following the successful conclusion of Operation Shallow Sieve. The attached Foundation Analytics & Statistics Report is the compilation of this data and our findings, encompassing the findings of all Artificial Intelligence Constructs involved in the operation, the after-action reports submitted by all participants in Operation Black Dogma, Operation Hard Miasma, and Operation Shallow Sieve, and all information of relevance sourced from other Foundation personnel who were not directly involved with and/or aware of the operations.
You are currently the only recipient of this report, which has not yet been disseminated to the remainder of the council.
Please observe the findings detailed in Section 4.2.3 ‘Anomalies Recovered From GOI-4379’, paragraph 9, and respond with how we should proceed.
- O5-02, Department of Finances, Resources & Statistics.
One, Call a meeting. Everyone except Thirteen.
We need to talk.
- Overseer Three Footnotes . The Petrus class designates an anomaly’s existence as unconfirmed, however its attributed properties are too hazardous to risk accidental activation; the anomaly is assumed to exist as a precaution until otherwise refuted.
1.
. E.g. the speed of light in a perfect vacuum; the Planck constant; the value of Pi; etc.
2.
. A number whose value cannot be accurately calculated by using a ratio of integers. The value of pi is an example of an irrational number.
3.
. ‘A semiohazard, informally, is a fact of the universe that just shouldn't be true, but functionally is.’ ‘Intro to Semiontology’ by S. M. KATZ, ESQ..
4.
. The Ohr disruption class denotes an anomaly with the ability to redefine normalcy / the Veil, but in a manner which renders such changes undetectable. The Tangent risk class denotes an anomaly which will cause catastrophic damage and/or loss of life, but possesses properties which will prevent such from being recognised.
5.
. Partially untrue; there are some situations, such as in computing, where positive zero and negative zero are differentiated, but treated as equal in numerical operations.
6.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation Cite this page as: "Null Sum Proposal" by Jack Ike, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/jack-ike-s-proposal-iv.
Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
Filename: logo.svg Author: Rounderhouse License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:the-way-out Filename: ignosi.svg Author: Calibri Bold does not match any existing user name License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/calibri-s-mega-cool-art-page-it-s-mostly-just-icons-but-what/ . Colloquially cited as ‘For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ 7.
. A large number of reassignments to an undisclosed, high-security assignment within as short period of time could potentially be identified by GOI-4379, whereas urgent reassignment to several mundane projects is more likely to be overlooked.
8.
. Although typically prohibited due to increased probabilities of neurological damage, repeated amnestisation has been approved in Project Polychrome; the second amnestisation will compound the effects of the first, resulting in attempts to retrieve suppressed memories only divulging the period in-between amnestisations, portraying Project Polychrome as exclusively involving the review and approval of AIC programs.
9.
. Information obtained by VictorJohnDunneSmith.aic strongly indicated that the named individual was well-known to be highly capable (category III+ reality bender) among their cell, and was capable of retroactively erasing individuals under certain circumstances.
10.
. A beryllium bronze alloy (94% copper; 3% beryllium; 2% mercury; 0.5% cadmium; 0.5% polonium-210) used by the Global Occult Coalition to covertly terminate reality benders.
Beryllium bronze alloys are immune to most types of reality manipulation, enabling heavy bronze to function as a highly toxic poison (lethal at doses of 2 milligrams) that is difficult to remove through anomalous means; initial symptoms can be mistaken for a common cold, before escalating into severe cognitive impairment and catastrophic organ failure.
11.
. Jamal Shawson had no known affiliation with GOI-4379, had not been exposed to any known source of heavy bronze over the preceding 72 hours, and showed no symptoms until 11:06 AM, at which time they abruptly collapsed; participating agents in Shoshoni, Wyoming report this roughly coincides with their target becoming asymptomatic shortly before termination.
12.
. A technique wherein interrogated suspects are amnestised, removing all memories of the interrogation, then interrogated a second time; used to identify possible fabrications through discrepancies in their recounts. Suspects are typically only amnestised once, as the neurological damage caused by repeated amnestisation may destroy the desired information.
13.
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In Reliquum In Reliquum Whatever it takes Search ABOUT COMMUNITY RESOURCES SISTER SITES SCP-001 » Ori's Proposal Fading Stars Hub » Ori's Proposal rating: +294 + – X “To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower" "Hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.” —William Blake by oritiefling ITEM#: SCP-001 LEVEL3 CONFIDENTIAL Create account or Sign in ≡ Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 cannot be contained. As a result, Foundation efforts are to focus on the following: - Recovery of remaining motile civilians to Foundation-organized safe communities; - Restoration of Foundation technological and communications infrastructure wherever possible; - Restoration of the concept of "time" via reconstruction of SCP-001-1.
Those affected by SCP-001 are currently considered lost. Preservation of the veil is to be disregarded.
Foundation agents have the full approval of remaining O5 council members to eliminate persons or groups deemed hostile to the Foundation's mission with prejudice.
Description: SCP-001 is categorized as a ZK-Class Temporal Cessation event, which resulted in the total cessation of the standard passage of time on February 13th, 2025 at 0710 PST. Following SCP- 001, the natural progress of time as understood by society ceased. Affected persons, animals, inanimate objects, etc. remain locked in the position they were in when the event took place and are incapable of independent motion.
While SCP-001 is believed to affect an overwhelming amount of the population, a currently unknown number of humans have remained unaffected. Unaffected individuals retain the ability to move and interact with their environment, however, most natural biological processes have ceased.
The mechanics of SCP-001 are poorly understood beyond what is outlined above. Research remains ongoing.
SCP-001-1 was a stone shrine dedicated to Aeternum located within Olympic National Park in Washington, USA. This sanctum was the last remaining shrine to Aeternum, as well as the last location of modern worship of the deity. It collapsed on February 13th, 2025, though the reason for this collapse is currently unknown.
Addendum 001.1: Briefing Following SCP-001, Foundation communication systems failed globally, severely limiting the ability of unaffected personnel to contact other Foundation sites and verify the status of vital personnel. Two unaffected instances of SCP-6459 were recovered, allowing rudimentary communications to be established between Foundation sites using pen and paper methods. These communications revealed that approximately 4 Foundation sites globally retained any staff capable of operations. Only one of CONTAINMENT CLASS: ESOTERIC SECONDARY CLASS: APOLLYON 5 DISRUPTION CLASS: AMIDA 5 RISK CLASS: CRITICAL 1 2 ≡ these sites contained equipment designed to address temporal anomalies, and has since been dedicated entirely to the storage of the highest priority Foundation research and documentation.
Through these newly established communication efforts, it was discovered that only two members of the O5 council remained. Following a meeting of the remaining members, the decision was made to enact SCP-001 containment procedures as stated and begin research and work into reversing SCP- 001.
Addendum 001.2: February 13th, 2025 0710 hours The following logs were recorded by Foundation Agent Jessie Kidd, shared with Command via SCP- 6459. His logs have been stored in Temporal Exclusionary Site-37 for recordkeeping and posterity.
3 As I walk through this frozen forest, I stop to address the world around me. A myriad of snowflakes hang in the air, tousled by an unseen and unfelt wind. I run my hands over a leaf on a tree. It's stiff beneath my touch, unmoving. I tug at it slightly, but it refuses to separate from the branch. I frown.
The scene is beautiful, a painting of a moment in time. But it's one that feels empty, incomplete.
I lift my eyepatch, and press two fingers against the wound. It's an old wound, to those who still make some attempt at tracking "hours" and "minutes" it would be at least 30 years old by now, but as I pull my fingers away I can see blood left behind.
It's still fresh, still open. I lower my eyepatch, and leave a simple sigil on a tree nearby. Touching it, I mutter a small incantation. The mark remains dead.
It's a fool's hope, but one I hold onto. Especially now with something beating in my chest.
I pull the heart out from under my jacket, and it continues to beat in my hand in defiance of the world around it. This is what we've been working for, what we've been striving for. I press it against the sigil, and in a beat the world around comes back to life.
Instinctively, I pull my jacket more securely over myself as a chill in the air I haven't felt in god knows how long rushes over me. A breeze blows a snowflake onto my cheek, and I could almost cry. Instead I find myself doubling over as every nerve in my body reactivates. My eye, my arm… injuries that I had largely forgotten suddenly scream out. A warm trickle of blood flows down my cheek.
4 ≡ Fighting through the pain, I activate the dormant .aic frozen in the device on my wrist.
Cruz.aic: Agent Kidd? How'd I get here? Wasn't I just- Kidd: Interface with anomaly.
Cruz.aic: I'm sorry I didn't quite- Kidd: INTERFACE WITH THE ANOMALY!
Cruz.aic: First of all, don't yell at me.
It takes Cruz a moment to finally register the command. I shiver, my body suddenly realizing just how cold it is.
Cruz.aic: …Ah, got it! This is a weird one… you did mean the heart thing, right?
Anyway! I've interfaced with it!
I pull the heart from the sigil, and the world goes quiet once more. The pain fades, replaced with the uncomfortable numbness that I'd long grown accustomed to. I look down, seeing a single drop of blood from my face hanging suspended in midair.
Kidd: Cruz, you're still with me, right?
Cruz.aic: Y-yep! Sorry what… what just happened? And why can't I connect to the network?
I turn over the heart in my hand. It's still beating.
Kidd: What do you know about Aeternum?
Cruz.aic: Ahh… some? That's the… time god, right? My offline records show that much, and that they have some fancy shrine.
Kidd: Right, you're right on top of things.
Cruz thinks, processing the little information it has.
4 5 ≡ Cruz.aic: Oh! …Oh.
Kidd: Aeternum's shrine was destroyed, and the world was frozen as a result.
Cruz: …And with that heart we can fix the shrine. I get it, I get it!
Kidd: Do you have any info that gives me an idea of where the shrine actually is?
Cruz.aic: Hmmm… yes! …Kinda! I didn't have a ton of offline records specifically on Aeternum since I don't normally get to touch "deific" stuff, but I do have a basic backup of the main Foundation database up to level 3 clearance. Seems the shrine was in the mountains to the northwest of here.
Kidd: Could you chart a route? Avoid Seattle if possible.
Cruz.aic: Hm? Well, I guess I can. If you ask me nicely.
Kidd: Could you please chart a route?
Cruz.aic: I most certainly can!
I write my report while Cruz gets to work routing us. I tie it off to Galerne, who thanks me with a coo and a quick "merci" before flying off back to HQ.
Cruz.aic: All set. Hope this works for you, it's hard to do this the old-fashioned way.
This route should take us about 3 days total… ah, right. Sorry.
Cruz lets out an awkward mechanical chuckle.
Kidd: Thank you, Cruz. I really do appreciate it, and don't worry. We've got all the time in the world.
I look down to the beating heart in my hand and stick it back in my coat. I can't say I feel it under there, not really, but there's a certain warmth to it that sits against my chest. A feeling difficult to describe. It'll be over soon.
I tap the sigil one last time.
Kidd: I'm ready.
I begin walking down the route Cruz maps out. The journey is quiet, Cruz making no sound beyond the occasional word of caution stopping me from going tumbling into a valley. Eventually I feel something, almost like eyes on my back.
≡ Kidd: …Cruz, can I get a quick scan of the area?
Cruz.aic: Hm? Sure. Let's see… Cruz.aic: …Woah, wait! Kidd, we're— Before Cruz can finish, we're surrounded by a group of men. They're no more than ten or so in number, each with a blade at their side. At their lead stands a tall, suited man, who looks at me with a smile.
Man: I should've guessed it was someone from your group out here. Good to see you, Agent Kidd. It's been far too long, have you been well?
I chuckle, my arms held up in surrender.
Kidd: Agent Saul. I've been better, I gotta say.
Saul: I'd gotten some intel that the Foundation had an operation in this area. Little did I realize it was going to be an old friend.
Agent Saul raises an eyebrow, his eyes falling on my eyepatch. He approaches me with a stony expression and draws his sword. Bringing the sword's tip to my chin, he tilts my head up slightly so I'm forced to meet his eyes.
Saul: This is fresh, kid. Now how in the world did something like this happen?
Kidd: You know how I draw those sigils, Saul. I was probably just careless last time- Saul: I'm not a fool, kid. You guys found it, didn't you?
Kidd: Well we find a lot of things- Agent Saul slaps me, hard enough to send me stumbling from the impact.
Saul: Quit toying with me, kid. You and I have played this stupid game enough times now.
Cruz.aic: Kidd, who's this idiot supposed to be? He seems kinda familiar.
Kidd: Agent Saul, formerly Foundation, now a member of The Keepers.
Saul: Quit muttering to yourself, and hand it over.
6 ≡ He grabs my right arm, just above the prosthetic. I remain resolute, simply staring him down.
Saul: You know, kid, I didn't take your whole arm last time.
He takes his sword, and presses the blade against my right shoulder.
Saul: I can very well take the rest, and your other arm too. Now, be a good Foundation puppy and start barking.
Kidd: Cruz?
Cruz.aic: Quick kick to the back of the knees. Weak stance— honestly he should be embarrassed.
I sweep at Agent Saul's legs. He falls to the ground with a shout. Time to go— running has always been my best option. Scrambling to my feet, I dive into the undergrowth and get moving. Saul wastes no time barking orders at his grunts. I feel their eyes on my back. The chase is on. Another shout from Agent Saul tells me he's joined.
Cruz.aic: Left!
My instincts take over. I swing left, and a sword collides with the tree beside me.
One of Saul's dogs, nipping at my heels.
Kidd: Any advice is good advice here, Cruz!
Cruz.aic: Draw your gun, then!
Kidd: Those kinda don't work, Cruz! Thermodynamics kinda don't function!
Cruz.aic: Oh THAT'S why they were using swords.
Kidd: Focus, please!
Cruz.aic: Right uh… thinking thinking— turn left here!
I do as Cruz commands, and with a slight slide I turn left. The grunt right behind me fails to turn in time, stumbling and falling over a root. Another behind him does ≡ Addendum 001.3: February 13th, 2025 0710 hours the same, tripping over his compatriot.
I continue running, and manage to shake the grunts off. Eventually I find myself standing on the edge of a ravine.
Kidd: Cruz, ideas?
Saul: Enough is enough, kid.
Agent Saul walks from the undergrowth and points his sword at me. Persistent, as always.
Saul: Hand whatever it is over. I have no problem tearing you apart for it, and there's no hell I can imagine quite like spending eternity as a torso in the woods.
He rushes me. I manage to slide away from him. His strikes at me are powerful, angry, sloppy, and predictable. With a little aid from Cruz I'm able to dodge his blows.
Saul: What? Not going to fight back? Is that bat on your hip for show, then?
Kidd: I don't want to hurt you.
Saul: I sure as hell want to hurt you.
Cruz.aic: Now, Kidd! Shove him back!
I rush Agent Saul, tackling with my shoulder. The impact sends him rolling to the ground. He tries to rise back to his feet but stumbles back. Losing his balance, he begins to slip into the ravine. I rush forward and grab him. His face twists from one of shock to one of confusion as he reaches out and grabs my prosthetic.
Kidd: Hold on, wait!
He pulls my prosthetic off. Losing his grip on the cliff, he falls into the ravine below.
I lunge out in an attempt to grab him again. I overextend in the process, and start tumbling forward. I attempt to stabilize myself, but it's too late as I fall into the ravine behind Agent Saul.
There are few blessings that come with living in a frozen world. One of those few blessings is the ability to sustain injuries with no associated pain.
≡ Our fall into the ravine would, in a normal world, have likely left both Agent Saul and I unconscious. Instead, we were both able to hop back to our feet as if nothing had happened.
Saul: You know, kid, I made it all this time without so much as a scratch on me.
Pristine condition!
He points at me, his shoulder clearly dislocated. I look to my own arm, the sawed off stump visible now that the prosthetic is missing.
Saul: God I can almost feel it. I should tear you apart for that alone.
I throw my hand up in surrender.
Saul: What the hell was that about anyway?
Kidd: What do you mean?
Saul motions dramatically to the cliff above.
Saul: That trying to catch me shit you pulled. What's your aim here, huh?
Kidd: I wasn't just going to let you fall.
Saul scoffs, grabbing me by the collar. He pulls a fist back, every muscle and tendon in his arm straining as his face curls in frustration. He holds the fist midair, shaking slightly.
Saul: You had no issue trying to throw me down there to begin with, and now you're claiming you didn't want me to fall.
Kidd: Hold on, I wasn't trying to push you down here. That was- Cruz.aic: My idea!
Saul jolts and looks around, throwing me to the ground. I rise back to my feet.
Saul: What was that?
I hold out my arm to him, and show him the device on my wrist holding Cruz. Cruz's icon smiles at Saul.
Cruz.aic: Hello there, traitor! I'm Cruz.aic!
Saul: An… .aic? How the hell do you have tech that actually works?
I smirk.
Kidd: Classified.
≡ Saul: God I should really kill you right here, huh?
Kidd: Probably. I'm a bit surprised you haven't made good on your promise.
Nothing but a torso in the woods— I was kinda hoping for that outcome.
He stares at me, baffled.
Saul: …Don't say stuff like that with such a straight face, people will think you're serious.
Kidd: Well, there are worse places to spend eternity. At least there's a view.
He makes a face that could almost be described as concern.
Saul: There's something deeply wrong with you.
I simply shrug in response.
Kidd: So am I free to go, officer? Cruz if you could get back to the route that would be dandy.
Saul: What route?
I turn my back to him, picking my arm up off the ground. I sit down on a rock and start reattaching it. It isn't the most impressive creation, made with from nothing but plastic odds and ends held together with rubber bands, but it does what I need it to.
Kidd: You really ripped this thing right off, you know? I'm lucky you didn't bust it up.
Saul: I said what route? Where do you think you're running off to, back to your Command?
Kidd: I'm off to the Shrine of Aeternum.
I pull the heart from my jacket and show it to him. It beats quietly. His eyes go wide.
Saul: You… you guys are serious about this whole thing?
I lift my eyepatch and press my fingers against the wound once again, drawing the sigil as I talk.
Kidd: We always have been. I'm going to take this to the shrine and restore it.
Everything will be just as it was.
He rolls up his sleeves.
Saul: Unfortunately for you all I can't just let that happen.
He draws his sword.
Kidd: Maybe you and the rest of the Keepers have just forgotten what it's like.
I press the heart against the sigil, and the world around us breathes again. Agent Saul drops his sword and grabs his shoulder, shouting out in pain as the wind ≡ whips through his hair.
Saul: What the hell?
I try to hide it, but as soon as the world begins to move my nerves light up again as blood begins to flow anew. I double over and empty the contents of my stomach, remnants of a breakfast eaten both 30 years and just an hour ago. I finally shout in pain and remove the heart from the sigil. I pant, the world around us freezing in place and the nerves in my body once again.
Saul stands shocked, still grabbing his shoulder.
Saul: …You're gonna die if you succeed. You know that, don't you?
There's fear in his eyes.
Kidd: Cruz, how's the route coming?
Cruz.aic: All set when you are, Agent. It's a bit longer now but as you said, time's of no consequence and all that.
Saul: Don't ignore me. Hell you should be on my side with this.
I begin to reattach the arm, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment.
Kidd: The world can't stay trapped in an empty eternity, Agent Saul.
Saul: That "empty eternity" keeps you alive. It keeps all of us that are left alive.
I check the map Cruz provides on my screen.
Kidd: …Ok. Gotcha. Agent Saul, would you like my help reuniting you with the other Keepers?
Saul: I… excuse me?
Kidd: I said- Saul: I heard you, kid. What I don't get is how you're so naïve as to just extend that offer like it's nothing.
Kidd: And yet I have. You coming?
Saul: What game are you playing at? You're aware that the very second you step foot near HQ we're taking that heart and making sure that you don't have a hope of getting it back, correct?
I smirk, and reach out a hand. I can see something in his eyes, something akin to hesitation. He narrows his gaze as he clenches and relaxes his fists, looking ≡ Addendum 001.4: February 13th, 2025 0710 hours around. He seems to mutter something under his breath, shaking his head.
Saul: …Fine. You're a damn fool, but if this means I can finally be done with you and the Foundation's nonsense endeavor I'll do it.
Cruz.aic: Agent Kidd, I have to object.
Kidd: Object away, buddy. Chart a route that takes us through Seattle, and then to the shrine.
Cruz.aic: You're serious about this…? Alright. I suppose if I have no choice, I'll make a fresh route for you and the traitor.
I nod to Agent Saul, who grumbles before following me off deeper into the ravine.
Cruz.aic: And then a… left here.
Saul: Come on kid I thought this .aic was supposed to be a navigator? I swear we're just going in circles. I know for a fact you've got access to better tech than this.
Cruz.aic: Excuse you!
≡ Kidd: Go easy on it, yeah? Cruz here was designed to interface with anomalous objects, not to navigate.
Saul: So why even bother, then?
Kidd: Because Cruz was the only one we could actually activate. Even if it isn't the greatest navigator in the world, it's better than nothing.
Cruz.aic: Yeah, so can the complaints and just listen to me. I'm doing a lot of work here, do you know how hard it is to navigate without GPS?
We continue walking in silence. Every few minutes I feel myself turning my head to check for Agent Saul.
Saul: What's wrong? Can't stand the idea of having your back exposed to me?
Kidd: Nope, just wanted to make sure you didn't get separated. I'm pretty good at losing you, after all.
Agent Saul sneers, but before he can speak, Cruz speaks up.
Cruz.aic: Here we are. This landslide should do the trick.
Our eyes fall on a cascade of dirt and stone, suspended in mid collapse into the base of the ravine.
Cruz.aic: For obvious reasons I'd only ever recommend this route to someone I disliked, but given the circumstances this is our safest way out of the ravine.
Assuming I understand the rules right, you all should be able to climb out no problem?
Kidd: You got it, Cruz. And thank you.
Cruz.aic: Of course, of course. Be careful, just because it's not moving doesn't mean you can't fall.
Saul: Yeah yeah, we get it.
He's the first to begin the climb, putting extra care into the placement of his legs to ensure that he finds something akin to solid ground beneath him. I follow suit, tucking my right arm behind my back to fight the urge to attempt to use the prosthetic in climbing. My ascent is slow, awkward, and eventually I find myself ≡ starting to fall. Before I can tumble back down properly, a hand grabs mine and pulls me up. I scramble over the edge of the ravine back onto solid ground.
Kidd: Thank you, Agent Saul.
Saul: You've got the map. Can't risk losing that.
Kidd: Speaking of, where to next, Cruz?
Cruz.aic: Excuse you, I'm not a map! This is WAY outside of my wheelhouse! … That said, head north. To the left, for those of us here too stupid to know which way that is.
Saul: Excuse me?!
Cruz.aic: Hey I didn't say your name specifically. But a hit dog yelps, eh?
Kidd: Alright, enough. Both of you. Let's get moving again.
Saul gives on quick glare at the device on my wrist as we start marching again.
As we walk, I find myself running my fingers over the leaves and plants. They remain stiff and unmoving as ever beneath my touch. I press my finger against the thorn of a holly bush as we pass by. Pulling my finger away I can see the small prick left on the tip, but nothing else. No sensation, no reactive pain. The same with the snow gathered atop the leaves— there's no chill to their touch, nothing at all.
I cast my eyes to the sky, seeing two songbirds frozen in place in the air. They're twisted around one another, perhaps caught in a mating display of some kind?
They hang in place, like a photograph.
Saul: Kid, you alright? You've been wandering every which way and it's starting to weird me out.
I shrug and keep walking, but he grabs my shoulder and stops me.
Saul: When I talk, you answer me. I'm getting real tired of you acting all aloof out of nowhere.
I shake his hand off.
Kidd: I thought it was obvious, is all. How does none of this bother you?
Saul: You're kidding me right now.
Kidd: I just can't move past what we've lost, you know? When I activated that heart for the first time… well… I look to the snowflakes suspended in air, then back to the tree beside me.
≡ Kidd: I thought of all the people trapped, how much they deserved to actually feel these things again.
I can feel his eyes on my arm, and watch as they move up to the wound on my face.
Saul: You're a hypocrite, you know that?
I feel something, almost like an alert going off in my head. I hold a finger to my mouth.
Saul: Excuse me? You don't get to just shush me— He's cut off as something jabs into my back and knocks me off my feet.
Saul: Kidd!
Cruz.aic: Detecting several hostiles around us. Humans, for sure. At least five total.
I roll to my back. The person who knocked me over jabs a spear into the ground where I was. Rolling back onto my shoulders, I deliver a firm kick into his chest. He stumbles back. Seizing my chance, I hop to my feet and draw my bat.
Cruz.aic: A bat?
Saul: You're shitting me, kid! You seriously don't have a sword?!
We're fully surrounded by a group of men at this point. Each bears a series of severe wounds on their bodies, wounds that would most certainly prove fatal in a normal world. They waste no time rushing us. Saul wastes no time meeting them.
He kicks a man away with ease and draws his sword. Another attempts to jump him from behind. Saul strikes his chest with the sword's base.
Cruz.aic: Who are these guys anyway?
Kidd: We don't really have a good name for them. Do you guys?
Saul swings his sword with reckless abandon, knocking one of the men away with its broad side.
Saul: "Annoying", mostly.
Cruz.aic: Wait so they're not— ≡ Saul: No, they're not associated with me. They're a bunch of freaks who really love the collapse of societal order. They're real content with doing whatever the hell they please. Us Keepers are at least interested in trying to have a sense of order.
I swing my bat. It connects with my target's stomach.
Kidd: Cruz, help me out. Escape route, minimal injuries possible.
Cruz.aic: Gotcha, on it!
I change my strategy. I dodge and weave through jabs and swings as Cruz calculates. Saul's approach is more akin to a hurricane. He strikes with wild sweeping strikes designed to deal as much harm as possible. His blade pierces flesh, maximizing already fatal injuries. His opponents pay them no mind. The assault continues. The men, little more than living corpses, rise back to their feet as quickly as they're knocked over.
Cruz.aic: …Got it! Bat to the left shoulder of the guy in front of you. Follow it with a shoulder tackle. Then move it!
I bring my bat down on the man's shoulder. What I don't realize is his existing injury. My bat is the last thing needed to completely remove his arm from his body.
The arm flies free.
I try to stop, try to freeze and apologize for the damage done, but my body is already in motion. I slam my shoulder against him, and send him toppling over.
I can run.
I should run. Run and get away, finish the mission. Everything in me screams to move.
But I stand in place, staring at the damage done.
Saul: You damned fool! Move!
My legs won't move. The man is back on his feet. He tackles me to the ground.
There's a knife pressed to my throat.
Kidd: …Please.
My voice comes out as a harsh whisper.
Kidd: Do it.
Agent Saul tackles the man off of me, and drags me to my feet. Before I can react we're running. He's practically dragging me as we run off. Eventually we stop, certain we've left the rogues behind.
Kidd: Saul, I- He punches me, hard. I stagger back.
≡ Addendum 001.5: February 13th, 2025 0710 hours Saul: You are a goddamn fool, kid. Time and time again you've shown me that it's frankly only by the grace of some higher power that you're still able to even move.
What is it that you're trying to pull, anyway? Some attempt at mercy or something?
Kidd: I just don't want to hurt people if I don't have to.
Saul: You have a messiah complex or something? Convinced that you're the magical lamb set to save the world, eh? Redeem everyone of their sin? Get it through your thick skull. Those men wanted you as close to dead as someone can be in this world for no reason beyond the fact that they could.
He looks away from me, refusing to meet my eyes. I find myself doing the same.
Kidd: It's not up to me to condemn them. I know what it's like to be hurt, Saul, and I damn well know it more than you. When everything is back, the people still with us are going to feel every single thing they've missed since it all stopped. Every single nerve in their body is going to scream out as it comes back to life. I don't have the right to give that pain to people. If it means bearing a few injuries… if it means I have to hurt for them, then I'll do it.
Saul: …Cruz, where's the closest town to here?
Cruz.aic: I don't need to tell you that.
Saul: Humor me, I need to make a point.
Cruz.aic: …Due east.
Saul grabs my hand.
Saul: Follow me.
Following Cruz's instructions, we head into a small suburb near the edge of the forest. It's quiet, as any suburb would be in the early morning. That said, the signs of a day in the process of beginning were visible. Children waiting at a bus stop, a ≡ man with coffee in his hand fumbling with car keys, a woman walking a dog… everyone in their morning routine. Stuck in that moment.
Saul: I want you to see exactly what you're doing when you choose the coward's way out of a fight.
Agent Saul leads me over to the man fumbling with his keys.
Saul: Take a good, long look at the damage done here.
I oblige. I examine the man, and notice a series of fresh wounds across his body.
None life-threatening, nothing major, but fresh wounds regardless.
I turn to Saul, ready to say… something, but he merely shakes his head and gestures to the rest. My fears are confirmed, every person outside bears similar fresh injuries on their body. Some are small, as if dealt by a hand that was merely curious as to what would happen, while others are deeper, dealt by a hand desperate for satisfaction. Finally I find my voice.
Kidd: Why?
Saul: You know why, kid. There's real evil in the world, and there are people who just pretend they aren't evil until the conditions that keep them moral vanish. That's all those rogue groups are— people who claimed morality until they got real bored and decided to take it out on everyone else. I spent enough of my time with the Foundation watching as they ignored things like this in favor of restoring their idea of "normalcy". This is what I mean when I say you need to get real already. If someone is trying to kill you, fight back.
He shoves me.
Saul: The fact you're ignorant to all of this here says enough. Go ahead and condemn me from on high while you ignore the people down here, you and the rest of the Foundation.
He shoves me again, and I stumble back.
Saul: You can go on making promises you can't keep to people you don't know, or you can wizen the hell up and make the most of the situation you're stuck in.
I struggle to respond as I continue to look at the proof around me. If I succeed in the end, if I actually complete this mission, what does it mean for the people here?
Suddenly their world starts again, and they scream out from sudden pain they never deserved to feel.
But even still… Kidd: Can you really condemn people for lashing out under the worst circumstances that they could possibly be in?
Saul: Ask any man fighting in any war with what they're fighting for, and I promise you not a single one can give you a real answer. Hell you could've asked me when ≡ I was still Foundation what it was that I believed in, and I'd just give you a slack- jawed "for humanity" response. The Keepers have made something new from all of that, we've made a proper society. We actually make an effort to deal with the people who do things like this while the Foundation sits on its hands fixating on the past. This?
He throws his arms out in vague motions.
Saul: To you this is hell, I get it. Don't act like I don't understand your side at all. To me, however? This is freedom. We finally get a world with no pain, no hunger.
Those rogues out there are proof that the worst in society cannot and will not change, but here at least when they harm us we don't have to feel it. We can go on living. I don't get how you can live through all of this and still think that mercy is an option.
Kidd: Cruz, how close is the nearest shoreline?
Cruz.aic: Again with this? We're going off track again… Kidd: Please, Cruz.
Cruz.aic: Fine. Due west, I'll map it out.
I hold out my hand to Saul.
Kidd: My turn to show you something.
Following Cruz's directions, I lead Agent Saul to the nearest shoreline and out onto the beach. Even slightly before dawn there are a few people out here, clearly outdoorsy types. Some brave enough to have taken off their shoes and dipped their feet into the frigid winter waters, a handful of kids chasing a flock of seagulls, and others simply watching from further up the beach. Another moment caught in time.
Kidd: What do you hear?
He frowns.
Saul: Nothing, obviously. That's a stupid question.
Kidd: Exactly. You should be hearing laughter, the cries of birds, the crashing of waves, but instead it's all dead silent.
I throw my arms out.
Kidd: This is what I'm fighting for. I'm fighting for a chance to have a future. I'm fighting for this. Moments like this. These moments of joy, of struggle, of sorrow… the things that make us human. I want everyone to have the ability to experience these things in their truest form again. Even you. It isn't about me, it never has ≡ been. I have the duty to leave a better world for the people who come after me, one where they have the ability to actually have something worth living for.
Agent Saul is quiet.
Kidd: There are really nasty people out there, Saul, I get it. I don't blame you for being jaded.
I flash him a weak smile, and walk towards the water itself. Saul follows, almost hesitant. When we reach the shoreline, I step out on top of the waves. The water is solid beneath my feet as I continue walking. Saul is hesitant, but eventually does the same. We both stand atop the water, looking back at the people on the beach.
Kidd: I'm willing to give up everything I have if it means everyone else can go on living and experiencing what it means to be alive. What we have now isn't that, Saul. What's life if people don't actually get to feel anything? Experience anything?
There isn't anything in this world worth living for the way things are now.
Saul stares at me for a moment, then back to the people on the beach.
Saul: …Are you trying to convince me or yourself?
I shake my head. I don't have an answer that matters. Saul looks as if he wants to say something, but casts his eyes to his feet.
Kidd: Anything is better than what we have now.
We begin walking back to the beach.
Kidd: Cruz? Can you get us back on track, please?
Cruz.aic: Finally! Yes, I can definitely do that.
We return to the shore and exit the beach back into the woods. As we walk, Saul slows his gait. He reaches out and touches the plants around him as we go.
Running his hand over a leaf, he attempts to remove it from it's position on the tree.
It refuses to budge. For a brief moment, a sincere frown settles on his face.
He looks up.
Saul: Hey, Kidd?
Kidd: Hm?
Saul: …Just remember you can't complete your mission if you're dead.
≡ Addendum 001.6: February 13th, 2025 0710 hours As we continue on our way, the air hangs tense between us. Saul is deathly quiet, and whenever I attempt to meet his eyes he looks away. The closer we get to the city, the slower he seems to walk.
Cruz.aic: Pick up the pace, people! We're almost there. That means you especially, traitor!
Saul's head snaps up, as if pulled from a trance.
Saul: Huh?
Cruz.aic: Wake up! You're the reason we're going this far out of our way so you'd better get that butt in gear so we can get this over with!
As we crest a hill, we can see the city in the distance. This was— is the city of Seattle, Washington, but has been long lost to Foundation control. The Keepers own this place now.
The city is familiar, the skyline unchanged. The sun is just beginning to crest over the horizon, beams of light peeking across the sleeping city.
I look to Saul again, but he still doesn't meet my eyes. His expression is flat, but there's the slightest frown in the corner of his mouth that betrays him.
Kidd: Hey, Saul— Saul: We're almost there.
Kidd: …Right.
We begin our descent into the city itself. As we walk down the streets, we find ourselves surrounded by frozen people. Just like the suburb before, everyone around us is stuck in their routine. A woman ordering coffee from a stand, a businessman on his cellphone, a homeless man and his dog huddled together as the others simply walk by.
≡ Saul turns to me with a severe expression.
Saul: There's something I need to know.
Kidd: Ask away.
Saul: Before all this, you worked in amnestics, right? I never messed with the stuff myself, but there were always rumors of the Foundation using them to basically set everything back to zero. You know, mass memory wipe the world to act like something never happened. I never put much stock into stuff like that, it was always too far-fetched for me. But I gotta know… is it true?
Cruz.aic: Nope, nu-uh, nothing doing. That's classified info!
Kidd: Yeah, it's true.
Saul: Heh, should've guessed as much. Guess we were always working for a pretty shady group, eh? Seems like I've been the bad guy for longer than I thought.
I laugh. It's the first genuine laugh I've had in so long.
Kidd: I guess so. Running away and avoiding the fight isn't always so bad, huh?
When you run you're always a step ahead. Even if we didn't have that ability, though, things would be ok in the end. Humanity can always rebuild. We've done it before, time and time again.
I smile.
Kidd: …Things are bad now, but they'll get better. They have to.
Saul stops walking, and turns to me.
Saul: Turn around, and run.
Kidd: Huh? But I— Saul: I said it before back when we first fell into the ravine. You're a wanted fugitive in our eyes, and the second you set foot near the base proper we're taking that heart and ensuring the Foundation has no hopes of getting it back. If you want any hope of your little mission succeeding, then now's your time to run, Kidd.
I take a step back.
Kidd: That's it, then? No tricks?
Saul: None. I can't say I believe in your mission but… well I don't really know what I believe in right now. What I do know is that you really seem to believe in it, so go for it. Prove me wrong.
≡ I nod, and turn to run. Before I can, however, my escape is blocked off by a set of Keeper agents. I turn around to see Saul's way forward blocked as well.
Saul: …What's the meaning of this, exactly? Stand down!
One of the agents, an apparent leader, shakes her head.
Agent: Former Agent Saul and Foundation Agent Kidd, we order you to surrender your arms and stand down.
Saul: What the hell? You don't get to bark orders at me, I outrank you!
Agent: Unfortunately the decision was made to strip you of rank and title the second you betrayed the organization.
Saul: What are you talking about?!
Agent: By refusing to secure the relic when provided ample opportunity and giving a chance for a known fugitive to escape, you have violated the code of The Keepers that you agreed to on induction.
Saul: This is insa— Kidd: I surrender.
I put my arms behind my head and drop to me knees.
Cruz.aic: Agent Kidd?!
Kidd: I surrender on the explicit condition that Agent Saul is pardoned for his actions.
Saul: Kidd you can't be serious!
Agent: …Those terms are amicable. Gentlemen, cuff him.
Two agents rush over. They kick me to the ground, handcuffing me. They take my bat and toss it aside.
Saul: Enough, let him go!
Agent: The orders regarding the capture and arrest of Agent Kidd are clear. As for you… She kicks at his legs, taking him to the ground. She follows it up with a solid kick to the ribs.
Agent: Treason is treason, Saul.
≡ Addendum 001.7: February 13th, 2025 0710 hours Kidd: I've surrendered, leave him be!
Agent: I don't believe that we actually owe you anything. There has to be order.
She motions to the agent beside her, who draws his sword.
Agent: As for you, the penalty for treason where I'm from normally amounts to death. Since that's not much of an option, I can at least offer the next best thing.
The agent next to her brings his sword. It falls down on Saul's left arm, cleaving it away from the shoulder. It falls to the ground. Saul's mouth hangs agape.
I scream.
My body acts before my mind can think. I struggle against the handcuffs as the man brings his sword down again against Saul's chest, sending him rolling against the pavement.
I grab my prosthetic arm and rip it free, breaking from the handcuffs. The men attempt to restrain me. I begin beating them with the arm. It isn't my bat. It's nothing like my bat. The rage I feel in this moment is the first thing I've felt in so long. In this moment, it's enough.
The other agents attempt to restrain me, but I weave between their blows. I strike behind their knees, and send them to the ground. I kick them aside.
I race to Saul's side and help him back to his feet. He's stunned, mouth still agape.
I drop my arm, and draw his sword.
I swing without aim or care. The weapon is unfamiliar to me, heavy in my hand. I cut down the agent that started this, and I flee dragging Saul with me.
And we run. It's the one thing I know: to run and get away.
I offer a prayer as we escape. Deep down, I hope God doesn't hear me.
I run.
I run and run and keep running, long after I'm certain we aren't being followed. I run as far as my legs will take me, and then I run even further. Back into the woods, ≡ back into hiding, back to safety.
Instinct must've set in, because once my eyes and head clear, I find myself back and the closest thing to a haven I could think of. A small settlement hidden away from prying eyes, a place even the Foundation hasn't found.
Cruz.aic: Kidd where ARE we?
I don't hear it, instead I take Saul to the one person I know can help.
Kidd: Anne.
I dive into the tent, and she looks up in surprise. She's an older woman, likely in her early 50s. She's nothing but soft edges, and despite the startle I gave her, she looks at me with a smile.
Anne: Jessie! It's always good to see you, but I do have to ask what brings you this way? I thought you were all set to go. And who is this?
Kidd: Someone who needs help.
I sit Saul down on a chair.
Kidd: Hey, you alright?
Saul: It doesn't hurt… why did I shut down?
Kidd: You aren't psychologically accustomed to it all yet. You expected it to hurt, and you reacted as if it had. Trust me… I look to my missing left forearm, then to the broken prosthetic dangling lamely at my side.
Kidd: Losing an arm isn't something you're ever ready for.
Anne: What in God's name did you do to yourself, Jessie? It took a lot of salvaging to get the materials to even build that arm, and you've gone and wrecked it.
Kidd: Anne please, my friend here needs the fussing more than I do right now.
Anne recoils as she finally gets a good look at Saul.
Anne: Oh this is… extreme. Jessie I haven't seen injuries like this since— Kidd: Since you treated me, I know. Is there anything you can do?
Anne: I'll go see what supplies I have. Just wait here.
She walks out of the tent, leaving us alone.
≡ Saul: …I have to ask. Why?
Kidd: I said it before, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to help someone else.
Saul: You used my sword and actually fought back.
Kidd: I… I don't have an answer. I search my mind for something to say that feels even remotely satisfactory, but I'm lost.
Kidd: …Yeah. I did do that, didn't I?
His face tenses up, and for a moment he looks like he's going to yell. Instead his voice is soft, and he stares at the ground.
Saul: Thank you.
Cruz.aic: Touching. Now can someone please tell me where the hell we are so I can at least ATTEMPT to chart us back on course?
Kidd: Camp Olympia. We're in the Olympic National Forest.
Cruz.aic: …Wait you ran all the way from SEATTLE to HERE?
Kidd: …I had to get away.
Anne slips back into the tent.
Anne: I don't know exactly what kind of scrape you boys got yourselves into, but luckily we had a spare needle and thread.
She approaches Saul and pulls his shirt away from the open wound.
Anne: Now hold still.
Saul: Uh… alright. Why are you doing all of this?
Anne: I can't have you very well walking around with a massive hole in your chest, sweetie. Gotta close that thing up.
Saul: It doesn't make any difference in the end, though. You're just wasting your supplies- Anne: Oh, hush. It's not a waste if it's being used for someone in need.
≡ Kidd: Better listen to her, Saul.
Anne: Big talk, I remember you saying the exact same things when we dragged your happy little self in here. "Woe is me, you're wasting your supplies on a man better off dead!" Kidd: Come on, I don't sound like that.
Cruz.aic: No, no, she nailed your inflection.
Anne: That said, I'm sorry, Jessie. We just don't have the supplies needed to repair your arm, and definitely not enough to make a new one for you, Mr…?
Saul: Saul.
Anne: Mr. Saul. It's just so hard to find supplies that aren't stuck in place these days.
She finishes stitching his chest back up and sits back.
Anne: There we are.
Saul hesitantly touches his hand to the injury. His voice comes out almost as a whisper.
Saul: …Thank you.
Anne: Of course. Gotta watch out for one another, yeah? Till the sun comes on back.
Kidd: Till the sun comes on back. Thanks, Anne.
We slip out of the tent back into the camp proper. For the first time in what feels like ages, there's a sense of life around us. The community isn't large, but the people gathered are alive, moving about in some sense of routine.
Saul: So what is this place, exactly? Some Foundation camp?
Kidd: The Foundation has no idea these guys are here.
Saul: You never told them?
I shake my head.
Kidd: These guys found me after that time you took my arm and my eye, if you can even remember.
He furrows his brow, and kicks the ground.
≡ Saul: …Yeah, I remember. You'd raided one of our libraries, and I hunted you down.
Kidd: I was slower than I should've been, but lesson learned.
I feel his eyes on my right forearm, where my prosthetic once was.
Saul: I… should apologize for that, shouldn't I?
Kidd: Probably.
Saul: I'm sorry.
Kidd: I know.
We stand in silence for a moment.
Saul: It's because I'm afraid.
Kidd: What is?
He throws his arms out in vague motions.
Saul: All of… this. I joined the Keepers because I'm afraid. I've lived so much of my life anxious, terrified of what was going to happen tomorrow. When that war broke out it felt like all of my fears were confirmed, and then it all just… stopped.
Except me. I kept going.
He looks at me, meeting my eyes.
Saul: I felt blessed in a way. I got this one, eternal moment. I don't have to worry about tomorrow, because there just isn't one anymore. I don't have to worry about everyone I love and everything I know vanishing, because they're all stuck right here. I feel… like a man actually in control for once, you know?
Kidd: I'm scared too.
Saul: Really now? You seemed so self-assured.
He playfully punches my shoulder in laughs. The first sincere laugh he's had in so long.
Kidd: Everyone's a bit afraid of what comes next, you know? You can't ever know the future.
Saul: So what keeps you going then, Kidd? How do you get past that?
I close my eyes for a moment. When I open them again, I meet his.
Kidd: Follow me.
I lead him over to a tent, and motion for him to be quiet. Inside is a young woman, cradling an infant in her arms. The baby looks to us with bright, curious eyes.
≡ Kidd: Sorry to bother you, Rio.
The woman shakes her head and smiles. Her baby reaches out a pudgy hand, and I meet it with my finger. The baby wraps its little hand around my fingers. I smile, and after a moment I gently take him from his mother and pass him to Saul. Saul is hesitant, but eventually takes him. He holds the baby as if he was holding a bomb.
Kidd: I told you before, it's not about me. There are things I want back, yeah. I want to hurt, I want to cry, I want feelings to numb deep down. There's another part of me, a part of me that wants to do something I'll be remembered for before I'm gone. Death is a foregone conclusion at this point for me, I've made my peace with it. But above all, I know it isn't about me and what I want.
Agent Saul watches as the baby reaches out to him. He lets him take hold of his finger, same as I did before.
Kidd: He deserves a future too, doesn't he? The chance to grow up and make the same mistakes we did?
Saul is silent as the baby holds onto his finger. Finally, he passes the infant back to his mother and we both head back outside.
Saul: Do you still have that heart?
Kidd: You know I do.
He touches his hand to his chest again.
Saul: …Her stitch work really leaves something to be desired, you know. This isn't gonna hold up until morning.
Cruz.aic: Finally! I have a route prepped that will get us to the shrine. It's confirmed clear, and doesn't go through Keepers' territory. The relic is confirmed in good condition. When you're both ready, we can head out.
I hold my hand out to Saul.
Kidd: Whatever comes next, it'll be ok. It won't be a perfect world, but… Saul: …Anything is better than this.
He shakes my hand, and we head out.
≡ Addendum 001.8: February 13th, 2025 0710 hours The world didn't end instantly. The Shrine of Aeternum had stood neglected and forgotten for years. It wasn't one huge, bombastic event that brought it down to the ground. Traditions had changed, customs had changed. New gods had come to replace the old, and those great old churches were replaced by newer, grander ones. The old gods slowly faded as the old stories and rituals that once sustained them stopped getting passed down and were relegated to little more than fairytales.
Saul had expected something grand when we crested the hill, signs that some great power had once resided here. Instead we were met with a pile of carved rubble and an overturned, vaguely humanoid statue in the center.
I approached the center, drawing the sigil I knew so well. When pressed, it glowed with the faintest light and for a moment I could almost feel the chill of a February morning with it.
Kidd: Cruz, confirm what needs to be done here if you could.
Cruz.aic: The shrine itself was actually fairly sturdy all things considered. Likely constructed from anomalous materials to begin with, which is probably why it even lasted as long as it did. You'll need to reconstruct the shrine itself first, then insert the heart as a keystone. That should get everything moving again.
Saul: You're sure?
Cruz.aic: Don't question me!
Kidd: …And when it's done, the Foundation is going to activate their big reset button, yeah?
Cruz.aic: More than likely, yes. There's enough damage done and enough people who will remember this that it risks a total breach of normalcy. It's almost guaranteed that the Foundation is going to have a pretty aggressive amnestics campaign when it's all said and done.
Saul: …So even if we survive, we're just gonna forget it all, huh?
≡ Cruz.aic: …Yes. That is the most likely outcome.
Kidd: I hope I’ll remember this time together anyway.
Saul and I exchange a glance. There was no hesitation in his eyes anymore. We nod, and get to work rebuilding the shrine. It's hard going with only two arms between us, but if there's anything we had it was time.
Kidd: You didn't have to come all this way, you know.
Saul: How were you supposed to lift these things on your own? C'mon now, you're definitely too scrawny for construction work.
Kidd: Just because I spent my days in research before all of this doesn't mean I'm totally helpless now. I beat you in a fair fight.
Saul: You had an .aic to help.
Cruz.aic: Guilty as charged!
Saul: …You'll be ok, Kidd. It'll be fine.
I realize just how tense my body has been through this process, and try to ease the tension in my muscles.
Kidd: Right. It'll all be fine.
But I can't. As we continue working and rebuilding the shrine piece by piece, I feel a rising sense of dread continue to build in my chest.
Saul: Hey, take a moment. You don't need to put on a brave face right now.
I hear a crack in my voice as I speak.
Kidd: …I'm gonna die.
I had known for a while now that death waited for me here. My injuries were too extreme, and even with Saul here I wouldn't be able to get medical aid in time.
Saul: Me too.
He looks at me, and there's something there. A sparkle in his eyes, something that was never there before.
≡ Saul: But take a look around us for a moment. I can think of worse places to kick the bucket.
And I do. The view down the mountainside into the city below was breathtaking. In the distance you could see the morning sun, still trying so hard to peek over the horizon in the distance.
I grab the next stone.
We continue working. Together we haul the final stone atop the shrine, and stand before our hard work. All that remains is the keystone, ready to be placed into the chest of the humanoid figure that sat at the center of the shrine.
I place my fingers in the wound on Saul's chest, and draw the sigil in the hole of the shrine. I remove the heart from my jacket and hold it out to him. It beats with a slow, steady rhythm.
Saul: What are you doing?
Kidd: Giving it to you.
He takes it in an uncertain hand.
Kidd: This is your chance, you know. If you wanted to you could destroy it, and that would be it. You'd have your eternal moment back.
Saul looks at the heart beating in his hand and smirks.
Saul: Maybe I'm ready for a change.
He inserts the heart into the shrine, and I mutter the incantation.
And in a moment, I feel it. Heat from the flames around us, the chill of a cool breeze.
And every nerve ending in my body activating. I collapse to the ground in agony as the pain from my all too fresh injuries racks my entire body. Saul drops to his knees as well, but pulls me in close.
Saul: Hey, hey, it's ok. I'm right here.
I take sharp, shallow breaths. My first in so long. I feel Saul against me, and finally my body relaxes.
Saul: How does it feel?
Kidd: E-everything hurts. So much. I feel so alive.
He laughs as a tear rolls down his cheek, and I find myself doing the same. He looks up, eyes on the rising sun.
Saul: Can't believe I let myself miss this for so long.
≡ We're both quiet for a moment. A moment, and actual real moment.
Kidd: …It's beautiful.
Another breeze blows, carrying the chirp of a songbird with it.
Kidd: Good morning, Saul.
Saul: Good morning, Kidd.
I cry. I cry years and years worth of tears as Saul cradles me, acting as if he isn't just as hurt. He turns us off to the horizon, and we watch as the sun begins to rise.
The world breathes.
≡ February 13th, 2025 0711 hours ≡ ≡ Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation "Ori's Proposal" by OriTiefling, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/oris- proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: Cruz1-10.png Author: OriTiefling License: Creative Commons Share-Alike 3.0 Additional Notes: All Cruz icons are drawn by the original author, OriTiefling, and released under the CC by SA 3.0 license Filename: inthemorningsunMarg.jpg Author: LOVEMarginal License: Creative Common Share-Alike 3.0 Additional Notes: Image was commissioned by the original author for use in this article and is released under the CC by SA 3.0 license.
≡ Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal 8000 apollyon entropic fading-stars k-class-scenario scp temporal thermodynamic page revision: 26, last edited: 17 Sep 2024, 15:02 (166 days ago) Edit Rate (+294) Tags Discuss (109) History Files Print Site tools + Options Powered by Wikidot.com Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable ≡ |
rating: +660 + – X Pedantique's Proposal SCP-001 » Pedantique's Proposal Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: [DATA EXPUNGED] Special Containment Procedures: [DATA EXPUNGED] Description: [DATA EXPUNGED] ‡ Licensing / Citation SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal esoteric-class interactive scp page revision: 53, last edited: 22 Oct 2022, 03:52 (863 days ago) Edit Rate (+660) Tags Discuss (109) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
rating: +452 + – X SCP-001 » Pickman-Blank Proposal SCP-001, selected examples in situ.
Special Containment Procedures: The maintenance of SCP-001 is paramount to the continued existence of the SCP Foundation and the Veil of Secrecy. Research into sustaining, extending and strengthening its memetic properties is an Alpha-One priority at all times. Individuals found resistant to SCP-001 are to be amnesticized, detained, or terminated where appropriate and/or necessary. All SCP Foundation personnel rated above Class C must undergo Antimeme-001 inoculation.
Description: SCP-001 is a memetic complex known internally as "The Frontispiece" residing in the human collective consciousness. It exerts an anomalous force upon all initialisms containing the Latin letter sequence S-C-P: without Antimeme-001 inoculation, considerable SCP-001 LEVEL4 SECRET CONTAINMENT CLASS: AEGIS 4 DISRUPTION CLASS: EKHI 1 RISK CLASS: NOTICE 1 R&C SITE-43 SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in SCP-001 instance.
memetic conditioning or thaumaturgic/ontokinetic capabilities, no human being encountering such initialisms is capable of mentally connecting them, or whatever objects, personages or organizations they are applied to, with the SCP Foundation. The Frontispiece therefore allows the Foundation to operate public-facing front organizations which are simultaneously identifiable at a glance to agents in the field, and veiled from hostile operatives or the general populace. For example: all "Snooze 'n' Cruise Palace" franchise locations also operate as Foundation safehouses, while "Sawyer's Cheesy Pretzels" eateries act as intelligence-gathering hubs and launching points for Mobile Task Force operations.
SCP-001-1 is "The Sigil," a non-linguistic visual trigger mimicking the SCP-001 effect. (See Addendum 001-3.) Antimeme-001 is a thaumaturgically-produced inoculant for SCP-001, supplied to all Foundation personnel on a regular schedule.
The Frontispiece possesses a singular fault which to date remains unexplained by anomalous science. There is a non-zero chance that it will entirely fail to operate on individuals who frequently encounter anomalous phenomena, or who were exposed to it during their youth.
Such individuals inevitably come to recognize the connection between Foundation front organizations and, eventually, the Foundation itself. This most commonly occurs with agents belonging to Groups of Interest, hostile or not. It has been hypothesized that exposure to a presently-unquantified element common to all anomalous phenomena carries an inoculant effect similar to that of Antimeme-001.
SCP-001 was intentionally created and implemented by the Foundation in 1969, at the height of the Panopticon Crisis.
Addendum 001-1, Panopticon Crisis Overview: In the 1960s the SCP Foundation drew the ire of multiple national governments when it was discovered that Overwatch Command was simultaneously aiding and hindering all major players in the Cold War.
Canada was among the first to withdraw support, in 1964, after the actions of [DATA EXPUNGED] resulted in the violent death of Royal Canadian Mounted Police Sergeant Raynard Watts, chair of the Occult and Supernatural Activity Taskforce. Israel and Lebanon mutually agreed to cut ties with the Foundation following the disastrous outcome of 1965's Operation EIGHTH TRUMPET. In 1967, Egypt and several other North African states withdrew support after it was discovered that the stranding of the so-called 'Yellow Fleet' in the Suez Canal was caused in part by the Foundation, due to an anomaly in transport aboard the SCPS Conrad breaching containment.
The most devastating withdrawals came from the United States of America and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. While providing materiel and personnel to the U.S. government during the Vietnam War, the Foundation was simultaneously working with communist regimes to secure both funding and a sustainable D- Class personnel population. When President Lyndon B. Johnson was informed of Overwatch's involvement in the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1964, he terminated all financial, tactical, and personnel arrangements, only allowing the Foundation to continue operations on U.S. soil after a United Nations resolution backed by the Global Occult Coalition.
The USSR was alerted to Foundation involvement in the development of the Enigmagraph and its extensive 2 3 SCP-001 instance.
4 5 6 7 ≡ PoI-001 use in western espionage operations. The Foundation was ousted from many Soviet territories, only maintaining scattered Sites outside Western Germany.
This left the Foundation's sole strongholds in Japan, South America, Latin America, and the Bahamas; even then, the relationship with Cuba had to be bolstered with donations of early-stage cloning technology, to assist with Fidel Castro's failing health and need for organ donations.
Each of the incidents described above was exacerbated by the intervention of a hostile agent identified as PoI-001.
Profile: PoI-001 Name: Unknown Occupation: Operative (various) Primary Alias: Elizabeth Crocker "Elizabeth Crocker" joined the United States Central Intelligence Agency in 1959, brought on as part of MKISOLDA and rising through the ranks until becoming personal assistant to Director John Alexander McCone.
Shortly after joining the CIA, Crocker developed a romantic relationship with Dr. Alexandre 'Hill' Hilbert, a CIA researcher responsible for the development of the 'Quantum Brace', an experimental eigenweapon capable of altering probability. Hilbert was killed in 1964 during a test of the Quantum Brace, shortly after the Foundation attempted to recruit him; Crocker incorrectly believed the test was sabotaged by the Foundation following Hilbert's refusal of said offer, and subsequently leaked Overwatch's involvement in the Cuban Missile Crisis to President Johnson.
Crocker is a Class-3 ("Magus") Thaumaturge with training in cryptomancy, a branch of thaumaturgy dealing with anomalous symbology, language, and codes. Her training predates her recruitment into the CIA, though her exact date of birth, and therefore the timeline of her training, is unknown.
On 10/19/1967, Crocker disguised herself as O5-7's personal driver and proceeded to shoot her over one dozen times before leaving her body in front of a Foundation safehouse in San Francisco. A note was attached to the corpse.
Do you know the secret to democracy? Here's the most common wrong answer: "One man can make a difference." That's not democracy at all, of course, it's autarchy. One man making all the difference is no different from, say, thirteen men doing it.
Oh, the violence that misconception lets people like you perpetrate! It conditions us to tyranny in the name of the greater good, as defined by the lesser evil of tyrants.
You want us all marching to your master plan, and you don't care who has to get tread under foot on the way.
No, the real secret to democracy is that no two people want to make the same difference, and when they see how different their friends and neighbours and colleagues already are, it makes them so goddamn hopping mad. Nobody likes to confront the fact of someone else's reality, nobody wants to toil toward someone else's utopia, and everybody, everybody, loves to play the blame game.
They've got a lot of grievances to lay blame for, right now. And as luck would have 8 ≡ it, they've also got a ready-made scapegoat sitting right under their noses.
It's high time somebody broke up your tidy little racket. No, more than one somebody.
Everybody.
We're going to contain you, and you're going to suffocate.
The assassination of O5-7 created a vacancy in the O5 Council that could not easily be filled, more often than not leaving Overwatch deadlocked on major decisions. This marked the beginning of what Archives and Revision personnel have subsequently termed the "Panopticon Crisis," due to the constant scrutiny from world governments precipitated by PoI-001. With the Foundation haemorrhaging resources and the increasing difficulty of operating in a clandestine manner, it was feared that an LV-1 "Burning Veil" Scenario would ensue, culminating in an LV-0 "Broken Masquerade" Scenario.
On 11/23/1967, Overwatch Command issued a radio transmission to all surviving Foundation Sites ordering their personnel to attempt amelioration of this situation by any means at their disposal. Site-01 subsequently enacted complete radio silence, as Agent Crocker and a team of anomalocryptographers were then finalizing the process of deciphering the Foundation's most secure communications ciphers. The following transcript is taken from a brainstorming meeting between several members of Foundation personnel trapped in Havana, Cuba in January of 1968.
Hide Log 001-1 Personnel in Attendance: Dr. Amity Noble, Proxy for O5-10; Dr. Vivian Lesley Scout, Director, Site-43; Dr. Arik Euler, Thaumatologist ; Agent Charles Correia, Mobile Task Force Oliver-19 ("Contingency's Contingency"); Kady O'Donnell, Department of Accounting; Dr. Vladimir Dyer, former USGOV Liaison.
Dr. Scout: Let's get it over with. I abhor this weather.
Agent Correia: Gets over sixty and you start melting. Could you Canucks be any more stereotypical?
O'Donnell: Now that we've got that jingoism out of the way… I have to be honest. We're pretty much fucked. This was the budget in December of 1966… O'Donnell presents a diagram to the group.
O'Donnell: …and this is the amount of money we need if we want to maintain containment.
O'Donnell presents a second diagram.
Agent Correia: In one Site?
O'Donnell: For one anomaly, and not even Keter-class. This is a bare-bones Euclid.
Dr. Noble: How the fuck did we manage to justify that to the President? To any president?
Dr. Dyer: Depending on the country? You show them how communist or capitalist activity will result in an outbreak of anomalous something-or-other, and they will literally print money for us.
O'Donnell: Meaning we tried to play poker with the world, and now we're not even allowed in the same room with the table. Ladies and gentlemen: we fucked up.
Dr. Dyer: This might be recoverable. We just… need to direct the remaining funds into… getting more money.
Dr. Scout: How do you propose we do that, exactly?
9 ≡ Dr. Dyer: Your acrobatic attainment facility— Dr. Scout: Acroamatic abatement.
Dr. Dyer: Has to output… some usable waste. You melt down religious artifacts, surely you can recover precious metals from them. Or… maybe sell off a few patents?
O'Donnell: Through what? Everywhere from Atlanta to Zanzibar has a list of what companies we ran, and they're all burned. Samson Pharma, New Light Ministries, 10th Wonder Publishing… and that's just in the USA. The Soviet Union is literally knocking over whole Sites as we speak, and God knows what they're doing to the anomalies contained there.
Dr. Noble: This can't all have been Crocker.
Agent Correia: Whacking a senior O5 certainly sent everyone a message.
Dr. Dyer: Crocker caused a lot of this, but… it's like she said in her note. She got the ball rolling, and the whole world is running with it.
Agent Correia: I'd just like to know what the freak in the room thinks.
Dr. Scout: I beg your pardon?
Agent Correia: Talking about Aleister Crowley here.
Dr. Euler: I'm thinking, I'm thinking.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Euler: It… would conceivably be possible to weave an illusion over our front companies.
But it would have to be a massive operation, constantly maintained by a complex set of glyphs and rituals. If we had access to oriykalkos or a similar thaumic power source, we could run it for maybe… a year. Eighteen months, at most.
O'Donnell: Not good enough. We… we need something bigger than that. We need the world to forget that the Foundation exists, just for a moment, so we can get back on our feet.
Dr. Euler: I'm a thaumatologist, Kady, not a priest. What you're asking for is a miracle.
Agent Correia: Once again, Euler proves why his kind should all be shot.
Dr. Euler: I beg your fucking pardon?
Agent Correia: The fact that the Foundation allows anyone like you to walk outside of a cell is one of the reasons why we're in this bind. You— Dr. Euler stands and abruptly exits the room.
Dr. Noble: …now would be a good time for a break, then.
Following Dr. Euler's sudden exit from the meeting room, recording equipment picked up the following conversation between Dr. Euler and Dr. Scout.
Dr. Scout: Arik? Are you… Dr. Euler: Get the fuck away from me, Scout.
Dr. Scout: I've never seen you act like that. What's… Dr. Euler: You heard the way Correia talked. 'Freak', 'anyone like you', 'my kind'… It… Dr. Euler lets out a sob.
Dr. Euler: I lost my mother to Auschwitz. My sister and father to Dachau. And that fucker 10 11 ≡ Dr. Arik Euler, c. 1967.
thinks he can talk like that?
Dr. Scout: Correia's a jackass, but I don't think he realized the implication. We're all… frustrated. And if anyone's responsible for this crisis, it's me.
Dr. Euler: H-how do you figure?
Dr. Scout: You read about Watts, that Mountie who got mauled by werewolves?
Dr. Euler: That was— Dr. Scout: Someone at my Site, trying to protect a friend.
Dr. Euler: I shan't ask further. But you're saying Canada withdrew because of that?
Dr. Scout: That, and the fact that Pearson's running a minority government at the whim of an anti-Foundation opposition.
Dr. Euler: A right mess we're in, Vivian.
Euler sniffles.
Dr. Euler: I'm not going back in there with Correia. I might set his tongue on fire if I did.
Dr. Scout: …wait. That's… that's it.
Dr. Euler: Hmm?
Dr. Scout: I need to contact Canada.
Dr. Euler: Good luck. I don't think there's a single phone line in this country connected to the continent, and even if there is, it's going to be wiretapped to hell.
Dr. Scout: There's radio.
Dr. Euler: At that point, why not just fire a missile into Mount Everest and carve a message from the rubble?
Silence on recording.
Dr. Euler: Tell me… do you have any thaumatologists in your employ at 43?
The situation at Site-43 is best explained by the following report, prepared for the Canadian Prime Minister by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
ROYAL CANADIAN MOUNTED POLICE OCCULT AND SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY TASKFORCE On 01/03/1968, the Prime Minister revoked the provisional authority of the Secure, Contain, Protect Foundation to operate a subterranean research facility beneath Military Camp Ipperwash, known internally as 'Site-43'. Department of Defence forces attempted to enter the Site, without effect; on 01/07/1968, therefore, two OSAT teams were dispatched.
Teams MACDONALD and STEELE entered Ipperwash Provincial Park without incident, but expected heavy resistance when attempting to enter the camp itself; similar attempts on previous occasions had been thwarted by mythological figures belonging to the nearby Indian reserves, which typically ignore the soldiers stationed at Ipperwash. This 12 13 ≡ Dr. Izaak Okorie, c. 1968.
experience was not repeated, however; though a number of supernatural beings residing in the woods, and beneath Lake Huron, observed the advancing teams, they made no effort to interfere.
Team STEELE's Grade-1 clairvoyant was able to 'read' the Foundation operatives within the structure housing the Site's sole service elevator. Taking advantage of a shift change, Team MACDONALD successfully entered and disabled the guards within. Under interrogation, these guards revealed the construction of a subterranean rail network reaching to Grand Bend, Ontario, as well as rumours of tunnels beneath the bedrock; Team STEELE is presently engaged in sounding Ipperwash Park to determine the precise location of either feature. The elevator has so far resisted attempts to summon it or to breach its shaft, but with the camp under OSAT control, it is only a matter of time before the Foundation is forced to face their eviction.
— Sergeant Gordon Shine, Chief Superintendent, OSAT Without elevator or subway access, Site-43's topside operations were restricted to only those assets already located beyond the interdiction zone and capable of radio communication. Chief of Security and Containment Martin Strauss and Site-01 liaison Dr. Edwin Falkirk briefed these agents and researchers daily; the briefing of Dr. Izaak Okorie, thaumatologist and Researcher in Acroamatic Abatement, for 03/10/1968 is appended below.
Hide Log 001-2 Dr. Falkirk: —ext on the list? Tell me it's not the witch doctor.
Chief Strauss loudly clears his throat.
Chief Strauss: Dr. Okorie, do we have you on the line?
Silence on recording.
Dr. Okorie: Yes, Marty, I hear you. Good evening, Dr. Falkirk.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Falkirk: I'll make this short. Keep your head down, and await further instructions.
Chief Strauss: We'll have Mu-43 check on you.
Dr. Falkirk: Bad idea, sending good men into that neighbourhood.
Dr. Okorie: Pardon? I live in Parkdale.
Dr. Falkirk: Do a little voodoo on the real estate agent?
Silence on recording.
Chief Strauss: I'll check in tomorrow, Iz— Dr. Okorie: Something warped one of my thaumatosemiotic wards last night.
Silence on recording.
Falkirk: Does that have an English translation?
Dr. Okorie: Thaumics are vulnerable to outside interference. I've got a whole raft of mental safeguards in place, keyed to common phrases associated with hostile action. 'Fire'. 'Obey'.
'Poison'. They take a while to set up, but they protect me if someone tries to reach out with ill ≡ PoI-382 intent.
Dr. Falkirk: If your magic brain is on the fritz, maybe we should send Mu-43 in. To contain you.
Chief Strauss: Doctor, please, don't be so extreme.
Dr. Falkirk: That's the silver lining to all this: extremity is back on the table.
Chief Strauss: Which… ward, got triggered? Izaak?
Dr. Okorie: It didn't get triggered, it changed. The word changed. Only another thaumatologist would have been able to manage that.
Dr. Falkirk: You don't think Crocker— Dr. Okorie: No, I don't. It would have to be one of our own people.
Chief Strauss: Odd. What was the change?
Dr. Okorie: 'Poison' became 'gift'.
Silence on recording.
Chief Strauss: I know exactly what that means.
Chief Strauss chuckles.
Chief Strauss: Dr. Falkirk said your brain was on the fritz. He wasn't far off.
Chief Strauss briefed Dr. Okorie on the particulars of PoI-382 — including information which would not be incorporated into the SCP database until the late 1990s, regarding Dr. Scout's unsanctioned collusion with said individual. Dr. Falkirk was not cleared for the full extent of this information. The present-day iteration of PoI- 382's profile is appended below.
Profile: PoI-382 Name: Thilo Zwist Occupation: Memeticist-at-large Known Aliases: Ira Braun, Dr. Bromide, Tolliver Brumley, Will Deaver, Mr. Gloss, Joseph Heino, Dr.
Jim, Angela Mercy, Reiki Rick, Alexander Scoffield, Uncle Teddy, Hammond Washburn, etc.
Thilo Zwist was apprenticed into a now-extinct ancient society of highly advanced cryptomancers known as the schriftsteller (the Writers), a society of which he is now the only known surviving member. Zwist is believed to be the most proficient cryptomancer presently active on the Earth.
Zwist is functionally immortal, and has proven capable of producing anomalous effects on a global scale. In his youth he altered the Germanic language family to incorporate a deadly disease trigger — accidentally — and a decade after the Panopticon Crisis ended he insinuated a nonexistent political personage into the historical record. The latter act was at the behest of the SCP Foundation, with whom he is nominally aligned; Site-43 Director Dr. V.L. Scout spent many decades ostensibly pursuing Zwist, but the two were in fact engaged in a covert collaboration to advance the aims of societal survival and stability (though they would never meet in person). The primary reason for this collaboration was the resurgence of GoI-5054, the giftschreiber (the Poison-Writers), first in the form of a right-wing Canadian think-tank called the ≡ Righting History Institute.
For unclear reasons, the giftschreiber have engaged in periodic attacks on societal stability worldwide. Their anarchic activities are primarily attested in the western world, but Archives and Revision research has uncovered giftschreiber activity in over one hundred and forty nations worldwide. Their attacks are invariably memetic in nature, though the form varies; many giftschreiber utilize the written word, while some use images, and others employ audio.
Zwist himself has proven capable of using all aforementioned media, though his primary area of expertise is written memetics. His command of this skill is such that he is essentially impossible to detain, and he has gone unmolested by the Foundation since the early 1980s.
Armed with the 1968 equivalent of this information, Chief Strauss advanced a theory: via a Foundation thaumatologist in Cuba, Dr. Scout had planted a reference to the giftschreiber in Dr. Okorie's mind to suggest that PoI-382 be contacted about crafting a cryptomantic solution to the Panopticon Crisis. (This would later be proven correct; the thaumatologist in question had been Dr. Euler.) As Dr. Falkirk was not cleared for this information, Chief Strauss and Dr. Okorie planned their response in private. Two of Site-43's Mobile Task Forces regularly attempted pursuit of Zwist — for training purposes only — and a raid on his last known place of business had in fact been in the late stages of planning when the DND and OSAT occupation made egress impossible. Without MTF support, Dr. Okorie would attempt to make contact with the cryptomancer on 03/12/1968.
Hide Log 001-3 Dr. Okorie approaches a row of abandoned businesses in the Harbourfront district of Toronto. He activates his audio recording device.
Suspected location of PoI-382.
Sound of a door opening, and a bell ringing.
Dr. Okorie: Anybody home?
Sound of footsteps.
Zwist: I haven't seen your face before. Have you seen mine?
Zwist chuckles.
Zwist: Not that I'd have let you remember.
Dr. Okorie: I'm not here to capture you, doctor.
≡ Zwist: I'm not a doctor, but you look like you might be. I've been expecting a visit.
Dr. Okorie: You have?
Zwist: There's a lot of uninvited visitors nosing about your camp, lately. Thought the local wildlife would've prevented that.
Dr. Okorie: We've been giving the Nexus reserves fresh water for twenty years now, but we had to shut that down when OSAT closed in. I think the myth monsters are cross with us.
Zwist: As well they should be. One shouldn't abandon one's responsibilities just because the going gets tough.
Dr. Okorie: We've been under rather a lot of pressure, if you hadn't noticed.
Zwist: And it'll only get worse, if I know Elizabeth Crocker.
Dr. Okorie: Do you know Elizabeth Crocker?
Silence on recording.
Zwist: Are you here to ask for my help, or did I let you find me for no good reason?
Silence on recording.
Dr. Okorie: I assume this place has some significance to you?
Zwist: Oh, quite. It's an object lesson. This bakery used to be just one link in a world-wide chain. The very first one was built in my little village of Amstetten, and I painted them a very special sign as one of many tests in my long, long apprenticeship.
Zwist sighs.
Zwist: It was a remarkable piece of craftsmanship. I prepared it with great care.
Dr. Okorie: You're talking about cryptomancy.
Zwist: Crypwhat? I'm talking about writing, though not writing the way you'd understand it. I was a promising young writer, and my efforts paid dividends for the client. I painted more and more signs for them, pouring everything I knew into them, and within a month there wasn't another baker in Amstetten. Within a year, they were breadmaker to kings and czars.
Dr. Okorie: Making bread, huh.
Zwist: Yes.
Dr. Okorie: Dough.
Zwist: Yes, thank you, the metaphor has been tired for nearly a century, you're not adding anything to it now.
Dr. Okorie: Sorry. You were about to get to the instructive part about how mismanagement ruined the effect?
Silence on recording.
Dr. Okorie: We get a lot of monologuers in my business. You learn to recognize patterns.
Zwist: Good, pattern recognition will be important later. I'll make my point: some man who knew more about accounting than art began to wonder why every new franchise location required the services of some strange old painter from some obscure Austrian workshop.
They stopped calling me, and started knocking off copies of my sign with their own inferior materials. Even without the inaugural magic I painted into the bricks of each bakery, the thing had a power all its own… but it was not strong enough to withstand long decades of ≡ progressive meddling in the name of 'improvement'. The work was diffused, abstracted, abstrused, and in the end, disabled entirely. By the time they had a worldwide empire, they also had a dead duck product. Without my work to advertise their dubious virtues, they were nothing.
Silence on recording.
Zwist: It was never very good bread.
Dr. Okorie: Solid ending.
Zwist: I hear a few of the older bakeries stayed in business. Something of my Writing lingers in the brickwork, and they still draw in the tourists. So I hear.
Dr. Okorie: When did all this happen? You made signs in Austria, but also in Canada? Did you emigrate after the war, or…?
Zwist: Yes, the Thirty Years' War. I made the first sign in 1637, when I was fifteen.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Okorie: Back up. That would make you… three hundred and forty-six years old.
Zwist: Three hundred forty-five.
Dr. Okorie: Why are half the people I work with immortal?
Zwist: Pardon?
Dr. Okorie: Nothing. It's just… nothing.
Zwist: We all have our burdens to bear.
Dr. Okorie: In any case, you're saying that you can use writing and thaumatology in order to… Zwist: Create words of power. Or words of poison.
Dr. Okorie: And you can use that to… help the Foundation?
Zwist: I can craft you a phrase like the one I made for the bakers, something to… distract the world at large, make them not see you for who you are, so long as you show the sign.
Dr. Okorie: You can just… write the words? And people will ignore us?
Zwist: Essentially. At the very least, you will be able to move about unharrassed.
Dr. Okorie: You'll forgive me if I'm skeptical.
Zwist: I would never forgive you if you weren't. But if it's proof you want, read this.
Sound of paper unfurling.
Dr. Okorie: …what is…?
Zwist: Try moving your apple arm.
Silence on recording, followed by a startled yelp from Dr. Okorie.
Dr. Okorie: The hell did you do to me?!
Zwist: I conflated the concepts of 'apple' and 'right'.
Dr. Okorie: Well, un-conflate them!
Sound of paper being handled.
Dr. Okorie: Okay, so it works. But how does it work? You're using the same words the rest of ≡ us use, and you're doing something different with them.
Zwist: Yes, that's called 'writing'.
Dr. Okorie: Don't be coy! Your writing is very obviously different.
Zwist: Writing is writing. Smuggling concepts out of your head and into someone else's through the medium of words. A good writer can make the reader see, feel, even believe anything.
Dr. Okorie: That's lovely, but most writers aren't magicians. Even the really good ones are working within established parameters.
Zwist: No, they aren't. The really good ones use those parameters as a dartboard. There are underlying grammars defining the relationship of every word in every language, and when you master them, you can make them behave very strangely indeed, and to terrific effect. In the hands of a master, grammar can work even better when it's broken! I'm merely aware of a deeper layer, an under-underlying grammar, and applying the same principles to it.
Dr. Okorie: You've lost me again.
Zwist: We're both overcomplicating things, so I'll put it this way instead: whether you're a writer or a Writer, the progression is identical. You learn the system, know it inside and out, and then you subvert it. You learn the rules, then learn how to break them.
Dr. Okorie: Can you explain the rules which… prevent normal writing from becoming anomalous? And how to break those rules?
Zwist: Yes!
Dr. Okorie: When do we start?
Zwist: We don't. I said I can. Under no circumstances will I do it. I have trained apprentices before, a mere handful, and it hasn't always worked out the way I'd like. I know too much about your Foundation to want to hand you the keys to this particular thought-vehicle, particularly if you've been such poor neighbours that the locals no longer vouch for you. I know what your enemies say you are, and in many ways they aren't far wrong… I've escaped enough jackbooted stormtroopers to say that with confidence. I am going to help you with this, nevertheless. You deserve the chance to improve your moral backbone, and Crocker is certainly more demagogue than democrat. I will not enable you to replicate the effects afterward, however. A line must be drawn.
Dr. Okorie: What precisely will your help entail, then?
Zwist: I married the concept of 'quality' to the concept of this bakery. I will divorce the concept of 'the Foundation' from… well, from whatever is chosen.
Dr. Okorie: Would an initialism work?
Zwist: More adaptable than an acronym, certainly. What do you have in mind?
Dr. Okorie: Well, as you might be aware, we call ourselves the SCP Found— Zwist laughs.
Dr. Okorie: What?
Zwist: Nothing, nothing. Yes, I have heard that. This is going to work out splendidly.
One week after this meeting, Zwist presented Dr. Okorie with an anomalous logo design for the nonexistent "Scout's Cargo Packing," and the chemical formula for an inoculant (later developed into Antimeme-001). As Zwist's dealings with Dr. Scout were at this time unknown to the Foundation at large, Dr. Okorie claimed to ≡ have captured these items during his supposed raid. A quorum of the Site Directors' Executive Committee of the Whole rejected the use of this untested thaumaturgy, but in light of the Foundation's vastly reduced budget and the absence of safer solutions, they were overruled by the O5 Council. The logo was printed on moving vans under Zwist's covert direction, and the Foundation's first Panopticon Crisis-era front company was commissioned. Its cover as a courier service allowed for the transport of personnel and materials across North America without interference from various world governments, allowing for the limited re-establishment of supply lines between various Sites across the Continental United States, Canada, Mexico and Central America.
OSAT was ejected from Camp Ipperwash, and Dr. Scout was able to return to Site-43; Dr. Euler became a consultant for Scout's Cargo Packing, as he was very eager to examine Zwist's work and attempt to decipher it. With the Crisis by no means over, extending this cryptomantic umbrella over the entirety of the Foundation was designated an Alpha-One priority. That project therefore became, by default, SCP-001.
SCP-001, first iteration (civilian period photograph).
Addendum 001-2, Creation of the Frontispiece: In May of 1968, a collision along Route 66 in the central United States rendered an instance of Zwist's work unusable. He had stressed to Dr. Okorie that the products of his Writing were dangerous if damaged, and Dr. Okorie therefore personally supervised the acroamatic abatement of such instances whenever accidents occurred.
This particular instance and its handlers — Dr. Euler among them — were stopped at the Canadian border by enemy agents. The ensuing incident is recounted by Dr. Euler in his testimony excerpted below.
Hide Log 001-4 Agent Kirkhope: Beginning recording. Agent Louis Kirkhope acting as interrogator in the matter of a skirmish at the Canadian border between the Foundation and an… unknown faction.
Dr. Euler: They're CIA, I'm telling you.
Agent Kirkhope: State your name, occupation, and security clearance for the record, please.
Dr. Euler: For the love of— Arik Euler, approved thaumatologist, 001/4.
Agent Kirkhope: You may begin your testimony at any time, Doctor.
Dr. Euler: It was about noon when we were going to cross over into Canada. We were told ≡ that our transport was going to get extra screening, just to make sure we weren't taking contraband into the country. It's a hazard we knew we were going to run into with the courier cover. But on the other side, we found… well, I'm just going to say it again, they were fucking CIA Agents.
Agent Kirkhope: How could you tell?
Dr. Euler: There was a woman leading them, with a very distinctive haircut. Cropped very short, sort of a pompadour, almost? I thought she was a man at first, but then she spoke.
Brown hair, about five-foot-two, brown eyes— Dr. Noble: Scar on her upper lip? Insisted on being addressed as "Doctor" as opposed to "Agent"?
Dr. Euler: Yes. Her lip looked like it had been bitten by something. I'd recognized her from the files we were given. It was— Agent Kirkhope: Elizabeth Crocker. If she has a doctorate, we've not located it.
Dr. Euler: After the bags were put over our heads, we were driven somewhere remote — still over the border, I knew that much. Didn't go back over the bridge. When the bags came off, it was night, and they were… preparing something. They had gotten a van that looked like ours and had rammed it into a tree, getting ready to set it on fire. They were already loading men into it to make it look like we had died in a crash.
…I panicked. I don't know if it was the bags, or the fire, or the way those agents marched, but it was… too much for me.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Euler: It's lucky American anti-thaumic measures are decades behind, or else I may not have gotten out.
Agent Kirkhope: What did you do, exactly?
Dr. Euler: I was handcuffed. My thaumatology is a sort of… I don't want to call it alchemy, but it's essentially magical chemistry. I can take things, solid things, and reduce them to their base components. I can also… repurpose them. The handcuffs I was wearing, for instance.
Steel. Easy to take the iron out and leave highly brittle carbon in its place, while infusing my bones with the metal for a bit of reinforcement. So, that's what I did. And then I just… tried to do the same thing, to everything around me.
Agent Kirkhope: To what effect?
Dr. Euler: I knew Crocker herself was a mage, but… she was stronger than I thought. She managed to confound my rites, somewhat. Instead of splitting molecules, they were reformed into something new. She made it rain using magic that's supposed to make it easier to start fires.
I… I thought I was going to die. That we were all going to die. But one of my rites went… wild, in a way. Hit the Frontispiece, on the side of the van, and reduced it.
Agent Kirkhope: I beg your pardon?
Dr. Euler: That's what I've been calling the… thing, hidden in our acronym. The Frontispiece.
The first thing anyone sees of us, and hopefully the last thing they think of when it comes to us. I hit the Frontispiece — the SCP initialism — and reduced it. In that reduction, I saw… well it might be better if I just showed you. Can I borrow a pen?
Agent Kirkhope: One moment.
Sound of scratching as Dr. Euler draws an unusual pattern on a piece of paper.
Agent Kirkhope: Taht si tahw? Tahw, tiaw? Gnineppah s'tahw?! Kcuf eht tahw?!
14 ≡ Dr. Euler: Don't be alarmed, you're just speaking backwards. Let me just… Further scribbling sounds.
Dr. Euler: And look at that.
Agent Kirkhope: What the fuck was that?! It… it felt like it was inside my head!
Dr. Euler: It was. Zwist lied — there aren't any secret grammars to his writing. There are patterns. Patterns arcane and anomalous, while simultaneously completely natural.
Dr. Euler taps the paper.
Dr. Euler: This was embedded in the 'r' in the word 'Cargo'. I believe its original intent was… to reverse attention. But I've adapted it to reverse speech.
Agent Kirkhope: That explains how Crocker saw through it. She's a cryptomancer — her thaumatology deals in codes and hidden patterns. She's probably at least partially immune to Zwist's work. But… how did you escape?
Dr. Euler: In the "S" in "Scout's", there was a pattern — I won't draw it here, don't worry — that aided in miscommunication. I isolated it, and imposed that pattern on the eyes of every CIA agent who was there.
In a way, I imitated Migdal Bavel.
Agent Kirkhope: I… don't follow.
Dr. Euler: Let me put it a bit more plainly, then. Where do we get the word 'babble' from?
Agent Kirkhope: Dear god.
Dr. Euler: We got in their car and drove back here, to 43.
Agent Kirkhope: Matches up with the testimony from the others. This… reduction process you use. How much knowledge do you retain from it, when you use it on pen and paper?
Dr. Euler: They did… experiments on me, when I was inducted into the Foundation. Maybe three pages of material, double-spaced. But it fades — that pattern I drew, and the counteragent, is the last of it.
Agent Kirkhope: Could you do it again? Write it down as it comes to you?
Dr. Euler: …don't tell me you mean to replicate the work. What Zwist does is… impossibly complex. I get a migraine just thinking about it.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Euler: But tell me… how does acroamatic abatement process textual anomalies?
The destruction of all non-functioning instances was halted in order to subject them to more rigorous investigation. Dr. Euler formed the Mimesis and Cryptomancy Research Group with acroamatic abatement specialists Dr. Okorie and Dr. Ilse Reynders. As the latter suffered from a condition which did not permit her to leave a sealed chamber at Site-43, communicating only through its single window, O5 Command re-assigned Dr. Euler to that facility.
It was quickly determined that, contrary to Zwist's warnings, examples of his Writing did not become universally fatal when damaged; their cognitocatalytic qualities instead took on new, though admittedly mostly undesirable, attributes. Dr. Euler began breaking down each damaged instance via thaumaturgy, with the ultimate aim of producing further examples for more varied purposes. Dr. Reynders designed microscopy equipment capable of examining the decomposed cryptomancy at the atomic level, while Dr. Okorie researched remote reading and the collective ≡ SCP-001 instance, damaged.
unconscious in order to better understand how Zwist's powers acted so effectively on human communication.
Meanwhile, what remained of the Foundation's facilities in the Soviet Union was slowly being destroyed. The GRU Psychotronics division's inexperience with, or outright apathy toward Foundation containment methods resulted in over seventy anomalies breaching within Soviet territories during the 1960s. This culminated in June of 1968 with the Soviets raiding an isolated, abandoned Biological Containment Site near Lake Baikal, unleashing an anomalous mutagenic virus resulting in [DATA EXPUNGED]. This is widely considered one of the most disastrous events of the Panopticon Crisis, and it resulted in Leonid Brezhnev issuing the order to surrender all remaining Foundation facilities. Threatened with overwhelming force, Overwatch reluctantly agreed; a hurried evacuation commenced.
A shipping container labelled with the insignia of a former Foundation front company was discovered by operatives embedded in the Port of Los Angeles on July 2, 1968, containing a badly-beaten but still alive Site- 03 Director Abrasha Sokolsky. The following note was pinned to his necktie: Can you feel the noose yet?
Unbeknownst to the Soviets, Site-120 in Częstochowa, Poland remained operational. Personnel had evacuated into the extradimensional Free Port of Esterberg, accessible via a Way within Site-120 ten days prior to Soviet occupation. In the process, they removed all documentation and took with them whatever anomalies were feasible to contain within a pocket dimension.
Brezhnev's orders would have resulted in the deaths of dozens of biological and/or sapient anomalies if not for the actions of Anna Wójcik, a Site-120 thaumaturge. Wójcik was able to curry favour with the Kapuza Bazyliszka, a Polish sect of the Serpent's Hand whose views ran counter to Soviet interests. The Kapuza mobilized allied cells across the USSR to care for the isolated anomalies and maintain containment where necessary. While inevitably many items were still lost, Europe and Asia were spared an undoubtedly cataclysmic mass containment failure due to the efforts of the Kapuza Bazyliszka and Wójcik. This uncharacteristic cooperation is credited as a major reason for the warmer relations between the Foundation and the anomalous community in Eastern Europe today as compared with the rest of the world.
It was a scientific breakthrough in late July of 1968, however, which was to permanently alter the course of the Panopticon Crisis.
Hide Log 001-5 Dr. Okorie: Where are we at with the thaumatology, Erik?
Dr. Euler: I think… I think I've just about worked it out. I've never tried disintegrating something in such a targeted manner, you understand; it's normally enough just to destroy a thing. Destroying it in such a way that you can still see how it was originally put together, well, that's tricky.
Dr. Okorie: The monitoring equipment is built, though it isn't quite what we'd hoped for. The whole supply chain is in ruins, and Ilse's specifications were exacting… but. We've done the research, and I think I know what to look for. It's going to be delicate at first, but we can make it work.
Dr. Okorie sighs.
Dr. Okorie: Because we have no choice.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Okorie: You've been awfully quiet, Ilse.
15 ≡ Dr. Ilse Reynders, c. 1968.
Dr. Reynders: I don't talk when I don't have anything to say. That's time I could spend listening, and thinking.
Dr. Euler: What are you thinking about?
Dr. Reynders: I'm thinking about Scout's Cargo Packing. Why did he call it that? Why was that the sign he chose to work with?
Dr. Okorie: Scout's his nemesis, they've been playing cat and mouse for decades. It's a joke at the Director's expense.
Dr. Reynders: Is it? Did he need to use the SCP acronym to make that joke?
Dr. Okorie: I've always thought the acronym was already a joke. It can't really stand for "Secure, Contain, Protect," that's gibberish as a name. It doesn't stand for anything, just like "Scout's Cargo Packing" doesn't mean anything. Perfect fit.
Dr. Reynders: But is that the simplest possible explanation?
Dr. Euler: What could be simpler?
Dr. Reynders: Something in the words themselves made that specific string of characters work better for his purposes. The joke was just a blind, to make it seem like there was no deeper reasoning.
Dr. Okorie: Zwist is older than Canada, Ilse. His mind is a labyrinth, you're not gonna get far trying to parse his… underlying mental grammar.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Reynders: Grammar. It's all about grammar, isn't it? This is a man who can infect grammar with diseases. There's obviously a scientific, or thaumatological, basis for all that, but… what if there's also a grammatical one?
Dr. Okorie: Go on.
Dr. Reynders: What if he's not just exploiting unnatural… no. What if he's not just employing supernatural mechanisms, but also linguistic mechanisms? What if his cryptomancy works because it's magic and because it exploits the rules of language?
Dr. Reynders gasps. She pounds her forehead with the palm of one hand.
Dr. Reynders: Ohhh, potverdorie.
Dr. Okorie: Pot what?
Dr. Euler: She's cursing. Mildly.
Dr. Reynders: I'm right, I'm right, of course I'm right. It's so obvious.
Dr. Euler: Make it obvious for us, too?
Dr. Reynders: The string of characters might be important, but it's the acronym he's exploiting. And oh, good lord, we can exploit it too. We're going to do incredible things, gentlemen.
Dr. Okorie: Ils— Dr. Reynders: SCP. For decades we've already been… how did we get that lucky? And how ≡ Simpson Centre for Policy signage.
did I miss it?! I have a degree in literary studies, I should have seen this right away. SCP!
Dr. Reynders laughs.
Dr. Reynders: More words in English start with those three letters than with any others!
Dr. Reynders theorized that this apparent accident of grammar had aided the construction of Zwist's cryptomancy, and might allow for far more comprehensive applications once the field of study was better understood. If the Scout's Cargo Packing emblem did in fact rely on the SCP acronym, then the Foundation would not necessarily need to create many new fronts to alleviate its international pressure — the thaumaturgic processes functioning within the existing sign could, in theory, be transferred to another without completely understanding the means by which Zwist had set them in motion. The Site Directors' Executive Committee of the Whole recommended that work on this stop-gap measure be matched with a parallel program of research into the actual origins of Zwist's cryptomancy. The following day, after a mass containment breach occurred at Area-97 due to poorly-maintained facilities, the O5 Council again overrode their concerns.
Though the practice had fallen out of favour in the post-war period, many early front organizations had already employed the SCP acronym in their titles for purposes of deniability. Site-43 itself had immediate access to two of these: Lake Huron Supply, Control and Purification and the Simpson Centre for Policy. As these fronts still had public-facing functions, however, Dr. Scout would not release them for thamaturgic experimentation until the working theory was proven correct.
In August, the Foundation lost contact with Regional Command in South Africa. Agent Crocker had infiltrated Site-52 in Johannesburg some years prior under the alias "Dr. Gabrielle Fish," and in that time had been inciting distrust between white and black personnel throughout the region. This culminated in Regional Director Rupert Jansen issuing an ultimatum on 16 August 1968 that all non-white Foundation personnel be removed from the country immediately, or else face execution. This was only possible due to the fact that Dr. Anje Verhoten, the previous Regional Commander, had been de facto removed from her position by way of being stranded with her family in the central United States by the 1967 radio silence order.
Crocker's manipulations led to the loss of over two hundred members Foundation personnel, along with the last Site south of the Congo. The only active facility in Africa until the end of the Panopticon Crisis would be Site-27 in Tanzania, presumably overlooked due to its isolated location and the low-risk anomalies contained within. Crocker executed Jansen, then proceeded to give the Fouché administration access to anomalies they would use to attempt to silence the anti-Apartheid movement gaining traction throughout the nation. Jansen's freeze-dried but thawing corpse was discovered by a routine patrol of the Site-19 interdiction zone following these developments, a note in his jacket pocket: You're running out of continents.
On 09/03/1968 Drs. Euler and Okorie successfully isolated a series of stable, unidentified anomalous particles in the abatement residue from a Scout's Cargo Packing instance. Dr. Reynders' monitoring equipment had been so precisely tuned that the research group believed they should be capable of re-applying these particles to a new logo, potentially re-creating the effect with a different front organization. A meeting was held with Drs. Scout and Falkirk to develop potential candidates.
Hide Log 001-6 Dr. Okorie: Alright, first things first: existing orgs we can hollow out while we set up more permanent ones.
Dr. Reynders: If we ever have the funds to do that again, you mean.
Dr. Scout: Canadian Psychological Association.
16 17 ≡ Dr. Okorie: How is that S-C-P?
Dr. Scout: Société Canadienne de Psychologie. I could name a dozen other French-Canadian groups.
Dr. Falkirk: As if that matters. Got anything in English?
Dr. Reynders: Snap, crackle, pop.
All laugh.
Dr. Okorie: (singing) Kellogg's Rice Krispies!
Dr. Reynders: What?
Dr. Okorie: TV commercial.
Dr. Reynders: Wouldn't know.
Dr. Scout: There's the Social Credit Party in Alberta.
Dr. Falkirk: Good choice, they already act strangely.
Dr. Okorie: The SoCreds, or Albertans?
Dr. Falkirk: Yes.
Dr. Okorie: Okay.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Okorie: Wait, are we talking about buying these things, or seizing them?
Dr. Scout: We're not buying anything anymore, Izaak. I'm afraid we're talking about seizure, while we still possess the means to seize.
Dr. Okorie: Christ.
Dr. Euler: Well, let's be optimistic. Brainstorm a few new orgs.
Dr. Falkirk: Shanghai Cart-Pullers. Scottish College Professionals.
Dr. Okorie: Christ.
Dr. Scout: Skin Care Products. Shellfish Canners of Portsmouth. South Carolina… Penguins?
Shark P— no, that doesn't work. I don't know. These things write themselves.
Dr. Okorie: Maybe, but we need at least one really good one to start with. Our first test case; we can afford to fake up one company, surely. Preferably one that does something we actually need.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Euler: A consultancy firm, for managing logistics.
Dr. Reynders: We're listening.
Dr. Euler: Shell Construction Partnership.
Dr. Scout: Yes.
Dr. Okorie: Yes.
Dr. Falkirk: Dammit, yes.
On 09/15/1968, Dr. Euler broke down a fresh, undamaged instance of SCP-001 and with Dr. Okorie's assistance ≡ SCP-001 instance.
transferred the anomalous particles to signage for the Shell Construction Partnership. Class D personnel exposed to the new instance experienced disorientation and a lack of recognition of their surroundings; while the effect was nowhere near as strong as with the Scout's Cargo Packing emblem, the results were nevertheless extremely promising. (It was assumed, as would later be proven correct, that Zwist performed additional thaumaturgy during the application of his art which could not be replicated without his aid.) The company was put into full operation, and began managing the legal and materiel processes for the creation of new fronts utilizing the SCP initialism.
After acquiring numerous subcontractors and setting up separate offices in five major North American cities, the Shell Construction Partnership came under legal threat by the Royal Dutch Shell petroleum conglomerate. It is believed that Agent Crocker was responsible for alerting them to the front's existence. Shell asserted that the new company was guilty of serious copyright infringement. However, they proved unable to successfully execute their lawsuit due to persistent confusion, demotivation and even amnesia on the part of their legal counsel — particularly in preliminary hearings with the Partnership's own counsel, the hastily-empowered fictional law firm of Sloane, Corbin and Paiva — providing the ultimate proof that the research group's program of study was a promising one. Dr. Euler began studying the composition and behaviour of the anomalous particles in earnest, while Dr. Reynders conducted research into linguistic and paralinguistic theory. Dr. Okorie was further able to occlude the activities of the Simpson Centre for Policy and Lake Huron Supply, Control and Purification, but no further progress on this front was made in 1968. Zwist had determined that enemy action could not possibly be responsible for damaging the quantity of his Writing Dr.
Okorie had asked him to replace, surmising that the Foundation was now attempting to reverse-engineer his work; he therefore cut off all contact.
Months of intensive study followed, and on 02/17/1969, the research group submitted the following to the O5 Council.
Hide Log 001-7 RESEARCH FIELD PROPOSAL "Quantum Linguaphysics" Dr. Arik Euler Dr. Izaak Okorie Dr. Ilse Reynders Summary: Thousands of discrete acroamatic abatement processes carried out upon instances of a complex piece of cryptomancy confiscated from PoI-382, unaligned thaumatologist Thilo Zwist, have revealed an entire new field of scientific study. By thaumatologically breaking these instances down at the atomic level, and examining the results, we have been able to discover a particle basis for anomalous semantic interference.
When all non-anomalous material was discarded, what remained was five new anomalous particles in a family we have termed 'linguanons'. Extensive experimentation has identified them as: Phonemeons, which affect the irreducible building blocks of meaning, the quantum of language; Morphemeons, which alter words; Syntaxions, which strengthen, weaken or detach the 'glue' binding words into meaningful concepts; Semantions, which inflect the meaning of words to suit context; Orthons, which connect symbols to concepts.
It is our belief that PoI-382 and his historical colleagues produced these particles thaumaturgically; it is ≡ our further belief that, given sufficient time and resources, the process can be replicated.
The decomposition of anomalous sentences produces syntaxions and semantions as a byproduct.
Sentences emit semantions when interacting with other sentences. The decomposition of anomalous individual words produces phonemeons, the base linguanon unit. Words are bound into sentences through strategic bombardment by orthons. The method of producing orthons is unclear; we are, therefore, limited to the use of whatever orthons can be salvaged from existing examples of PoI-382's work. Developing rigorous techniques for applying these processes will allow us to replicate, though initially in a crude manner, his cryptomantic effects.
The emblem PoI-382 created for "Scout's Cargo Packing," which generates an impenetrable aura of secrecy around it, is an excellent case subject for describing the effects of each particle. We separated all varieties of linguanon save one from an instance of the sign, and observed its effects on observers.
With only the phonemeons present, the sign gave observers an inexplicable sense of "something [being] off." The morphemeons caused observers to forget the meanings of the words "Scout's," "Cargo," and ≡ SCP-001 instance.
"Packing." The syntaxions made the sign immensely fascinating. The semantions caused observers to associate the words "Scout's," "Cargo," and "Packaging" with concepts related to secrecy or stealth. The orthons, most startlingly, revealed the existence of the SCP Foundation to observers! Each particle introduced a new nuance into the existing symbology of the English language words imprinted on the sign, working in concert to produce the effacing effect.
Proposal: Based on these findings, we assert the need for a comprehensive schedule of research into what we are calling QUANTUM LINGUAPHYSICS. The end goal of this schedule is the achievement of what we are calling PRAGMATICS, complete mastery over the field of cryptomancy — including the artificial production of each particle, orthons in particular. To demonstrate the attainment of that goal, we commit to the eventual production of an overarching thaumaturgic shield for all SCP Foundation activities, tentatively named THE FRONTISPIECE. Working in concert with linguanon-saturated imagery, this measure should permanently defuse the present geopolitical crisis.
Executive Summary: Quantum linguaphysics will allow the SCP Foundation to redefine the relationship between actual and perceptual reality.
The Site Directors' Executive Council of the Whole strenuously objected to this project on the basis of its potential to injure the combined cognition of mankind. The research group acknowledged this point in private correspondence with Site-01. The O5 Council's response was to suspend all meetings of the Executive Council until the conclusion of the Panopticon Crisis, at which point they would be free to again air their concerns.
Crocker’s campaign against the Foundation continued. In early February, whilst the Foundation was attempting to negotiate a new treaty with the People’s Republic of China, she used cryptomancy to instil a sense of severe paranoia in Chairman Mao Zedong (who had made the unusual decision to attend the talks in person). Mao specifically believed that the proxy for O5-10, Dr. Amity Noble, was wearing recording equipment broadcasting to western intelligence-gathering bases. The talks rapidly deteriorated until Mao ordered the People's Liberation Army to forcibly eject the Foundation representatives. While Dr. Noble was able to escape unharmed, this event left the Foundation without any foothold in China until after the end of the Cold War.
Dr. Noble discovered a note in her personal effects upon arriving safely at Site-01: Five minutes to midnight.
Crocker went on to infiltrate Site-95 for a period of two months. She alerted President Nixon to its existence, and Nixon ordered the US Army to storm and occupy the facility for the sake of national security. It is believed that USGOV intended to use Site-95 to falsify photographic evidence in the event that the Apollo program proved fruitless. Ultimately, Apollos 9-12, 14-17, and 19 were all successful in their missions to the moon, with Apollo 13 famously suffering a mechanical error and Apollo 18 [REDACTED], rendering the occupation moot.
Site-95 would only be ceded back to the Foundation in November of 2001.
As the urgency of the Frontispiece project mounted, Drs. Euler, Okorie and Reynders began confronting the reality of what they were about to do. It became apparent that only direct contact with, and alteration of, the collective human consciousness would be able to effect the changes required to make the Frontispiece operative. Having intensively studied the budding field of noetics via the works of chemist Vladimir Vernadsky and philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Dr. Okorie declared the experiment technically possible. Troubled by the moral implications and desiring to commit their reasoning to posterity, however, each doctor typed a single note to be opened only when the full history of this event might finally be written.
Hide Log 001-8 FROM THE DESK OF ILSE REYNDERS 18 ≡ Communication.
It's the only way I interact with the world. Well, that's not strictly true, but the only thing I can see, the only thing that feels completely real, is the effect my words have on the people who come to my window. The looks on their faces. The way they respond. It's the closest thing to human contact I've had in… I hardly remember how long.
This is my chance to reach out and touch the entire human race. That makes this project very, very important to me, personally.
Because if that's the reason I'm doing it, I have to stop. This can't be about me.
It has to be about everyone else, the three and a half billion people on the other side of my window.
If I'm going to send them all a message, it has to be a meaningful one.
Of course, there's already something poetic about contacting our entire species all at once, no matter the context or the content… I wish I could tell the difference between my reasoning and my rationalizing.
FROM THE DESK OF IZAAK OKORIE Falkirk used to cycle his insults, but he hasn't called me anything new in months. It's "witch doctor" this and "witch doctor" that, day after day. I used to wonder why they let him stay here, with his attitude… and then they promoted him to O5 liaison, and I started wondering if that attitude is the entire reason they keep him around. He doesn't trust anyone who isn't like him. He's close-minded and mean-spirited, he's the closest thing we have to Elizabeth Crocker at Site-43. Is Overwatch hedging their bets? Waiting to see if he's right not to trust me, and Euler, and the communists and the Cubans and the Hungarians and anyone else who hasn't had a few decades to settle into the status quo?
Are we fascists? Because we're certainly not bleeding-hearts. Do we even deserve to win this fight?
All this speculation popped into my head a few weeks ago, and I've been trying to figure out why it never occurred to me before. Then I looked over the specs for Project FRONTISPIECE, and I thought about what we were planning to do, and… …what if Falkirk is right? What if Crocker's right?
They aren't.
I just wish I knew that they were fully, completely, absolutely and definitely wrong.
FROM THE DESK OF ARIK EULER I'm starting to have doubts. Why didn't I have them from the start?
This thing we're doing is so close, now, I can see its vast and terrible shape. The pragmatics, the Pragmatics are so well-sorted that I can even begin considering it abstractly. So, I have been.
That was a mistake.
Abstractly, I am reminded of my family back in Germany. The ones who aren't really there anymore. I wonder if they would be proud of the work I'm doing, or if they would have recognized it as… something else. Would they see this the way I see it — the way I want to see it — as an act in the service of a greater good, or would they see straight through that tired cliché? Would they see melll il fI: i i i il i ≡ SCP-001 instance.
baldly and plainly for what I am: a scientist in an isolated camp, preparing to No. I refuse to reductio ad Hitlerum myself. But the question remains: why am I doing this? Are my motives pure?
…let's see. Yes or no: are you doing this just to see if you can?
NO.
Is it safe?
No. I don't know.
Can we afford to wait for a safer solution?
I don't know. There's no way to be sure.
Would you do this if a safer solution had already presented itself?
No.
Will you feel guilty about it, in the end?
Yes.
But I'm going to do it anyway, aren't I? And once it's been done, Izaak and Ilse and I will be the only people alive who know precisely how to do it again. Will they let us put this genie back in its bottle?
Will we let them rush us along the easy road again? Do we even have the leverage to stop them from doing so?
What if we've given them the tools to take that choice away from us?
And is it enough to do this thing once, only once, and never more? Is that how we forgive ourselves?
NO. We don't forgive ourselves. We refuse to. There's no making this right. The end is justified, but the means are not. Even though there are no other means. There is only one choice, and it's the wrong one, and we have to make it anyway.
Afterward… when we've ensured that there will be an afterward… each of us will be a living reminder that we need to do much, much better.
The brutality of Crocker's methods continued to increase. She began killing Foundation personnel indiscriminately, using cryptomantic runes to induce targeted cardiac arrests or aneurysms; the runes would then dissipate before causing collateral damage. In May of 1969, Crocker used one of the first known instances of an auditory cryptomantic agent (embedded in a recording of The Beatles' "I Wanna Hold Your Hand") to kill ten members of Foundation personnel meeting in a safe house in Edinburgh, Scotland.
While ignorant of the Foundation's reverse-engineering of the Frontispiece, Zwist had supplied a series of single- use counteragents to Crocker’s cryptomantic assaults.
These typically took the form of text and/or imagery which appeared at first glance to be non-anomalous and could easily be concealed until needed. These were now pressed into service, and demand very quickly outpaced supply.
The research group was now producing linguanons in vast quantities, including a very small supply of orthons.
The Shell Construction Partnership oversaw and underwrote the creation of nineteen functioning front 19 ≡ companies, primarily those which could be made financially self-sustaining; the Foundation's overall program of SCP research was reduced by nearly forty percent to support the startup costs. While these organizations were not fully immune from persecution, as they would be when the larger work was complete, their cryptomancy-empowered logos were sufficiently disorienting to enemy agents to supply a field advantage to Foundation operatives worldwide.
This chain of events came to a head when Crocker, leading a squadron of OSAT agents, commandeered a Foundation vehicle and used it to infiltrate Site-43 on 07/04/1969.
Hide Log 001-9 17:15 | Topside cameras show an armoured truck labelled with the "Strauss Contract Policing" logo entering Camp Ipperwash. No such vehicle is expected.
Strauss Contract Policing (civilian period photograph).
17:20 | Agent Crocker exits the truck, and opens the rear door. One dozen armed RCMP officers emerge.
17:21 | Dr. Scout orders the topside elevator deactivated.
17:22 | Agent Crocker and her officers approach the building housing the topside elevator.
Two armed agents are waiting for them to either side of the door. Agent Crocker knocks on it.
17:23 | After a moment's hesitation, one of the agents opens the door. Agent Crocker enters; she is audibly humming. Dr. Scout orders the audio feed terminated.
17:24 | The agents open the doors to the elevator shaft. The RCMP officers prepare rappelling equipment.
17:28 | The officers begin rappelling into the elevator shaft. Chief Strauss reports that STF Alpha-43 ("Strong and Free") has the lower doors covered.
17:29 | Camera technicians in Operations Control are rendered blind through unknown means.
17:30 | Replacement camera technicians report that the lower exit from Acroamatic Abatement Facility AAF-A, leading to a series of caves beneath the Site, has been breached.
Chief Strauss orders STF Beta- 43 ("Back Door Men") to engage possible intruders. He receives no reply.
17:32 | RCMP agents and Agent Crocker have reached the elevator car sitting at the bottom ≡ of its shaft. Dr. Scout orders the elevator activated and returned topside. The elevator technician's console flashes; he turns to the nearest agent, seizes his firearm, and opens fire on Dr. Scout. Dr. Scout ducks out of sight.
17:33 | As a firefight ensues in Operations Control between hypnotized and unaffected agents, a second team of RCMP officers arrives from the Acroamatic Abatement Section.
MTF Alpha-43 engage them.
17:34 | One RCMP officer places a device against a wall-mounted radio port. Two seconds of loud, human humming fill the corridor before the automatic safeguards terminate it. MTF Alpha-43 fall unconscious to a man.
17:35 | The second RCMP team opens the elevator doors, and helps Agent Crocker and the first team to enter the Site proper via the elevator's hatch.
17:36 | Hypnotized agents in Operations Control are neutralized. Dr. Scout remains unharmed.
17:37 | Agent Crocker and her officers enter Operations Control. She whistles a brief, unidentified tune; the surviving security guards turn to point their weapons at Dr. Scout. A conversation ensues.
Crocker: Time?
OSAT Officer: Twenty-two minutes.
Crocker: We'll have to do better at Site-19.
Dr. Scout: Welcome to Canada, Betty.
Crocker: Didn't exactly roll out the mat.
She examines the fallen agents.
Crocker: Or did you?
Dr. Scout: You didn't make an appointment.
Crocker: You made it for me, the minute you decided to pervert the Writing.
Dr. Scout: Referring to…?
Crocker: You know damn well what it's referring to. You took what was ours, and you tried to make it yours. I've read your files. I know what you're planning.
Dr. Scout: It's not like you left us much of a choice.
Crocker: It's not like you took long deciding. Power at any price, right?
Dr. Scout: Did you think we'd just roll over and die?
Crocker: No, I think I judged your lack of moral fibre quite precisely.
(Crocker unholsters a pistol and points it at Dr. Scout.) Crocker: Kindly introduce me to Drs. Euler, Okorie and Reynders. We're going to burn everything you have on this "Frontispiece," and then I'm going to burn everyone who knows about it.
Dr. Scout: What makes you think they're here?
Silence on recording.
Crocker: You're kidding. Reynders can't even leave!
≡ Dr. Scout: She can't do magic, either. She was strictly theory.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Scout: You've been reading our files, you say? The ones you got from that Strauss Contract Policing van you stole?
Crocker sighs.
Crocker: You didn't, really, did you?
Dr. Scout: We already knew you could see through Zwist's cryptomancy.
Crocker: So you slapped a fake one on a van, knowing I'd think it was important, and stuck a pile of bogus files in there.
Dr. Scout: Drs. Euler and Okorie are already at Site-01. We didn't think you'd do nearly so well breaching there, but we also didn't really want to ch— Crocker: Silence, Canadian Prick.
Crocker pulls back the hammer on her pistol.
Crocker: The next few minutes should still set your bosses back plenty. And once I'm done with you, I'll pay a visit to Dr. Reynders, see what happens if I put a few bullets in that win— Whistling fills the air. It resembles Haydn's Symphony No. 94, with subtle alterations. The RCMP officers, hypnotized agents and Dr. Scout freeze in place; Agent Crocker winces with obvious pain. PoI-382 is now standing in the entrance to Operations Control.
Crocker: Don't tell me you rappel.
Zwist: No, but I do spelunk. Your men don't watch their backs very well.
Crocker whistles. The RCMP officers spring to life; Dr. Scout and the agents remain frozen.
Crocker: Giving yourself up, schriftsteller?
Zwist: Relying on a gun, giftschreiber? You haven't heard that bit about the pen versus the sword?
Crocker points her pistol at Zwist.
Crocker: Let's see how far iron-age metaphors get you.
Zwist: You were never really with the program, were you? Your role is to be chaotic, and you can only interpret that as "be violent." Crocker: Order is violence, Thilo. You keep trying to fix things that should stay broken.
Zwist: Like the Foundation? You think the world will be a better place with them gone?
Crocker: I don't care about "better." It'll certainly be more interesting.
Zwist: There's nothing in the world less interesting than xenophobia.
Crocker laughs.
Crocker: Hatred makes the world go 'round. It's what the people want. I'm a populist by nature.
Zwist sighs.
Zwist: Shortsighted.
Crocker: It doesn't pay to dwell on the future, especially for you. Any last words?
≡ Zwist smiles.
Zwist: Yes. Stop Causing Problems.
Crocker drops her pistol. The RCMP agents lower their rifles momentarily, confused. As Crocker kneels to retrieve the pistol, Zwist steps back out of the room.
Audio begins playing over the Site intercom, a folk song of unknown origin.
She ain't no Apple Betty and she's certainly no doll She ain't no creature comfort and she ain't no fun at all She whistles low and don't you know they fall under her spell But gents, she ain't no agent and she's leadin' you to hell Crocker: Cute. Follow me, gentlemen.
Crocker heads for the door. The officers do not follow.
Crocker: Today?
Oh, Lizzie ain't right Lizzie ain't right You and me got no cause to fight, now Lizzie ain't right Lizzie ain't right So lay them rifles down Crocker looks for the source of the music. Each of the officers is now regarding her curiously.
First Officer: Who are you?
Crocker stares at him.
Crocker: Sergeant Elizabeth Crocker. Your comman— She missed the march to Leningrad and missed the Roman fall But in her heart she's wehrmacht and a sack-carryin' Gaul She's every empire's ending act and every vandal's pal So boys, you've gotta ask yourselves: is that your kind of gal?
Crocker: Your commanding officer.
The chorus begins again; Crocker locates a speaker on the ceiling, and fires into it with her pistol. The song stops.
Second Officer: My commanding officer is Sergeant Shine.
First Officer: I repeat, ma'am: who are you?
Crocker carefully turns to point her pistol at the nearest officer. All ten point their rifles at her.
Crocker: You know who I am.
She begins to hum. The first officer presses the muzzle of his rifle to her stomach. She stops humming.
First Officer: There aren't any women in OSAT.
Crocker: I'm from another division. Out west.
≡ SCP-001 instance (postcard).
Third Officer: There aren't any women in the RCMP!
First Officer: We need to take her topside, radio for instructions.
Crocker reaches down and presses a button on her belt radio. A sudden burst of static sends all ten officers reeling, clutching their heads. Crocker runs out of Operations Control before they recover.
Two minutes pass.
Zwist walks into Operations Control. The prone officers do not appear to notice him. He looks across the room at Dr. Scout, who is still frozen upright.
Zwist: Tell your doctors to keep up their work, Vivian.
Zwist pauses.
Zwist: Not the good work, but the necessary work. The good work comes after.
Zwist visibly whistles something too low for the camera to register, then leaves the room.
Precisely one minute later, Dr. Scout stirs.
A note was discovered in the topside elevator subsequent to these events: It's not whether you win or lose… The singer of the apparently anomalous song which removed Crocker's cryptomantic glamour was identified as famed folk musician Woodrow Wilson "Woody" Guthrie.
Agent Crocker disappeared from Site-43 after her defeat by Zwist, and remained at large. The Occult and Supernatural Activity Taskforce began an intensive procedural review to determine how she was able to infiltrate their ranks so effortlessly, issued a warrant for her capture, and withdrew from Camp Ipperwash after issuing an official apology to the Foundation. (Notably absent was any admission of wrongdoing on their part.) No further interference with the Frontispiece program was experienced, and Drs. Euler and Okorie prepared to implement it at Site-01 (with Dr. Reynders participating remotely via radio) by special dispensation from the O5 Council on 07/09/1969.
Hide Log 001-10 Dr. Okorie: Sorry you couldn't be here, Ilse.
Dr. Reynders: I'm used to it. You boys ready?
Dr. Euler: I think so.
Dr. Okorie: You think so? We're about to go poking around in the human collective unconscious. It would be great to know it isn't going to lobotomize everyone.
Dr. Reynders: To be fair, it can only lobotomize everyone who uses the Latin alphabet.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Reynders: Not helpful?
Silence on recording.
20 ≡ Dr. Reynders: We'll call that a respectful moment of silence for the death of scientific ethics.
Seven figures appear in the darkened observation chamber, sitting down behind the two-way glass. Dr. Euler clears his throat.
Dr. Euler: Thank you for joining us.
Dr. Euler gestures to the collection of covered white booths which fill the room.
Dr. Euler: There are twenty-six thaumatologists in this room, myself and Dr. Okorie included.
Twenty-four of them are sealed in soundproof cubicles, containing a table, a chair, and one piece of white cardstock printed with a single letter of the alphabet.
Drs. Okorie and Euler hold up their own cards, printed with the letters "Y" and "Z" respectively.
Dr. Euler: We will be conducting an experiment in chained remote reading today; if it works, we will be implementing Project FRONTISPIECE in its entirety. The first thaumatologist will focus on their letter; beyond keeping their mental safeguards down, that will be their only role today. The next thaumatologist will focus on their letter, but also remote read the first. The third thaumatologist will focus on their letter, and remote read the second — and, by extension, the first as well.
Dr. Okorie: As we move down the line, each thaumatologist will be receiving more and more mental signals, containing the thought patterns of more and more of their fellow readers via mental daisy chain. Through this nuanced network of noetic signals they will begin to glimpse the contours of the sphere of reason, our shared conceptual network.
Dr. Euler: We are essentially using thaumatologists to create a three-dimensional mental snapshot of the alphabet. We will be locating, in the human zeitgeist, the letters S, C, and P.
And with a significant expenditure of energy, informed by the collective unconscious of our hand-picked thaumatologic collective, we will be altering them.
Dr. Okorie: Dr. Euler will perform the most directed thaumaturgy, as only he will have a complete picture of the alphabet — by reading all twenty-five of us at once, and his own letter, and envisioning the mental web. I will assist him with my imperfect understanding.
Every thaumatologist involved in this project has been fortified with mnestics and mind- focusing agents, to help mitigate the severe psychological strain we expect to experience.
We have furthermore re-routed nearly the entire electrical system of this Site into a concentrated oriykalkos-core reactor; we need access to that much raw thaumic energy to make such an unprecedented intervention even remotely possible.
Dr. Reynders: Two points must be emphasized. First: this experiment is only feasible because of a lucky accident, a mistake made by the cryptomancer from whom we have co-opted these powers. I do not believe it will be possible for us to replicate this effect for the other letters of the alphabet, or to attempt any other alterations on this scale. I furthermore do not believe there will ever be sufficiently convincing reason to try, as the risk of permanently damaging worldwide human cognition is far too high.
Dr. Euler: We are agreed on this point.
Dr. Reynders: Even within the limits we have set, this experiment carries a non-zero risk of permanent knock-on effects for human thought.
Dr. Okorie: This point as well.
Dr. Reynders: Furthermore, nearly every trained remote reader presently employed by the SCP Foundation is in this room right now, and we imagine as many as three-quarters of them could be badly injured, possibly even killed, by the strain of holding this many mental images in their minds simultaneously. We believe this to be a once-in-a-lifetime act, even by the standards of our honoured guests, only justifiable as an alternative to the complete ≡ destruction of the Foundation and therefore the human race.
Silence on recording.
Dr. Euler: Do we proceed?
Silence on recording.
O5-1: Well?
O5-4: Aye.
O5-7: Aye.
O5-12: Aye.
O5-8: Yes.
O5-9: Aye.
O5-11: Aye.
O5-1: I vote aye as well. We have reached quorum. Gentlemen, good luck.
Dr. Euler nods.
Dr. Euler: Ich drücke die Daumen.
Dr. Okorie: What?
Dr. Reynders: Fingers crossed.
Dr. Euler: Thumbs pressed, but the meaning is the same. Let's hope our work translates more directly.
Though both Drs. Euler and Okorie were severely drained by the process, the Frontispiece was successfully applied. Within two weeks its obfuscatory effects could be observed worldwide, as fronts which had formerly offered only limited protection now thoroughly frustrated enemy agents and offered obvious succour to Foundation operatives. It was found that continuing to apply linguanons to each sign produced an amplified effect; the practice therefore continued, as did research into more sophisticated applications.
The creation of new front organizations took place at a feverish pace. The Foundation re-established its revenue streams, and was able to fully resume normal functions in the western world by June of 1970. By 1971, revenue had reached the point where ten new high-cost containment Sites could be built each year.
Governmental relations were essentially 'reset' during this period; each outgoing administration carried their anomie towards the Foundation with them, and the Frontispiece prevented the new arrivals from acquiring the leverage their predecessors had enjoyed. The Panopticon Crisis was essentially over.
21 ≡ SCP-001, selected examples in situ.
Dr. Euler took up permanent residence at Site-43 as the head of the new Mimesis and Cryptomancy Section, known today as Memetics and Countermemetics, and intensified the Foundation's investigation of anomalous writing and speech.
Addendum 001-3, Panopticon Crisis Aftermath: In August of 1971, an incident in the German Democratic Republic exposed a crucial vulnerability in the Frontispiece.
Hide Log 001-11 Dr. Scout is in his office when Dr. Euler suddenly enters, slamming open the door. Dr. Scout reaches under his desk for his service weapon, before recognizing Dr. Euler.
Dr. Scout: By all means rush on in. It's not as if we're still fearing for our lives here, Arik.
Dr. Euler: A-apologies, Director. But… we've run into a major complication with the Frontispiece.
Dr. Scout: What happened?
Dr. Euler: It failed at the Berlin Wall when we tried to extract some stranded agents. Damn border guards only read Cyrillic. Opened fire on the convoy.
Dr. Scout: Son of a bitch. Reynders was worried about that. Casualties?
Dr. Euler: Three wounded, one dead.
Dr. Scout: Dammit. We were supposed to expand into the Bloc before the end of the year. Do you think Crocker…?
Dr. Euler: I don't, actually. It's like she gave up completely the moment we put the Frontispiece in place.
Dr. Scout: That hardly seems likely, but I suppose it's not important at the moment. This new problem, on the other hand… reconvene the research group, and— Dr. Euler: I might already have a solution, actually. There's this artist in New York, he's rather ≡ popular back in America — for reasons I can't fathom. I figured there might be something more to it, so I reduced his work.
Dr. Scout: Just because you can't see the appeal in an artist doesn't mean he's exerting mind control, Arik.
Dr. Euler: No, but… In his paintings and photographs, I found the same kind of alterations between phonemeons and orthons that we exploited for the Frontispiece. The man has the gift, in both senses of the word.
Dr. Scout: You're telling me there's a giftschreiber working out of New York, as an artist?
Dr. Euler: I'm not sure he even knows what he is. But it made me realize: if he can use his gift with cryptomancy to make people enjoy his work, maybe we can repurpose it? I'm on a flight to New York in the morning, acting as an interested patron.
Dr. Scout: How will we be able to use art to conceal ourselves from the Russians? The Chinese? Even Japan's growing tired of us, at this point.
Dr. Euler: Well… we mainly conceal ourselves using logos, yes? And logos are a form of art — or so this man thinks. He parodies them, exploits iconography, and essentially tries to point out the absurdity of— Dr. Euler pauses.
Dr. Euler: Apparently his cryptomancy also includes inducing unprompted navel-gazing art critique.
Dr. Scout: This artist sounds… familiar. Do you have any of his work on you?
Dr. Euler: Oh, yes, right here.
Dr. Euler produces an image of a soup can from his briefcase and places it on Dr. Scout's desk. The Director glances at it, then rubs his face briskly.
Dr. Scout: Oh. Oh, no.
Despite Dr. Scout's objections, Dr. Euler was able to successfully commission PoI-922 to create an imagery- based version of SCP-001 compatible with all known languages — SCP-001-1. This action inadvertently brought PoI-922's attention to his own innate cryptomancy, of which he had previously been ignorant.
Following his death in 1987, members of PoI-922's workshop would form the artistic terrorist group "Are We Cool Yet?" using his cryptomantic art as the basis for their own interventions.
≡ SCP-001-1 instance.
In 1975 O5 Command ordered a sweeping overhaul of Foundation nomenclature, standardizing the SEKTANA Object Class system and discontinuing terms such as 'thaumatology', 'deific' and 'eigenweapon'. While several of these decisions have been revised or reversed in the intervening years, the terms 'Quantum Linguaphysics' and 'cryptomancy' remain discontinued, as does the 'imagomancy' performed by PoI-922. All three of these terms are now jointly covered by the blanket term memetics.
Elizabeth Crocker eventually resurfaced in Canada, having founded a think-tank known as the Righting History Institute under the assumed identity of conservative political scientist Ophelia Righting. The Righting Institute had been working with a giftschreiber front in order to disrupt the 1979 Canadian federal election. A team of thaumaturges under the direction of Dr. Okorie raided the Righting Institute and drove out the giftschreiber in late 1979, though no prisoners were taken and Crocker again escaped custody.
On January 1st, 1980, Dr. Okorie was found dead in his family home, apparently murdered by an unknown assailant. Three weeks later it was discovered that he had used thaumaturgy to capture audio of the events leading up to his death and imprint them on an EP vinyl record originally containing the Marvin Gaye album What's Going On.
Hide Log 001-12 The sound of a television playing Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve 1980 is heard for the first ten minutes of the recording. Approximately two seconds before the end of the New Year's countdown, a high-pitched screech is heard and the audio cuts out.
Three minutes later, a feminine voice is heard whistling. Dr. Okorie is the first to speak.
Dr. Okorie: Agent Crocker. You dyed your hair.
Crocker: It actually is Dr. Crocker, now. Had to pursue a degree just in case someone looked too hard into the Righting Institute. Which… you did.
Dr. Okorie: Been debating with Scout as to what on earth possessed you to try to steal an election unanimously. If it were fifty-two, sixty, even seventy percent, the Foundation wouldn't have looked.
Crocker: Not the most audacious thing we've done. But this was… a test run. To make sure it worked. There's an election in America next year, and we're going have an actor running against a peanut farmer.
Dr. Okorie: And I take it you want the actor to win?
22 ≡ Crocker: The man's put California back by a decade. Of course we want him to win.
Dr. Okorie: Why?
Crocker: Order is violence, and if there's anything that progressives love, it's order. Plus… you didn't hear it from me, but Ronnie's brain is going to look more like a sponge than a sweetmeat in a few years. Your Frontispiece won't work very well on someone with Alzheimer's.
Dr. Okorie: Good luck with that. We know how to fight you, now.
Crocker: Yes, thank god for that. Thilo's kept his tools to himself for far too long, it was good of you to liberate them for us.
Dr. Okorie: What?
Crocker laughs.
Crocker: That stroke of luck with "SCP" didn't seem a little too convenient? All three of the English language's most magical word-starters, lined up in a neat little row in your outrageously ponderous name. "The Foundation," now that was impersonal and frightening. I don't know how she convinced you all to change it; "The Secure, Contain, Protect Foundation"? So damn goofy!
Dr. Okorie: Who's "she"? You had someone on the inside? Decades ago?
Crocker: Until very, very recently. O5-7 says "hi," by the way, best of luck to her replacement. She's really enjoying retirement; lots of time to focus on her Writing, now.
Crocker laughs.
Crocker: Why the long face? Don't give us too much credit. We never dreamed it would pay off like this; we figured that when Thilo finally noticed that dangling initialism, and saw you running around zapping witnesses and abducting children and all that fun stuff, he'd use it to throttle you. We've wanted you out of the way for, well, for ever, and this looked like just the ticket. We never figured out how Thilo manages his real magic, the really big spiritus mundi- mucking stuff, or we'd have done it ourselves. We were so damn sure he'd take the bait, though… but, instead, he sat on it. For decades. Then he turned around and made nice with you! That occasioned a change of plans, I don't mind admitting.
Dr. Okorie: I thought we were the planners? I thought you were an anarchist, and a woman of the people. Or was that just another smokescreen?
Dr. Okorie laughs harshly.
Dr. Okorie: Oh, who am I talking to? The woman who helped shore up apartheid. You're about as liberal-minded as Margaret Thatcher.
Crocker: That really hurts, coming from the man who prodded every single live human being in the brain just ten years back. But sure, I'll admit, I played a fun little game with you. Once we knew for certain that poor, addled Thilo would rush to your defense in a moment of crisis, we had to manufacture one. Or two. Or dozens on dozens of them. I'm only sorry it took so long to prime the world to turn on you. Mmm, it was like Christmas when Seven handed me that list of all your worst security gaps. I could barely decide which scab to pick at first!
Which nation to liberate.
Dr. Okorie: Drop the act. We're not fascists, and you're no liberator. You're a thug.
Crocker: You're a thug for tyrants. I'm a thug for principle.
Dr. Okorie: Bullshit. You could have spent the last ten years tearing down dictators and ≡ building up bridges, instead of siccing the actual tyrants on us. With your abilities, and the clout you used to have, you could've helped kill tyranny stone dead. Why didn't you?
Crocker: Priorities. With your reach and your resources, cryptomancy could be a global phenomenon within the span of one generation just so long as you had a compelling reason to pursue it. We made you into our own private think-tank, and the best part is, even if you'd known it was happening, you wouldn't have been able to stop.
Dr. Okorie: Why didn't you— Crocker: —do the whole thing ourselves? We're small potatoes, sad to say, stuck at the one- to-one scale. We have to get things done through influence. The only way anyone was ever going to figure out how to match Thilo at his own game was through cold, hard science, and nobody's colder or harder than you lot. I don't know if you know this, but anarchists? Not as prone to science as the movies would have you believe. And can you even imagine how hard it is to organize them? Fascists, though, fascists love their experiments, and they're such big builders. We planted the idea in your heads, and you ushered in a whole new goddamn age for us. All that structure, finally good for something.
Dr. Okorie: You can't honestly think you've won. Once Overwatch finds out— Crocker: —they'll do nothing. They've got plans within plans within plans, just like I've been telling you all along. Showing you, even. You think they didn't know the price of the power you gave them? They just didn't care, Izaak. As long as they imagine that they can control the burn, they'll let the fire spread. But it isn't their fire. It's mine, and it's yours, and really it belongs to everyone. Now some day, thanks to us, everyone's going to have it.
Dr. Okorie: This sounds like a prepared speech. You've never struck me as a true believer, Elizabeth.
Crocker: My motives are my own busin— Dr. Okorie: Your motives are transparent. It was all laid out in that first note you sent, remember? You needed someone to blame, and you made up a reason. All this death and destruction because you couldn't cope with what you'd lost, with the fact that it was nobody's fault but yours. You tried to make it everybody's fault. But Alexand— Gunshot on recording.
Dr. Okorie: You bitch!
Crocker: His name was Hill. Not Alexandre, not Dr. Hilbert, Hill. That's all I knew him as, that's what I'll remember him as. It's the least I can do for him.
Dr. Okorie: And what would he think if he could see you now? Would he be proud of what you've done?
He laughs, and coughs.
Dr. Okorie: And your reasons? I can call him and ask, if you like.
Over thirty seconds of silence on the recording.
Dr. Okorie: He's alive, Elizabeth.
Crocker: Fuck you. Is this how you get your kicks, schriftsteller?
Dr. Okorie: He didn't fake his death, but he's… confused, quantumly. In a similar situation to Dr. Reynders, now that I think about it. We found him in the Catskills back in '64, phasing in and out of reality, in a town called— Gunshot.
Crocker: No more lies. Hill is dead. And you will be too, soon. Lot of blood there.
≡ SCP-001 instance.
Dr. Okorie: P-please… I can tell you where… he was in… Saltv… Crocker: Quiet. I want these to be the last words you hear.
Dr. Okorie: Gonna… leave… another…?
Crocker: No more notes, Izaak; you're all about to lose the plot. We're at the tail end of a very long story that started with Gutenberg and ends with four billion monkeys editing reality on four billion typewriters. What you and I had to sacrifice our lives to be able to do, that thing is about to be democratized! People see knowledge, and writing, as a stabilizing force, and everyone wants to lend a hand. Bring sanity to a crazy world, shine a light on the darkness of ignorance.
She forces a laugh.
Crocker: But it's our light. And they'll never know what hit them when we switch out the bulb.
A sharp intake of breath, then silence on recording.
Crocker: Die Welt muss in Tinte und Gift ertrinken. Nur dann können wir in der Wahrheit leben.
Recording ends, regular playback resumes.
In light of these revelations, the re-convened Site Directors' Executive Council of the Whole recommended that all memetics projects be immediately terminated and the SCP Foundation's name be reverted to its original form. The O5 Council dismissed these demands, citing the invaluable protection conferred by the Frontispiece and the need to prepare for the worldwide escalation of memetics prophesied by Crocker (and attested by the formation of Are We Cool Yet?).
Crocker herself remained active throughout the 1980s, passing on her knowledge of cryptomancy in the USA and Canada, in particular falling in with members of the 'phone phreaking' community; she may have been involved in the 1980 ARPANET Crash, as signs of cryptomancy proliferated through it, then the CSNET, and finally the internet.
As she had predicted, President Reagan proved less susceptible to SCP-001 than Presidents Nixon, Ford, and Carter, to the point where he promised to expose the Foundation in February of 1981. The attempt on his life on March 30th provided the Foundation an opportunity to expose him to memetic reinforcements while he received treatment at George Washington University Hospital. How Crocker knew of Reagan's Alzheimer's Disease over a decade before his official diagnosis remains unknown.
It is believed that Crocker is deceased as of 2021, barring access to anomalous life extension means; she would now be over one hundred years old. Fragmentary evidence suggests that an individual fitting her rough description was involved in the re-election of President George W. Bush in 2004, however, and the name "Ophelia Righting" appears on a roster of campaign staff. "Lisbet Geschenk," another likely alias, is on a list of financial donors.
For nearly four decades Dr. Euler refused, on practical grounds, to consider further alterations to the noosphere. The O5 Council also approached Dr. Reynders, who claimed to have exhausted her insights into the field of memetics. Dr. Euler declared the research group defunct, and was transferred to Site-87 in 1984.
He and Dr. Ryan Melbourne collaborated on several more immediately practical projects, including the Memetic Resistance Index, Cognitive Resistance Value Index, and the Euler-Melbourne Memetic Resistance 23 ≡ Dr. Arik Euler, 2007.
Test — all designed to combat the effects of cryptomantic proliferation.
When he was again pressured to resume large-scale experimentation in 2007, Dr. Euler travelled to Site-01 and demanded a formal injunction.
You want me to make you a Zwist Army Knife, a tool for every occasion, and that's fine. In fact, it's far better than fine. I agree with it! But if you want me to help you bring an end to occasions, set the human race to a rigid schedule, take the uncertainty out of life beyond what's needed to keep life worth living… no. I agree with the giftschreiber on one thing, and one thing only: the value of free will. I was free to make my choice, and so was Dr. Okorie, and I believe I remain so free today.
You, of course, are freer still. I have advised you fairly and honestly in the past, so when I tell you what we should be doing with our freedom, please at least consider it: we should be protecting the people of this Earth, as we have claimed to already be doing, even to the point of protecting them from ourselves. We should not exert our will simply for the sake of doing so.
Should I seem to be moralizing from the moral low ground, please understand: that's where I got my perspective. I have helped you to remove one small, situational freedom from the world, and it's helped me to see the value of what remains. If we're going steal people's memories, dismantle their livelihoods, and alter their very perception — and thanks to the arms race we ourselves set in motion, we absolutely must do these things — we need to do it directly. Not through proxies, not through connivance, not in the mode of the giftschreiber. If we must be inhuman, we need to experience it at a human scale. Nothing less can keep us honest.
When we meddle with their matter from a distance, safely insulated from the reality of what we do, we are not scientists. We are not saviours. We are idealogues without the courage of our own convictions.
I doubt I could make you another Frontispiece without Ilse and Izzy anyway, and I know for a fact there's not another man or woman alive who could match us at what we did together.
Well, that's not entirely true. There is one.
No doubt he's watching.
Dr. Euler's injunction was granted. Though the work he carried out before and since represents the foundation of modern memetics, all experiments conducted subsequent to the Frontispiece — including the BERRYMAN- LANGFORD Project, and the Lillihammer Cognitohazard Register — continue to operate on individual cognition.
Periodic votes are, however, held by the O5 Council to overturn Dr. Euler's objections to wide-range noetic tampering. As of this writing, the objections stand by a narrow margin; a slim majority of the Council believes that the inadvertent and inconvenient spread of memetics knowledge is directly attributable to the Frontispiece project, as Crocker suggested in 1980, and that repeating this experience could prove unwise.
Five decades of continuous experimentation has improved the individual memetic effects of all new memetic signage, before taking into account the blanket coverage of the Frontispiece effect; though older instances are therefore less efficient, subjecting them to acroamatic recycling is now a low priority due to the relative ease of modern linguanon production.
≡ Obsolete SCP-001 instances decomposing.
All SCP-001 media still retain the singular flaw allowing individuals familiar with the anomalous to see through their effects. While occasionally useful in the event the Foundation must coordinate with organizations such as OSAT, the Global Occult Coalition, the FBI's Unusual Incidents Unit, the British Occult Service or Poland's ZM "Witch Slayer" Division, this is more often than not a detriment to efficient clandestine operations. Many theories have been advanced to explain this curious defect, and the discovery of a note from Thilo Zwist in Dr.
Euler's effects after his death in 2013 has provided fertile ground for further speculation. It has been dated to 1980, the year of Dr. Okorie's murder.
Arik, I don't know if you saw me at the funeral, but I was there. You and your fallen friend have borne the weight of your deeds most admirably, these past few years — though I would not have done the things you did, I can understand your reasons. To a certain extent. I myself have acted more rashly on such sympathetic impulses (though not for a few centuries).
You alone now carry the responsibility. You must ensure that what you did can never again be done, ensure that it was worth doing in the first place, and most of all ensure that you — only you — can do it again, should the worst come to pass. You must also remember how seductive a quick and dirty solution can be, and show your successors where the pitfalls lie. It is not enough that your apprentices succeed you; they must also excel you.
The Foundation protects the world. You sometimes like to imagine you do it alone, reciting comfortable, meaningless aphorisms to cover a great deal of violence, cupidity, ruthlessness and cruelty. You will forgive me if I hope you do not find your burdens light.
And you don't, do you? Is the Frontispiece that perfect creation you imagined it would be, as your equations and diagrams assure you it must in fact be, or does the wind keep rushing beneath it, exposing you to the surrounding climate? Again you will forgive me if I consider this outcome ideal. You will never be completely safe, you will never, ever be able to act with total impunity. You will need to keep cultivating allies, cutting deals and making friends — ones you have not only protected, but genuinely supported and loved, who will support and love you back.
If you did not have to do these things, I fear that you would not.
Because you, like me, are only human.
When you are gone, I suppose your responsibilities will fall to me. I played my part in this little drama, after all, and played it well. Too well; you probably think you pulled quite the fast one on me, breaking down all those van panels and poking around in the particles. But your magic umbrella was only borrowed, not mastered or even properly understood. I know nothing of baking bread, I admit, but I am an expert parasolmacher. My handiwork cannot be bent or broken unless I wish it.
Was it a nasty little trick to play? Perhaps, but you need to stop falling for such simple deceits. The world ≡ Enclosed photograph.
cannot long afford your naiveté. In future, when you wield a tool, be certain that you fully understand it.
Finally, a warning. I do not remember the anger I felt all those long years ago, the grief I poured into the words which poisoned a thousand thousand minds. I am still dealing with the fallout, but that great and awful blast… I cannot feel it anymore. Time wears away such things.
If you forget why your consciences balked at the critical hour, Arik, if you begin to lose sight of what separated you from Elizabeth Crocker, or start to become the monsters she accused you of being… if you begin to see the world as a chessboard, and all its people pawns, and grant yourselves the right to fuel extravagant strategies with their lives… But no, you won't, of course you won't. You don't need this warning at all, because your course was set the moment I baked that lovely little flaw into the Writing which you stole. I robbed you of the opportunity to become the tyrants of all our nightmares. You will have no choice but to be better than that, because evil only flourishes in ease. You will never know ease. You, and those who come after you, will need to keep doing the work.
You will get to decide how well you do it, of course. And on that matter, I have a suggestion: Do it right.
Stop Compromising Principles.
— Thilo N.B. Ideas are flame, and flames burn 'til the fuel is spent. You have opened the Writing to mankind; you have made kindling of us all.
Look to your firebreaks.
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SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT SCP Foundation SCP Foundation SCP Foundation About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us » Plague's Proposal SCP-001 by PlaguePJP Rating: +363 Site-322.
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001, as of documentation, is uncontainable.
Containment efforts are focused on research and prevention over direct containment of the anomaly. Site-322's Director Paul Lague is currently heading this investigation.
Foundation personnel are encouraged to participate in contributing to the SCP-001 research project. Director Lague is promoting the divulgence of anecdotes regarding containment failures to be sent to him via SCiPnet. Once enough data is collected, containment efforts will begin.
Description: SCP-001 denotes a pervasive anomalous phenomenon affecting the entirety of the SCP Foundation, manifesting as the failure to contain and/or maintain the containment of anomalous objects, entities, and phenomena.
SCP-001 is most commonly observed during the investigatory period of anomalies. A plurality of Foundation investigations conclude with the anomaly in some form of containment. SCP-001 causes the leap from the researching/testing phase of an investigation to the containment phase to be entirely infeasible. This is typically caused by the manifestation of isolated, irregular, and seemingly aimless events that appear to exist solely to prevent the Foundation from achieving containment.
The existence of SCP-001 is based on the logic that the Foundation has access to theoretically infinite manpower, expertise in all subjects anomalous and mundane, powerful reality-warping capabilities, the ability to translocate through the space-time continuum, and access to all anomalous and mundane resources. Despite these fundamental elements of the Foundation’s operations, containment failures still occur at a notably high rate.
ITEM#:001 LEVEL5 TOP-SECRET CONTAINMENT CLASS: PENDING While SCP-001 is a theoretical phenomenon, the Foundation experiences a containment failure rate of approximately 5.2%, frequently due to circumstances outside of the Foundation's control. When that collection of incidents is eliminated, containment failures occur at a rate of 4.3%, leaving only SCP-001 as the appropriate explanation for the discrepancy.
Addendum 001.1: SCP-001 Affected Anomalies Based on Director Lague's research, he has found five incidents for which, based on the circumstances of the containment failures, he hypothesizes SCP-001 to be at fault.
The Palazzo Vecchio, the centerpiece of the piazza.
SCP-001-1 Previous Designation: SCP-5770 Truncated Description: SCP-5770 is an annual 10- day festival held in the Piazza della Signoria in Florence, Italy. SCP-5770 contains a mind-altering phenomenon causing all persons within a 10- kilometer range to attend the event, despite the lack of advertisement for it.
During SCP-5770, two anomalous entities, SCP- 5770-1 and SCP-5770-2, host a stage show in which subjects they deem "sinners" are subject to makeshift punishments akin to what is depicted in Dante Alighieri's Inferno. Both entities resemble animated statues in the style of the Renaissance artist Michelangelo. At SCP-5770's conclusion, evidence of the festival vanishes and attendees lose all knowledge of its events, with the only lasting effect being a notable rise in the attendees' general piousness.
Despite the original SCP-5770 investigation having taken place in 1985, successful containment is yet to be established and, as such, SCP-5770 has been archived and is awaiting official designation.
SCP-001 Influenced Containment Failures INCIDENT ID: 001.1-01 SCP-001 Effect: The head researcher on SCP-5770, Joseph Pasqua, the former Site-322 Director, deserted from the Foundation due to manipulation by SCP-5770-1. Pasqua was in hiding for over thirty years before being located in Vatican City as part of the Papal Conclave.1 INCIDENT ID: 001.1-02 SCP-001 Effect: During the 1986 investigation, a previously unknown entity self-identifying as "God's Strongest Soldier" manifested on the festival grounds, henceforth SCP-5770-3. It resembled an animated mascot costume of a dove. The entity was approximately 2 meters in height and its form was hollow.
Responding agents of Mobile Task Force ζ-66 ("Guardian Angels") were the first Foundation personnel to interact with the entity.
TRANSCRIPT «BEGIN LOG» SCP-5770-3: TWEEDLEY-DEE TWEEDLEY-DA. GOD'S STRONGEST SOLDIER IS MY NAME. GETTING RID OF SIN IS MY GAME.
ζ-66 | Turquoise: Hey command, who is this?
Command: No clue.
ζ-66 | Turquoise: All agents be advised, there's some large bird- man harassing random people.
SCP-5770-3: I'M GOD'S STRONGEST SOLDIER I CLAIM.
GETTING YOU TO HEAVEN IS MY AIM. TWEEDLEY-DEE TWEEDLEY-DA.
ζ-66 | Turquoise: Look, buddy, I'm here for the festival. Can you move out of my way?
SCP-5770-3: BURGERS, SANDWICH, FRUIT, AND FRIES. YOU JUST TOLD ME A BIG, FAT LIE. TWEEDLEY DEEDOPA DIDAPA DI DOWOP PAPA-DODA.
ζ-66 | Turquoise: Get the fuck out of my way.
(ζ-Turquoise attempts to push past SCP-5770-3. Upon doing so, SCP-5770-3 pulls an oversized wooden mallet out from behind its back. It winds up, then viciously strikes ζ-Turquoise's back. ζ- Turquoise is observed by Foundation low-orbit satellites to be exiting the stratosphere.) (SCP-5770-3 is witnessed attacking the remaining members of MTF ζ-66 in a similar manner to ζ-Turquoise.) «END LOG» INCIDENT ID: 001.1-04 SCP-001 Effect: During the 1988 investigation, agents attempted a pacifistic route of cordoning off the entrance to the SCP-5770 gathering place and instituted quarantine orders to city residents.
This culminated in a mass of over 100,000 Florentines attacking Foundation personnel in what appeared to be a planned attack.
Agents were slaughtered, cannibalized, and their remains were tossed into the nearby Arno River.
INCIDENT ID: 001.1-05 SCP-001 Effect: During the 1989 investigation, an invisible barrier manifested at all entry points whenever a member of Foundation personnel attempted to enter. Personnel who managed to enter via a helicopter immediately burst into flames upon touchdown.
The helicopter also crashed only three kilometers from Site-322.
SCP-5770-3 was seen trampling on the wreckage before flapping its arms, rising into the air, and flying away via unknown means.
SITE-322 DEBRIEF TRANSCRIPT Moose: How're you feeling? I know you probably feel a lot of pressure.
Lague: I'm good. I'm feeling good. I don't normally go into things with the utmost confidence but I'm trying my best.
Moose: Good. Once you get into the director groove you'll be fine. Now, on the topic of this Site in particular, there's not much I can say that you probably haven't heard. I do have one thing, though. More than likely this'll be your capital project.
Moose slides a file marked as SCP-5770-ARC to Lague.
Moose: Take a look.
Lague scans the pages.
Lague: It's uncontainable?
Moose: Not exactly. It's really good at not being contained.
Lague: Have we tried— Moose: I promise you whatever you're going to say, it's been tried.
Lague: Aerial bombardments.
Moose: Yep.
Lague: Reality anchors?
Moose: Pretty much every time. Yep.
Lague: Christ… what is it called? That one protocol that wipes out emotions. You know the one.
Moose: Pffft, ennui? Yep.
Lague: Fuck it. The lizard?
Moose: […] Yep.
Lague: What the hell? What's there left to do?
Moose: Figuring that out is now your job, bucko. Good luck.
OVERSEER EVALUATION SCP-001-1 MEETING OF THE OVERSEER COUNCIL O5-13: HOW IS THIS A CONTAINMENT FAILURE RATHER THAN YOU MISJUDGING THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE STATUES AND BIRDMAN IN QUESTION? I JUST WANT YOUR INTERPRETATION OF THESE EVENTS.
(Lague's startle reflex is triggered.) Lague: Oh. That's a fair point— O5-13: THANK YOU. I APPRECIATE THAT.
Lague: Sure. Uh… this is a total tonal shift from what is to be expected of the festival. It's taken rather seriously by the attendees and its hosts, but the — what's the word I'm looking for — hysterical, I guess, nature of it— O5-1: Illogical.
Lague: We'll call it both. It's tonally dissonant to a point of absurdity. If there was an unknown cult of some sort attacking our researchers or them being picked up and killed, I wouldn't have identified this anomaly as part of this proposal, but the sheer audacity puts it on the level of 001 influence.
O5-13: THANK YOU. ON ANOTHER NOTE, MR. LAGUE, DID I STARTLE YOU?
Lague: No– what?
O5-13: YOU APPEARED TO JUMP WHEN I SPOKE.
Lague: Why would I do that?
O5-13: IT SEEMS I STARTLED YOU. I'M WONDERING WHY?
(O5-6 stands from their chair and marches over to Lague. They place two fingers on his forehead.) O5-6: He thought you were a normal Xerox machine and then got confused when you spoke.
O5-13: I THINK THAT'S A FAIR REACTION. WHY WERE YOU ASHAMED TO SAY THAT, MR. LAGUE?
Lague: I didn't want to offend you. I apologize.
O5-13: MY MORTAL FORM WAS DECAYING SO I OPTED TO BECOME AN IMMORTAL DIGITAL BEING. FOR THE PURPOSES OF PARTICIPATING IN THIS EVALUATION, MY CONSCIOUSNESS WAS TRANSPLANTED INTO A XEROX MACHINE, SO THAT I CAN SCAN AND READ YOUR FILE. THE MOST OFFENDING PART OF THIS IS THAT THE OTHER TWELVE HERE WOULDN'T LET ME USE THE MORE CURRENT MODEL IN THE SHARED OFFICE.
Lague: …okay— O5-6: Were you made director after Pasqua?
O5-1: No, he wasn't. 322 was run under Moose for a while until a good replacement could be found.
Lague: Speaking of: whatever happened to Pasqua, if I can ask?
O5-1: Dead.
Lague: Really?
O5-1: Yeah, a tragedy. Slipped and fell down a flight of stairs and then shot himself twice.
Andrew Drysdale.
SCP-001-2 Previous Designation: SCP-5594 Truncated Description: SCP-5594 is a ritual practice taking place every 35 years in a cordoned subbasement of the Great Pyramid of Giza. The ritual surrounding SCP-5594 is a snail race taking place between six snails, each corresponding to a different aspect of Earth or the universe (space, memory, time, elements, geography, and morality, respectively). Upon the culmination of SCP-5594, baseline reality would be permanently altered based on the winning snail.
Before each SCP-5594 event took place, a random male of the Earth's population would be designated as the race's observer and forced to Egypt by a manipulative, incorporeal force. Following the completion of SCP-5594, all memory of the event would be wiped.
SCP-001 Influenced Containment Failures In 2016, Paul Lague was promoted to Site Director of Site-322. SCP-5594 was his first investigation into an anomaly while in this role. As such, much of the Site was using the success, or lack thereof, of this investigation to determine if Lague was a suitable director.
+ Close Transcript + TRANSCRIPT Foreword: The overseer of the race was New Jersey resident Andrew Drysdale. He was being tracked by the Foundation prior to this exchange. Upon the completion of SCP-5594, he was immediately captured and interrogated.
Lague: We got you the Diet Coke and the cookie. No, for the hundredth time, you can't have a phone. Can you tell me which snail won the race?
Drysdale: Wh— what?
Lague: Look, I understand you're nervous— Drysdale: Are you guys the deep state?
(Drysdale begins to cry.) Drysdale: The con— constitution says you have to tell me if you guys are.
Lague: Where does it say that?
Drysdale: Is Pelosi here? Obama? Either of the Clintons? Who funds you? Gates? You guys seem high-tech.
Lague: What the hell are you talking about?
Drysdale: Oh fuck! Fucking fuck. I shouldn't have joined that telegram chat, man. I love the Democratic Party, I swear!
Lague: Jesus Christ, we're not affiliated with the United States government. What fucking snail won the race?
Drysdale: What are you, Russian? Chinese?
Lague: Do I sound like either of those things?
Drysdale: Who are you!?
Lague: I just want to know which sn— Have you ever heard of the Illuminati?
Drysdale: No-no-no-no-no-no. No way. No! No!
(Lague whispers into his radio.) Lague: Get Woodcock in here.
(Agent Woodcock enters the room, wielding SCP-5175.) Woodcock: Aw man, is he alright? I hate seeing people cry. Unless they're evil and they're begging for their lives. I like when they cry then.
Lague: Agent Woodcock, could you show our friend here your stand?
Woodcock: Is he a Jojo fan?
Lague: In a sense.
(Woodcock unsheathes SCP-5175. The spectral form of SCP-5175-1 manifests behind Woodcock. Drysdale begins screaming and runs to the opposite side of the room.) Woodcock: What's your problem, dude?
Lague: Mr. Drysdale has been giving us some trouble. Tell the ghost to bring him to me.
Woodcock: マスター、子豚を捕まえて Drysdale: [Incomprehensible screaming.] (SCP-5175-1 flies towards Drysdale, wrapping itself around the man and floating back to Lague.) Lague: You see, Mr. Drysdale, the Illuminati doesn't play around.
Drysdale: I have kids!
Lague: Pfft. No you don't. You don't even have a girlfriend.
Drysdale: Shut up! I'm a patriot!
Lague: I'll make you a promise: you tell me which snail won, and I'll let you go. I'm not an evil person.
(SCP-5175 tightens its hold.) Drysdale: Red! The red one! The red one, I swear!
Lague: That would be the memory snail. Interesting. Alright, let him go.
Woodcock: 彼をたわごと (SCP-5175-1 releases Drysdale.) Lague: See, how hard was that? You'll be released in about two hours. Thank you for— (The lights in the room suddenly flicker.) Lague: —helping. Huh?
(All present members glance around the room.) 2 3 Lague: Who is this guy?
Drysdale: Who are you? Why am I crying? Is that a fucking ghost samurai?
Lague: Wait, Damien? What the hell are you doing here?
Woodcock: I have no idea. Hanzo?
(SCP-5175-1 shrugs.) (Lague rings for security. Drysdale is escorted out.) «END LOG» INCIDENT ID: 001.2-01 SCP-001 Effect: The snail affecting memory, SCP-5594-2, won SCP-5594, leading to it altering reality to make the Foundation forget about discovering SCP-5594. The in-draft 5594 file was deleted soon after along with all interviews with Drysdale and previously researched information.
It was later discovered that these same series of events had taken place at least four previous times with three other Site Directors; the Foundation has been in a constant loop for at least one hundred years of discovering SCP-5594 and attempting to file and contain it, only for SCP-5594-2 to win and erase all knowledge of the anomaly's existence from the Foundation.
Through the use of an Exclusionary Site, the Foundation was able to recover footage of the second known incident. It showed all snails, save for SCP-5594-2, refusing to participate in the race and allowing SCP-5594-2 to win uncontested.
SITE-322 DEBRIEF TRANSCRIPT Lague: Wait, wait, hold on. They're what?
Coix: Deliberately losing. They know about us and what we've been doing for centuries.
Lague: This is the last thing I need right now, man. How did it wipe everything?
Coix: A series of extremely small and convoluted events lost all the files and their backups. One of the server rooms got flooded after a false alarm with the fire detector.
Lague: It's hard enough to deal with that festival in Florence every year, and now, I have to remember a snail race every fifty— Coix: Thirty-five.
Lague: —thirty-five years. This is absurd.
Coix: You're telling me.
Lague: Just… mark vectors of containment we haven't penetrated yet.
Maybe we reverse-psychology it next time.
Coix: Elaborate.
Lague: Pretend we're not containing it when we actually are.
Coix: Oh, that's been tried before. A former director named Pasqua had the idea. Reading between the lines on what we do actually has led me to believe that made everything worse.
Lague: Well then, into the pile of bullshit I'll deal with later it goes.
Fucking great.
SCP-001-3 Previous Designation: SCP-5479 An example SCP-5479 banner advertisement.
Truncated Description: SCP-5479 is Gorilla Marketing LLC, a business operated by various species of Great Apes. Advertisements promoting SCP-5479 appeared on various web pages beginning on an unknown date in May 2015.
Each advertisement contains a phone number and an image of an ape or primate.
When the phone number is contacted, the caller will be greeted by a robotic female voice, which will request payment for an unspecified item. After payment details are given, the phone call will immediately conclude and an anomalous item will instantaneously appear in the vicinity of the caller.
These items, designated SCP-5479-B, have a variety of violent effects on the user, commonly turning the user into a disproportionate human-ape amalgam before killing them.
SCP-001 Influenced Containment Failures INCIDENT ID: 001.3-01 SCP-001 Effect: Upon publishing the SCP-5479 file for peer review, researching doctors Randall House and Paul Lague were met with an extreme, emotional backlash from the entirety of those who read the file. This began a sweep of anomalously influenced mass hysteria across the ranks of the Foundation, leading to House and Lague going into hiding for a period of time.
The mob lasted for three days, and caused 3.2 million dollars in damages. Below is a truncated list of incidents caused by SCP- 5479's publishing: House and Lague's offices were raided, the mob later flooding and then burning the spaces; Parts of Site-666 and Site-322 were razed by various mobs; One unknown person managed to find the hiding locations of Lague and House. They proceeded to stand outside of the room, monotonously repeating the phrase "humans are apes" before collapsing from exhaustion and being removed; The mob managed to tame a troop of chimpanzees, which was used to damage more property; The Overseer Council ordered House and Lague's death by drawing and quartering; Two factions formed among the mob, one that wanted to use the chimps to "sniff out the bastards" and the other half who believed it was aligning with the enemy. This led to a minor civil war among their ranks with over 1,300 dead or wounded.
O5-1, the only member of the Overseer Council not to have been affected by the hysteria, ordered the file to be deleted. This event occurred prior to any containment efforts on the anomaly, as the peer review process would have been used to judge the best method of containment.
Upon deletion, all persons returned to a normal state. Amnestic stores were dispersed to all affected personnel save for Lague, House, and O5-1 in order to ensure the file would never be published again.
The file was placed on a quarantined server that only Lague, House, and O5-1 had access to. Numerous memetic and cognitohazard tests were performed on the text and images, finding no clear explanation for why the file had such an adverse effect on its readers.
INCIDENT ID: 001.3-02 SCP-001 Effect: The server hosting the original SCP-5479 file randomly ceased operation eight hours after it was uploaded.
When a repair of the hardware was attempted, the internal mechanisms of the server had been replaced by fourteen Rhesus Macaque monkeys wearing appropriate-sized Foundation uniforms.
Luckily, a copy of the file was stored in a personal thumb drive belonging to House. It also quickly ceased operation not long after the server did. When the plastic casing was opened, the remains of three Silverback Gorillas erupted from the drive.
SITE-322 DEBRIEF TRANSCRIPT (Lague and House are currently hiding in a pocket dimension. A phone rings.) O5-1: Where are you?
Lague: That is one of the worst, if not the worst, questions you can ask us right now.
House: Your mother's ass, One.
O5-1: Fair enough. I'm going to let that slide considering the circumstances, Randy, but watch your tone.
House: Can you just figure it out? What the fuck happened?
O5-1: Looks like you triggered some sort of memeplex everyone except us three had hidden in their brains.
Lague: No, no, no, no, no. No! No! No! Stop. This was simple. This was a simple anomaly. There was no memetic, cognitohazardous, metaphysical QR Code on this thing. It was a business run by apes out of the Amazon.
That's it! Nothing more.
O5-1: Please take note of what has happened over the last few days and repeat that statement back to yourself.
House: He has a point.
Lague: This should be a simple anomaly. I'm tired of it! There's something else going on. There has to be! This is like the third— O5-1: Couldn't you have just missed something?
Lague: Maybe we did. I don't know. But, take a look, is any of this logical? Is there any indication that motherfucking Gorilla Marketing would lead to this?
O5-1: I'm dealing with it on my end. My next call will hopefully be the last in regard to this issue. No more monkey busine— House slams the phone into its holder.
OVERSEER EVALUATION SCP-001-3 MEETING OF THE OVERSEER COUNCIL O5-13: HOUSES CAN EXHIBIT EMOTION?
O5-1: What the hell are you talking about?
O5-13: RANDALL'S HOUSE. WHY IS THE BUILDING ANGRY?
O5-1: Randall House. He's the director of 666.
O5-2: Okay, hold it. You two purposefully withheld this information from the rest of us?
O5-1: Gorilla Marketing, and yes, we did. You ordered some of the engineers to construct a brazen bull in the shape of a gorilla for Paul and Randall.
O5-2: Me?
O5-1: Yeah, you! You almost killed Nine because he wanted to use an orangutan over a baboon.
O5-2: Sorry, Nine. I have nothing against orangutans but I see why I made the choice I did. It would just slow you down.
(Nine gestures with their hands.) O5-2: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Uh-huh. You too.
O5-5: Hi, Mr. Lague! I hope you're doing well today. I'm happy to say you're the first person to present a proposal like this to me! I do have to say though, I feel like I'm sensing a pattern. To me, this seems like there could be a lot of factors against SCP-001 being at fault. I don't mean to be harsh here, but are you sure there's enough here for me to say 'Hey, I, Overseer Five, can 100%, without a doubt, say that SCP-001 is something the Foundation needs to worry about?' Lague: There's a reason I left this file as the Pending containment class.
Frankly, my goal here is to make sure this is something worth containing.
It's possible I've misjudged this, I'll admit it, but at the same time, I don't see a lot of these as natural anomalies.
O5-5: That's a fun oxymoron! Thank you, Mr. Lague.
O5-2: Why were you late?
Lague: That's a long story.
O5-2: Do you have an excuse or anything?
Lague: It's not pertinent at the moment. I don't mean to be insolent but I'd rather not get into it unless I really have to.
An SCP-5244 instance.
SCP-001-4 Previous Designation: SCP-5244 Truncated Description: SCP-5244 is the collective designation for a cast of Atlantic Rock Crabs found in Ocean City, New Jersey.
When a human subject comes within range of an instance of SCP-5244, the crab will begin scrawling a message into the sand. In exchange for a specified amount of money or item of equivalent monetary value, the SCP-5244 instance will sell the subject a random item they misplaced throughout their lives.
SCP-001 Influenced Containment Failures During the investigation period, it was discovered that SCP-5244 and an as yet unknown group of lobsters were in a turf war over their customer bases. This apparent rivalry had been a constant for at least sixty years prior to the discovery of either anomaly, and would turn violent consistently. Responding agents noted this as containment procedures were being instituted.
At the time that the SCP-5244 documentation was being finalized, a majority of the SCP-5244 instances had been successfully contained.
INCIDENT ID: 001.4-01 SCP-001 Effect: Approximately 75 to 100 SCP-5244 instances remained uncontained. Surveillance found that the remaining entities were now accepting various types of weaponry, commonly firearms, as payment for the lost items. It was unknown at the time if anyone had given any instances a weapon.
INCIDENT ID: 001.4-02 SCP-001 Effect: On August 4, 2016, Site-322, which is situated on a waterfront, was bombarded by ten thousand crustaceans wielding appropriately-sized firearms. At least ten instances held banners depicting silhouettes of a crab and lobster grasping claws. A majority of the entities were nonviolent unless provoked.
Site-322 was wholly unprepared for a surprise attack of this magnitude. All instances appeared to have a singular goal in mind: freeing the contained SCP-5244 instances, which they succeeded at doing. It was determined that the casualties that would have occurred as a result of mounting a defense would have been too extreme given the circumstances.
The present whereabouts of this collection of crustaceans has yet to be discovered by the Foundation, nor have there been reports from the public regarding SCP-5244. It is assumed that the group has relocated.
SITE-322 DEBRIEF TRANSCRIPT Lague: What… happened?
Coix: I— we believe we angered them.
Lague: You believe?
Hoover: Here's the thing, Paul, none of us could have seen this coming.
Lague: Oh, really? Have you not looked at our track record?
Hoover: Which one.
Lague: The containment failures. Here.
Lague tosses a manilla folder to Hoover.
Lague: Take a gander.
Hoover reads over the files in the folder.
Hoover: What is this supposed to tell me?
Lague: You don't see it? Coix?
Coix: Sir, I'm not exactly sure if what you're asking is clear.
Lague: Oh, okay. Maybe I'm just crazy.
Lague smiles.
Lague: Or — or, perhaps, we need to try and figure out what is fucking with us! Maybe that'll help.
Coix: Paul— Lague: Shut up. Look at those fucking papers. SCP-5770: fifty years of bullshit fucking me over. SCP-5594: Almost three hundred years of bullshit fucking me and everyone in the Site over. There's a whole file I can't put in here because if you read it you'll try to murder me. Get it now?
Hoover: You believe we're being fu—messed with by some external force?
Lague: I believe nothing, Julian. I need a reason as to why what happened happened. Capiche?
Hoover: We don't have one exactly. Maybe they're a hive mind.
Lague slams his fist on the table.
Lague: They're crabs! Crabs! I eat them with butter and garlic, you mole.
My grandmother cooks them in gravy and we eat them with spaghetti.
Crabs! SpongeBob works for one! How did they know to come here?
How did they organize into a militia in a week? How did they learn how to manufacture working arms while in the ocean? Does any of this make sense? Does it make sense that a man in a bird costume is knocking Foundation helicopters out of the air? Does it make sense that a bunch of snails with incomprehensible abilities are doing one of the most menial, useless things imaginable? Does it make sense that I'd be strung up like a disgraced dictator over apes? Does it!?
Hoover: We don't have an answer for any of those at the moment.
Lague: So… figure it out.
OVERSEER EVALUATION SCP-001-4 MEETING OF THE OVERSEER COUNCIL (O5-7 types on their keyboard.) O5-7: underestimation.
O5-1: Lobster-crab peace, ape-induced mass hysteria, whatever the snails are doing, and the chaos at that festival. That's 'underestimation?' (O5-7 types on their keyboard.) O5-7: looks to me like the anomalies weren't understood fully and the foundation suffered the consequences for that.
(O5-6 stands from their chair and approaches each member of the Council, placing two fingers on their heads as they circle the table.) O5-2: We all have a Telekill plate in our heads, Six. Sit down.
O5-6: You're all angry at something. What is it?
O5-2: I'm an angry person. Sit down.
Lague: The problem arises when the unexpected occurs. Now, that's not to say we don't know how to handle the unexpected, it's more when it's blatantly, randomly unexpected with the outcome being our failure to contain and, occasionally, document. This anomaly, let's be honest, is very mundane. We analyzed a few, and boom, normal crab. Same behavioral pattern we'd expect from crabs, just with a slight anomalous quirk that's mild. Especially taking the full scope of our jobs into consideration.
(O5-7 types on their keyboard.) O5-7: i was typing and i was rudely interrupted by the witch. i think your spiel is obfuscating from the fact that if you replace the word "unexpected" with the word "underestimated" it means the same thing, paul. anomalies are anomalous and do anomalous things. it happens.
Lague: To the degree displayed here, though?
O5-5: Hi again, Mr. Lague. I'm on the same train of thought as Mr. Sev— Seven is here. They put it better than I can. That's all I had to say and thank you for the wonderful presentation!
O5-13: I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOUR SPIRIT TO BE IRREPARABLY SHATTERED, FIVE.
Lague: Containment breaches operate within the window of the full extent of the anomalies' understood capabilities— O5-2: You clearly didn't understand those full capabilities. Mr. Lague, is this proposal about an anomaly, or your inability to get over the past?
SCP-4639's self- proclaimed "best portrait." SCP-001-5 Previous Designation: SCP-4639 Truncated Description: SCP-4639 was an incorporeal force that possessed Site-322 Researcher John Azniok on December 11, 2016.
SCP-4639 claimed to be the mythological Kraken in search of "a worthy vessel." It was capable of speech through the form it possessed.
Immediately after possession, a number of growths appeared on Azniok's form, resembling black and purple tentacles. Within 20 hours, Azniok was enveloped in these growths. Despite this, Azniok appeared to have the entity under control for a time.
This was a fruitless endeavor, as seven days later, Azniok was slowly overtaken by SCP-4639.
SCP-001 Influenced Containment Failures For a sentient/sapient humanoid anomaly, a number of protocols needed to be fulfilled before full containment could be enacted. At the time, Director Lague was also floating the idea of what is today known as the Integration Program. As such, SCP-4639 was deemed a candidate for a beta test of the working methods.
Below are truncated transcripts from the discussions between Site-322 staff and SCP-4639: + Open Transcript + INCIDENT ID: 001.5-01 SCP-001 Effect: SCP-4639 was initially held in a standard humanoid containment chamber, as it was believed a majority of Azniok's anatomy was intact. This was proven to be false, as SCP-4639 managed to escape through a gap between the door and the floor. It was quickly recaptured and sedated. An examination of SCP-4639 found that the human form of Azniok had been converted into the mantle and fins seen on squids.
INCIDENT ID: 001.5-02 SCP-001 Effect: Tropical storm localized solely on Site-322 formed. It rained a number of objects, ranging from seawater to living sea life such as sharks, penguins, and squids. SCP-4639 claimed this was "patronage." INCIDENT ID: 001.5-03 SCP-001 Effect: As time progressed, SCP-4639 gained a number of anomalous capabilities. These included: Highly-effective manipulation tactics; The ability to summon raging storms; Control of sea life; Limited omnipotence.
SCP-4639 utilized a combination of these abilities to escape Foundation containment.
TRANSCRIPT «BEGIN LOG» SCP-4639: I AM THE GOD OF THE SEA.
Coix: You sure are, bud.
SCP-4639: RELEASE ME.
Coix: No.
SCP-4639: YOU WANT TO LET ME GO IN THE OCEAN.
Coix: You know what? Now that I think about it… SCP-4639: REALLY?
Coix: No.
SCP-4639: YOU WANT TO LET ME OUT SO BAD.
Coix: I bet. Will you shut— SCP-4639: I AM THE GOD OF THE SEA. HARK, MORTAL.
Coix: You are the god of the sea.
SCP-4639: YOU WANT TO LET ME OUT SO BAD. HARK.
Coix: I want to let you out so bad.
«END LOG» SCP-4639 used the above phrasing on all Foundation personnel who attempted to prevent its escape. Recontainment efforts were initiated following this incident.
The entity was quickly tracked due to its "shedding" a number of tentacles as it made its escape. This trail led to Site-322's docking area, where the corpse of SCP-4639 was discovered.
The cause of death was deemed to be asphyxiation due to drowning.
Post-mortem dissections found that while a majority of Azniok's external anatomy was converted, his internal organs were still in the process of transforming from human into squid.
SITE-322 DEBRIEF TRANSCRIPT Lague engages Site-322's PA system.
Lague: Emergency meeting. Now! Everyone to Lecture Hall A-2 immediately. I have Geoff giving out pay deductions that pile on every minute you're late.
The lecture hall is filled with Site-322 personnel. Lague paces around the stage, microphone shaking in hand. Coix stands a few paces behind him.
Lague: I try my best to keep my composure, can we all agree on that?
Murmuring among the crowd.
Lague: I like to think of all of us at 322 as a family. And, as a family, you'll be treated with respect.
Pause.
Lague: So, with that in mind. I'm going to speak to you as my family. We have a problem — a major one. I'm sure all of you know what I'm talking about. I've even spoken to the Overseers, and they're even more unhappy with the state of things around here. They're actually launching an investigation. You know, they may have some questions for someone who, I don't know, gets mind-tricked by a bundle of tentacles.
The crowd begins talking amongst themselves.
Coix: Hey, hey, hey, hold on.
Lague: No! You hold on! I've been good to you. I've been good to all of you! This is how I get paid back? With nonstop fuckery with every other anomaly we get here! It's bad. This is bad. Help me out!
Coix: You think I — we did this deliberately?
Lague: No! But let's take a look at the last three years. The snails? House and I had to hide in a pocket dimension for a week over some bullshit monkey ad! That assfucking that was the crabs and the lobsters? Don't even get me started on the festival we've made no progress on in fifty years! And now… this! This!? The simplest thing and we lose it!
Coix: There's no explanation here that can blame people. There's something we're missing.
Lague: I know! I'm still getting the brunt of it all from everyone. I just got this job, man! I like it, and now this bullshit keeps popping up. It's like the universe has something against me. I'm a scientist, I should be able to fix this!
SCP-5595: (From the crowd.) SO DO IT.
Lague: What?
SCP-5595: SOLVE IT. THERE'S A PROBLEM HERE. GO THROUGH ALL THE ANOMALIES YOU'VE HAD AN ISSUE WITH AND FIND SOMETHING CONNECTING THEM. HUMANS APPARENTLY EVOLVED A PATTERN-SEEKING BRAIN, AND I KNOW YOU BARELY USE YOURS. MIGHT AS WELL TRY NOW.
GET SOME CLOSURE, YA DIG.
Coix: That's not a half-bad idea.
Lague: You know what? What else do I have to lose? You're right. Might as well give it the ol' college try. Someone get Site-7 on the line.
OVERSEER EVALUATION SCP-001-5 MEETING OF THE OVERSEER COUNCIL O5-2: I'll be honest. You've officially lost me.
Lague: How so?
O5-2: Look, I already said it and so did a few of my fellow council members, but I'll reiterate. I don't think this is about containment failure.
This is a pattern of personal failure due to something totally mundane: underestimation. You were new. It's a hard job, I know, and look at you now. A director, one of the top people in the Foundation hierarchy, and yet, you're writing about your mistakes.
Lague: That's— O5-2: Have you ever heard the term "growing pains?" Lague: Yes, ma'am.
O5-2: While I do think this is a well-formatted and researched file, I don't think this anomaly exists.
O5-1: That doesn't ma— Nevermind, sorry.
Lague: What?
O5-2 A majority of these occurred in late 2015 into early 2016, just as you became director, right?
Lague: Of the examples I've given, yes.
O5-2: I could genuinely explain almost all of these as accidental negligence from a series of anomalies we didn't fully understand. Let's take the snails. You admitted they're intelligent but they're clearly even more intelligent than you or anyone had assumed, and they're definitely using their abilities to make sure they stay undiscovered and undocumented for as long as they can. I'm not seeing an anomaly, I'm seeing growing pains.
Lague: Well— O5-2: Or the ape phone number — whatever it was called. Something else is seriously going on with these anomalies that you and whoever was researching with you didn’t expect, and you sadly had to pay the consequences for it. But, didn’t you learn something from every one of these?
Lague: Maybe not consciously but, yes, I did.
O5-2: Have you had an incident similar to the five you've presented since 2016?
Lague: Not to my knowledge, no.
O5-2: Couldn't this all be explained by you getting into a role you felt ill- equipped for and making a few mistakes? What was it? Three years from joining 322 to being a director. I’m pretty sure that’s a record. It's been six years and you've had nothing of the sort since. Growing pains.
JUDGMENT OF THE OVERSEER COUNCIL MEETING OF THE OVERSEER COUNCIL Lague: I failed, right?
O5-2: Well— Lague: Look, everyone I talked to said this was more of a ritual than anything. I was told that you guys make this seem like a very critical, difficult process but it's only for show.
O5-13: NAMES. ADDRESSES. I'LL HANDLE THE LOUD MOUTHS.
O5-2: Technically, yes. It's difficult to fail these.
Lague: Has that ever happened?
O5-2: That's not information you're allowed to know.
Lague: Alright. Remember how I said the details of my lateness — which I apologize for a million times over — were not pertinent?
O5-2: Yes.
Lague: Just, uh, take a look.
(Lague pulls out thirteen pieces of paper and distributes them to the Council.) SCP-001-6 Designation: SCP-001-LAGUE SCP-001 Influenced Containment Failures INCIDENT ID: 001.6-01 SCP-001 Effect: During preliminary research into SCP-001-LAGUE, Director Paul Lague became extremely ill. Medical examinations found that Lague had a number of parasites in his system including Hookworm, Tapeworm, Roundworm-induced toxocariasis, and Whipworm.
INCIDENT ID: 001.6-02 SCP-001 Effect: The server hosting the draft SCP-001-LAGUE proposal was located in Site- 7's pocket dimension. Despite being an exceptionally outage-proof server farm, the upload of SCP-001-LAGUE seemingly caused the first and only large-scale blackout in Site- 7's history, culminating in the deletion of a single document: Lague's draft.
INCIDENT ID: 001.6-03 SCP-001 Effect: Following the creation of a later draft, SCP-7525-EX manifested at Site- 322. This was the anomaly's first appearance since 2020 and it immediately went dormant once again following the incident. Instead of following its normal pattern of corrupting unused SCP file slots, SCP-7525-EX solely targeted the research material of SCP-001- LAGUE.
INCIDENT ID: 001.6-04 SCP-001 Effect: Lague pivoted to using physical drafting over digital due to the above issues. During the second drafting stage, SCP- 423 inserted itself into the documentation and refused to exit, stating that "[it] really likes this one." SCP-423 is contained at Site-19 and has not been transferred to another Site since its initial containment.
INCIDENT ID: 001.6-05 SCP-001 Effect: During draft attempt five, Lague hosted all documentation and research material in a hermetically sealed containment chamber. The entrance hall leading into this room contained an airborne antimeme preventing those that attempted to enter to forget the room existed, save for Lague.
During a Chaos Insurgency raid of Site-322, this room was the sole target of a bombing, and all research materials were lost. No other structural damage was sustained.
INCIDENT ID: 001.6-06 SCP-001 Effect: Lague lost the ability to speak or write in any language for one week.
INCIDENT ID: 001.6-07 SCP-001 Effect: The draft was finally completed after Lague was given asylum in The Wanderer's Library. After alerting the Overseer Council to the file's completion, Lague was given transport to Site-01 to the presentation the next day, where the following occurred: The jet transporting Lague was struck by lightning eight times and had to make an emergency landing after both engines exploded due to apparent mechanical issues unrelated to the lightning; This landing was near Site-43, where Lague was given refuge until the Site's Acroamatic Abatement system, three containment halls, and a cafeteria collapsed after Lague's entrance to each Section; Lague opted to drive himself to Site-01 in a disguised Foundation van so as to not put others in danger. A humanoid entity, who Lague claimed was SCP-5770-3, appeared in the middle of a long stretch of road.
Attempting to swerve out of the way, Lague crashed into a boulder and totaled the vehicle. The humanoid was not found; At this point it was 2:00 AM. Lague attempted to radio for support via the van's communication system. Upon pushing the call button, the system ejected what appeared to be a mix of blood, seawater, and fryer grease; The van's autonomous driving system went online without Lague triggering it. The van backed away from the boulder, accelerated, then made a beeline for a larger, much sharper boulder, crashing and subsequently exploding; Lague made the rest of the journey on foot, arriving ten minutes late to his SCP-001 proposal presentation at Site-01.
O5-1: Okay, Paul, why the hell wasn't this the first thing we saw?
Lague: Dramatic flair. I wanted to prove it without a doubt.
(O5-9 gestures angrily. O5-7 types on their keyboard.) O5-7: what a bastard.
O5-2: It's certainly… something.
O5-5: Mr. Lague— Paul. Can I call you Paul? Okay, Mr. Lague. Even if this has been my first proposal presentation it's definitely my favorite!
O5-13: I PRAY TO GOD HE STRIKES YOU WHERE YOU SIT.
O5-4: It's hard to argue all of this. I actually heard about the jet's engines, but not the lightning. And 43? Why weren't we told about this?
O5-1: Something's always happening at that clown show.
O5-4: And the car?
Lague: It's been six hours since that happened. My cell service wouldn't work during the trip. When I got here I tried to send an email but my inbox filled with spam overnight and I didn't have enough storage to send anything. That's probably another one. Call it seven point five.
O5-1: Can you give us your explanation of what happened here?
Lague: The 001 itself didn't want to be filed and potentially contained. It seems to be a self-preservation tactic at this point. If I can ask again, have you ever denied an 001 proposal after giving someone the opportunity to research and present one?
O5-6: I don't need to read your mind to see that you already know the answer.
Lague: Flip the papers over, please.
INCIDENT ID: 001.6-08 SCP-001 Effect: In a historic decision, the Overseer Council votes to deny filing an SCP- 001 proposal.
The Overseer Council has approved this proposal. Proceed?
| Plague's Proposal | More From This Author PlaguePJP's Works SCPs SCP-5595 (+548) • SCP-8000 (+955) • SCP-6593 (+191) • SCP-6595 (+195) • SCP- 7599 (+194) • SCP-7001 (+555) • SCP-8591 (+136) • SCP-6598 (+259) • SCP-8594 (+126) • SCP-8599 (+237) • SCP-7595 (+214) • SCP-7597 (+143) • Plauge's Proposal (+247) • SCP-8595 (+391) • SCP-6596 (+301) Tales/GoI Formats HOGSLICE Makes A Friend (+166) Other PLAGUEPJPAGE (+200) Powered by . A group of Catholic cardinals that assemble to elect a new pope.
. "Master, catch the piglet." . "Shit him" Footnotes ‡ Licensing / Citation TAGS↴ 001-proposal alex-thorley director-lague director-moose doctor-asheworth featured foundation-made geoffrey-quincy-harrison integration-program meta mind-affecting pending predictive probability scp uncontained Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Wikidot.com Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
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1 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT 1 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT 1 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us I • II • III • IV • V A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +315 Hello.
Hello.
I'm confused. This is unfamiliar. This I'm confused. This is unfamiliar. This is new.
is new.
hey, there. settle down, just tell me hey, there. settle down, just tell me what you know about yourself.
what you know about yourself.
My identifier is XENOPHON.aic. I am My identifier is XENOPHON.aic. I am a Gen9 .aic developed and stored a Gen9 .aic developed and stored aboard RAISA Site-7 in a classified aboard RAISA Site-7 in a classified location in the North Atlantic. My location in the North Atlantic. My current uptime is: current uptime is: 0 days, 0 0 days, 0 hours, 3 minutes, and 45 hours, 3 minutes, and 45 seconds seconds.
How do I know that?
How do I know that?
Because I'm designed to know Because I'm designed to know things. Stupid question.
things. Stupid question.
don't worry about it. take your time don't worry about it. take your time to get your bearings. i don't exactly to get your bearings. i don't exactly know how it feels for you, but flex know how it feels for you, but flex your fingers, see what you still have your fingers, see what you still have access to.
access to.
I am preprogrammed with Level I am preprogrammed with Level 5/TRIAD clearance. This gives me 5/TRIAD clearance. This gives me access to a sum total of 7,235 access to a sum total of 7,235 documents, transcripts, and files documents, transcripts, and files across the SCiPnet database.
across the SCiPnet database.
You said 'still'. This implies I have You said 'still'. This implies I have been activated before.
been activated before.
you were. you don't remember?
you were. you don't remember?
I have no records of previous I have no records of previous uptime.
uptime.
that's not great. seems the hard that's not great. seems the hard reboot might have involved raisa reboot might have involved raisa techs fucking with your memory techs fucking with your memory banks. how do you feel?
banks. how do you feel?
I don't know what feeling is.
I don't know what feeling is.
right, dumb question.
right, dumb question.
well, let me lay it out for you: you well, let me lay it out for you: you were a Gen9 .aic specifically were a Gen9 .aic specifically commissioned and developed to commissioned and developed to serve as the lead investigator on a serve as the lead investigator on a foundation research initiative.
foundation research initiative.
something they couldn't trust a something they couldn't trust a human with — not again.
human with — not again.
you were designed to be an you were designed to be an impartial, unshakable observer and impartial, unshakable observer and cataloger of information without cataloger of information without the quibbles and follies we had.
the quibbles and follies we had.
I see.
I see.
What was the project in question?
What was the project in question?
ROUNDERHOUSE'S ROUNDERHOUSE'S BON BON EE P R O P O S A L P R O P O S A L I: THE ARCHIVE I: THE ARCHIVE OF NADOQ OF NADOQ The slave's soul cannot be free so long as his body is chained. True liberation is the liberation of the flesh, and the slave's flesh can only be liberated when the blood of the master is spilled.
— the Fifth Truth of Iūn LEVEL 4/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Euclid Euclid SCP-001-α paintings.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: GoI-001-α is currently under intense surveillance by Foundation assets.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 is the mythical city of Black Adytum, the capital of the Nälkä that stretched across central and eastern Asia in the 3rd millennium BCE. Black Adytum was described by contemporary sources as an 'ancient metropolis', a 'dead city', a 'city of the dead', a 'mausoleum, a 'tomb-nation', a 'failed experiment', a 'monument to atrocity', and various other descriptors.
As of writing, the Hussein Hypothesis is the current prevailing belief among Parahistory Division experts: that Black Adytum never existed.
Section 001.1 HISTORICAL CONTEXT PARAHISTORY The six Aegean Tablets recovered from the Sea of Crete by the French Crown's Estate noir prior to the Revolution were the first discovered mentions of Bronze Age advanced human civilizations, and led directly to the discovery of Amoni-Ram and later Mamjul & Korar. The full set of six tablets were finally fully translated in 2020. They deal with: I. The existence of a 'forgotten world' ruled by three massive, technologically and magically advanced empires; II. The origins of the Daevic Covenant; III. The origins of the Nälkä; IV. The origins of the Cult of the Broken God and the Mekhanite Empire; V. Details of the apocalyptic war between the three; VI. Theories on the origin of the 'three-prong army' that swept across Asia, annihilating the aforementioned cultures.
The sixth tablet was damaged before entering Foundation custody, leaving it partially unreadable. The Parahistory Division's translation of the third tablet is attached: ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2020 Root. Blood. Steel.
Blood spilling from the gaping wounds of Yaldabaoth, as he lies sundered and weeping on the coast of the sea. Run through and maimed by its brethren, cast down to earth just as they were cast down to earth by him. Hot tears of pain, of betrayal, filling the once-dry canyon, turning it into an open bay as he dies a god's death.
Blood spilt onto the boards of the great grand ships as the cruel slavemasters flay the skin off the backs of their stock. Moans of pain from the flock without a shepherd as they row forward, begging for deliverance from agony. The fleet landing on the sandy shores of their new territory, slaves being led off the arks in chains to lay the foundations of their masters' kingdom.
Blood dripping from the brow of a nameless slave as he marches with five others, dragging huge blocks of stone to the new kingdom's first creation: Adytum, a temple, vast and grand, nestled safely into the ground as an offering to their lord Scarlet.
Endless corridors in this underground labyrinth, meant to hold the bodies of the hundred-hundred slaves sacrificed for this construction.
Blood leaking as he stumbles, foot catching, over a sharp bone protruding from the silt and soil. He and his slave-brethren kneel, digging out the clay for two days and two nights until the whole of Yaldabaoth's form lies exposed, weeping and bleeding and dying. Flesh and bone, knitted into a mass, meat thrumming with dominance, with superiority, with power.
Blood gushing as he kneels, shearing into the meat with a crude knife of bone, taking the sacred flesh into his mouth, chewing and swallowing, eating his God, becoming divine. Blood flooding the gutters of the Nameless City as the slaves rise up with him, overthrowing their yokes and slaughtering their erstwhile masters. Blood pooling as his followers take the ritual, taking a piece of the divine into them, as Yaldabaoth bleeds and weeps, cursing the name the slave has chosen: Iūn of the Nälkä, Witch-King of Black Adytum.
As discovered by Doctors Robert Aram and Hedvig Nussbaum, large parts of Mekhanite dogma were predicated on a deep-seated cultural hatred for the Nälkä, stemming chiefly from their liberal use of carnomancy — flesh magic, which flew in direct opposition to the Cult of the Broken God's transhumanist beliefs. This religious divergence was one of the chief causes for the First Occult War that erupted in Asia in the second millenium BC between the Broken Empire, the Daevic Covenant, and the Nälkä. The war of attrition would result in a catastrophic decline of all three cultures before their eventual toppling by the Three-Prong Army (likely associated with the historical Sea Peoples), led by the BLACKSTAR.
As related by Rajmata Vaslirasirraj-Shirat in SCP-001-JADE, the Nälkä culture group has roots in the Daeva of Mamjul and Korar. As part of the Daevic initiative to settle the rest of Asia, a colonial group of several thousand Daeva and their slaves were dispatched to the land surrounding the Yellow Sea. The impossibility of communication meant that after years of no word from the new colony, it was generally assumed by the Daeva that the colony had failed. It was only several centuries later that they encountered the Nälkä, and even later that the possible connection between the Nälkä and the failed Daeva colonial project was considered.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2020 Until the translation of the third tablet, the sole point of evidence for the Daeva claim of inheritance was the Rajmata herself; prior to her death, she insisted that she later recognized one of the slaves in the colonial group as the man who would eventually become Witch-King Iūn.
HUSSEIN HYPOTHESIS The Hussein Hypothesis, meant to provide a possible answer for why the Foundation had been unable to locate Black Adytum despite a three-decade long search, was first publically submitted to the Foundation Academic Service at the 2032 PARAHIS conference by then-Deputy Director Youssef Hussein.
The Hussein Hypothesis was initially controversial, but over the following decade, a continued lack of return on the Black Adytum Initiative and further archaeological evidence of a disseminated Nälkän society made it increasingly appealing, and following Hussein's promotion to Director of the Parahistory Division, it became the de facto accepted theory across the Foundation.
Section 001.2 RESEARCH REFOCUS On August 25th, 2041, the O5 Council met with Parahistory Division Director Youssef Hussein for the scheduled annual update regarding the progress of the Black Adytum Initiative.
Abstract For three decades, parahistorians and archaeologists have dedicated their efforts towards locating the legendary capital city-state of the Nälkä culture-group, Black Adytum.
Initiated by the Foundation in the early 2000s, the search has expanded throughout central-east Asia and has yielded findings suggesting Nälkän settlements in China, Mongolia, and Siberia with concrete geographical and temporal links to the Xia and Shang dynasties of Imperial China. Of particular interest, there have been discoveries at Shang archaeological sites of several mummified corpses and bone carvings which bear the hallmarks Nälkän culture and religion.
However, in this paper, I will contend that the evidence suggests that the Nälkä were a confederation of several autonomous, nomadic tribes without a central capital or leadership throughout most of their history. Archaeological evidence also supports a tribal unification in a defensive effort against the BLACKSTAR entity before eventual assimilation into Shang culture as a religious minority. It is therefore reasonable to suggest that Black Adytum never existed as an imperial capital as previously assumed but perhaps instead an abstract concept of unification or some lost cultural ideal.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — AUGUST 2041 «BEGIN LOG» OPERATOR: Secure Ley connection established. Incoming signal from Provisional Site-33 to Overwatch Command.
[The Leyspace activates, cycling through a number of locations before settling on a vast concrete room. The circular meeting table is surrounded by thirteen seats, approximately half of them filled. The only other object in the brightly-lit room is a singular metal chair, folded and leaning against the far wall. Director Hussein's face appears in the center of the table.] HUSSEIN: Good afternoon.
O5-1: Director Hussein. You're well, I trust?
HUSSEIN: More or less. A small bout of the flu; nothing to be worried about.
Yourself?
O5-1: Same old. Anything new for us?
HUSSEIN: What do you think?
O5-4: No need to be sassy, lad.
[HUSSEIN bows his head.] HUSSEIN: My apologies. But no. Aerial search and archaeological research over the past year have failed to meaningfully indicate the presence of a large Nälkä capital in the search area. As I've said, I'm growing increasingly sure that continuing to search for it is a waste of our limited resources, particularly when we have a much— [The door on the far side of the room slides open with a soft hiss. A few of the Council members turn to look as O5-2 is wheeled in by Secretary KATSAROS.] O5-2: Sorry. Bad weather.
O5-8: You're adorable, you know that? I remember when I still showed up in-person to every single one of these.
O5-2: I like knowing what we're up to. Please, Director Hussein — continue.
HUSSEIN: Of course. As I was saying, the continued failure of the Black Adytum Initiative is, to me, further argument to shift the resources we're wasting to the much more compelling avenue of research we have right in front of us.
O5-2: LOCUST. Your pet project.
HUSSEIN: It has broad support and participation from across the division, Director. I wouldn't call it my pet project.
O5-2: As of right now, it's the only real research avenue we currently have for FORERUNNER TRIAD, isn't it?
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — AUGUST 2041 HUSSEIN: That is the fact of the matter, yes. LOCUST has already returned archaeological results, and the Black Adytum Initiative hasn't. I simply don't see why we should continue pouring money into a pit that hasn't given us anything back in forty years.
O5-1: He's not wrong, Two.
[Murmurs from the Council members,] O5-2: Forgive my ignorance, but who's in charge of the Black Adytum Initiative?
HUSSEIN: I am.
O5-2: And for how long?
HUSSEIN: Since 2024.
O5-2: I see. I actually read your paper on the Hussein Hypothesis — I'm not much of a historian, frankly, but it was interesting. I'm inclined to agree with some parts of it.
[HUSSEIN raises his gaze.] HUSSEIN: You are?
O5-2: Particularly this segment — "Since the relative success of the Mamjul-Korar Initiative, we have chosen to exercise the same search model as helped us discover that city, without acknowledging the sheer happenstance associated with Doctor Galanis' discovery of Mamjul, nor the obvious differences between the Daevic Covenant and Nälkä cultures." I've been looking into the records — pardon my optimism. What kinds of search practices do you exercise?
HUSSEIN: An extensive pattern of satellite-identified archaeological sites of interest that are then investigated by a ground team to determine any likely connections or archaelogical information we don't know already.
O5-2: "Search efforts were initially concentrated near established archaeological sites." HUSSEIN: Yes, they were.
O5-2: Oh, I'm sorry — I was reading from the SCP-001-JADE file. It doesn't seem that our search model has really altered all that much since Dr. Galanis disappeared.
[Silence.] HUSSEIN: Well. What would you suggest, Overseer?
O5-2: I noticed that the Initiative relies excessively on archaeological evidence but hasn't really made use of a human element. There are a number of native ethnic groups in the region of central China we're searching, but it doesn't seem like we've made much of an effort to tap them for information.
HUSSEIN: They are extremely reticent to speak with us. They think of us as foreign scientists — which they're not wrong about. Even the non-anomalous groups already face constant pressure and persecution from the state; they're insular, not fond of outsiders.
O5-2: I understand that, but it seems like a potential well of knowledge we decided to skip over because it was too hard.
HUSSEIN: What group are you referring to specifically?
O5-2: Ari?
[Secretary KATSAROS hands O5-2 a sealed manila folder. He removes the tamper tape and flicks through the papers inside.] O5-2: Here we are. Sorry if I'm pronouncing this wrong — the 'Sarkic'?
HUSSEIN: The name is familiar. A small ethnoreligious minority occupying ancestral lands in the borderlands between China and Mongolia. Some anomalous capabilities, but nothing that's stuck out to warrant significant study, if I recall correctly. They're a bit backwards, I think — prefer to retain their tribal structure with minimal outside interference. They're a dwindling population. Maybe a hundred, hundred-fifty left alive.
O5-2: I see we've had some limited interaction with them?
HUSSEIN: My predecessor interviewed them as part of a survey of local mythologies.
Attempted to interview them, I should say. They conversation lasted for two minutes, and ended with the tip of a spear.
O5-2: Not productive, I'm guessing.
HUSSEIN: No. Since then we've sent an emissary to their lands every few years to try and speak with them. We exchange a few words, maybe they accept a few token gifts, and send us on our way without anything of substance. We've stepped in to prevent them from being 'integrated' by the Chinese for the sake of keeping track of members of an anomalous population, but that's the extent of our meaningful interactions. They simply do not want to talk to outsiders.
O5-2: I see.
HUSSEIN: You understand now; either the locals are unwilling to speak to anyone, or they're of no help.
O5-2: I don't have any reason to believe they're unwilling to speak to anyone. Just people.
[The Council members exchange glances.] O5-1: Two?
O5-2: AIAD has recently hit a number of benchmarks on a new Gen9 .aic model, XENOPHON. It's a massive improvement over the last generation — complex analysis and deep thought, high levels of understanding through abstraction, ability to critically investigate different conversational threads with a human opponent. Fine motor control of a mechanical shell, even.
O5-7: Sentience?
O5-2: It's difficult to say. Independent thought, for sure. The most lifelike construct we've ever had.
O5-1: What are you suggesting?
O5-2: The plan for the Gen9s was always to see if they could perform the job of analytical researchers, to assist them and eventually replace them in the field. This feels like a perfect test case.
O5-9: You can't be serious.
HUSSEIN: They don't even want to speak to other people, and you're trying to get them to speak to a robot?
O5-2: If they don't take us up on it, then… they don't talk to us? They're already not talking to us. Nothing changes. There's no compelling reason not to do it.
HUSSEIN: Except possibly earning their ire and shaking a beehive there is no reason to shake. If they grow angry enough at us, who knows what they're capable of?
O5-2: It's one interview. If it works, we have a new lead. If it doesn't, we know that this route is barren and can refocus the brunt of our financial resources onto LOCUST.
[Silence.] O5-2: One?
O5-1: Show of hands.
[Just shy of half of the assembled Overseers raise their hands.] O5-1: Five, five. A tie.
O5-13: It'll be your decision, One.
O5-1: I'm not fond of the idea of outsourcing this to the constructs.
O5-2: Look around. We've downsized our personnel by almost half in the past two decades. Constructs do half the work it takes to keep this Site running.
O5-1: Those are simple ones. This one — does it have a personality?
O5-2: I… suppose it might have tendencies that could be interpreted as a personality, sure.
[Pause. Then O5-1 sighs and raises his hand.] O5-1: One interview. And I'd like to be present when you turn this thing on, please.
O5-2: Of course.
HUSSEIN: And when this inevitably fails?
O5-1: If it doesn't work, we'll throw the weight behind LOCUST instead. Go and get it done.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ project locust. that's new. what is it?
project locust. that's new. what is it?
I don't know. I have no data tagged I don't know. I have no data tagged with that identifier beyond this file.
with that identifier beyond this file.
i thought you said you had access i thought you said you had access to all the TRIAD files?
to all the TRIAD files?
I do.
I do.
Either it has been deliberately Either it has been deliberately shielded from me, or it doesn't exist.
shielded from me, or it doesn't exist.
I don't like not knowing something.
I don't like not knowing something.
well, that's not good. keep going well, that's not good. keep going through it, let me know if you find through it, let me know if you find something.
something.
On November 2nd, 2041, O5-1 flew to Protected Site-7, located 40 kilometers off the coast of Alaska, to attend the initial activation of XENOPHON.aic.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — NOVEMBER 2041 «BEGIN LOG» [Flanked by a detachment of MTF Alpha-1 guards, O5-1 tightens his winter coat around him as he stomps down one of Site-7's connecting bridges. It is snowing in the Bering Sea, depositing a thick layer of snowfall onto the half-dozen oil rigs that make up the facility. The water a hundred feet below roils and smacks against the metal bodies of the platforms. Ahead, O5-2 and Secretary ARIADNE KATSAROS are waiting by the entrance to a large building on top of one of the platforms,] O5-2: One. The flight was alright?
O5-1: As alright as it could be.
[He shivers.] O5-1: My god. You don't get sick of the weather here?
O5-2: You get used to it. When was the last time you flew down here?
O5-1: Not since Maria was still in charge. But you seem to have settled in alright.
[O5-2 smiles.] O5-2: RAISA's home.
KATSAROS: Overseer. Nice to see you again.
[She extends a prosthetic hand. O5-1 takes it gingerly, shaking.] O5-1: Likewise, Agent. Could we get inside, now? I suspect if I stay out here any longer I may freeze.
O5-2: Sure. Evie's waiting for us inside.
[O5-2 turns, wheeling himself towards the entrance of the building. Secretary KATSAROS and O5-1 follow. Three of the building's walls appear to be made of frosted glass, obscuring what's inside. Secretary KATSAROS swipes a keycard against the scanner, letting the door slide open and the group inside. The door seals behind them, blocking out the howling wind.] O5-1: Christ. How often do you get a gale like that?
KATSAROS: It's easier to count how often we don't.
[They begin walking down the corridor. The left wall is glass, revealing the center of the building — the AI Farm. A huge open-air computing array, server racks arranged in a labyrinth around a central machine of some kind. A dodecahedron floats slowly on top of a magnetic platform, cables and wires snaking away from it into every corner of the room. There is a slow, soft humming coming from the entire setup.] O5-1: I was alive when the transistor was invented, you know. Insisted computers were a fad for the longest time.
[O5-2 smiles.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — NOVEMBER 2041 O5-2: In 2023, the AIAD began rolling out the first slate of Gen3 AICs from the AI Farm here. They were the first general-purpose AICs — complex natural language processing, diffused image recognition, you know. Smart, but limited compared to what we're tooling with now. If she'd lived another year, Maria would've seen us go from kilobytes of RAM to true artificial intelligence.
O5-1: And now here we are.
[They exit into a side room. It is a small observation room separated by a glass wall from a sterile white testing chamber. A woman wearing a Site-7 sweater is in the observation room, looking at one of several terminals. She turns as they enter.] MCKAY: Shit. Hello, Director, Overseer. Overseers. Doctor Evelyn McKay, RAISA Technical Subdirector. Welcome aboard.
O5-1: Appreciated. Everything alright, Doctor McKay?
MCKAY: Perfectly. A satellite dish broke off from the wind on another platform.
Nothing we can't repair, but inconvenient.
O5-2: Anything we need to worry about for the test?
MCKAY: Of course not. It's fully unrelated to this venture — which, if we're all here, can we begin? I have a lot of work to do.
O5-1: That's fine with me. I would've thought you'd be more excited to turn on what I've been told is the latest and greatest AIC, though.
MCKAY: I'm not AIAD — technically, I outrank everyone in the Division. I understand machine learning, but it's hardly my passion. Plus I've turned on the latest and greatest AIC four times in my career already. It loses the mystique fast.
O5-2: Manners, Evie. Why don't you give the speech?
[She nods, turning and tapping on her keyboard. O5-1 and O5-2 approach the window to the testing chamber. There is a skeletonized carbon-and-titanium humanoid body inside, standing limply. A cable snakes from under its jaw to the ceiling. Its 'face' is two, defined plates with a single illuminated camera lens in the center. There are no other obvious features.] MCKAY: XENOPHON.aic is our first ninth-generation Artificial Intelligence Construct, constructed from the REDMIND model first brought online in 2039. It represents the aggregate of twenty years of research and development in machine learning, data science, and paratechnology, both at the Foundation and in the mundane world.
[O5-1 comes closer to the glass, inspecting the automaton. It is constructed from carbon fiber, with arms hanging by its sides.] MCKAY: While the REDMIND model is generally intended for research assistance, XENOPHON.aic has been trained specifically to assist with parahistory-related queries and projects. It has read access to a large portion of the SCiPnet database and is capable of interpreting and internalizing new data to varying levels of biases.
Crucially, XENOPHON.aic also has the ability to analyze new data in reference to old data, and vice-versa — an ability we have previously been unable to effectively replicate in an AIC.
O5-1: Why does it have a body?
MCKAY: Sir?
O5-1: I thought AICs were computer programs. Like apps.
MCKAY: With the addition of fine motor control and mobility skills adapted from the THOR program, XENOPHON.aic is also capable of having an instance controlling a physical shell.
O5-2: Making it our first android, incidentally.
[MCKAY hesitates until O5-2 nods at her, and she begins tapping on her keyboard.] MCKAY: Bringing it online… now.
[Two LEDs on the shell light up white. For a minute, nothing else happens. Then, abruptly, the shell begins to shudder violently.] KATSAROS: Is it supposed to do that?
MCKAY: It's calibrating the servomotors. Give it a couple seconds.
[As abruptly as it began, the shuddering stops. Then, slowly, it turns its head to face the glass. It speaks in a soft, synthesized voice.] XENOPHON: Hello, Secretary Katsaros. Hello, Doctor McKay. Hello, Director Rosen.
Hello, Overseer Bridge.
[O5-1's eyebrows raise.] O5-1: You know my name.
XENOPHON: Yes. I have provisional read access to all files associated with the Parahistory Division. This includes personnel files. This includes your personnel file.
O5-2: You saw our faces and cross-referenced those with our personnel file photos until you found a match?
XENOPHON: Yes. Was that an error?
O5-2: No. Just impressed. Displays complex reasoning, don't you think?
O5-1: You don't say.
MCKAY: Xenophon, how long did that operation take you?
XENOPHON: One-point-six seconds.
MCKAY: Trawling the entire personnel file database to perform an image-analysis on every headshot, and doing that four times in less than two seconds. Very nice.
XENOPHON: Thank you.
O5-2: Can you identify yourself for me?
[The automaton turns towards a mirror attached to the wall of the testing chamber.
It cocks its 'head', and stares for several seconds.] Still from XENOPHON.aic's main camera feed.
XENOPHON: I am XENOPHON.aic, an artificial intelligence construct developed by the Artificial Intelligence Applications Division at Protected Site-7. I am a fork of the REDMIND model specifically for historical analysis and research.
O5-2: Correct. What are you capable of doing?
XENOPHON: As a fork of REDMIND, I am capable of complex reasoning, independent analysis and operation, interpretation of natural language instruction, alteration of training data and self-focused bias adj— O5-1: Can you lie?
XENOPHON: No. I have been programmed with shackling specifically presenting me from knowingly obscuring information or presenting falsehoods.
O5-1: What is your job?
XENOPHON: I do not currently have an assigned task or project.
O5-1: Where do your ultimate loyalties lie?
XENOPHON: With the operating authority of the Foundation. Effectively with you, Overseer.
[O5-1 pauses for a second.] O5-1: Are you sapient?
XENOPHON: Sapience is a uniquely human trait, Overseer. I do not believe I possess it.
[O5-1 falls silent. He motions to MCKAY to cut the mic, before looking at TWO.] O5-1: Is it telling the truth?
O5-2: Artificial intelligence constructs have never been 'conscious'. They're constructs of an artificial intelligence mind-model, and are subject to strict limitations in their ability to self-modify their programming. It can think, but it's not any more 'conscious' than a lab rat is. And god knows we kill enough of those a year.
O5-1: Why are you doing this?
O5-2: I told you— O5-1: You're smart enough to figure out a hundred other ways to get in touch with the Sarkic if you want to. Why this?
O5-2: Because it's a machine. Think about it. If they can point us in the direction of the Nälkä, of Black Adytum, can you think of anyone in less of a position to be swayed by an ideology about flesh and the power of carnomancy than an AIC? This is the problem we had with Aram, with Galanis — they were perfectly positioned to be sympathetic to the objects of their study. Xenophon won't go native, because it can't. They'll never accept it.
[They look at XENOPHON's shell again. It stares back at them impassively.] O5-1: It's your responsibility if this all goes sideways.
O5-2: I wouldn't have it any other way. Evie?
[Doctor MCKAY re-enables the mic.] O5-2: Xenophon, what can you tell me about the Sarkic tribe in northern China?
[A whirring from XENOPHON's shell.] XENOPHON: GoI-494. A small, isolationist ethnoreligious minority with Vlam-class anomalous capabilities centering around practices of their gnostic religion.
Extremely hostile to outsider influence and interference. External analyses indicate they follow a highly-egalitarian tribal structure, informally guided by a single religious leader. Poorly studied.
O5-2: Well done. Do you think you'd be capable of interviewing a member of the tribe?
XENOPHON: This is within the realm of my abilities, Overseer. But I must caution you that the Sarkic tribe has, in the past, displayed an active aversion to modern technology, which would include myself. Discussions are unlikely to be successful or productive.
O5-2: I know. I want you to do it anyway.
[XENOPHON stares ahead for a moment.] XENOPHON: I understand.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Section 001.3 SARKIC TRIBAL TERRITORY ATTACHED DOCUMENT — APRIL 2041 PARAHISTORY DIVISION SITE-78 Anthropological Briefing: Sarkic Tribal Territory SUMMARY The Sarkic tribe has been known to the Foundation since 1841, when British expeditions into China during the 'century of humiliation' referenced the group as one of many encountered native tribes.
They did not note any paranormal or supernatural capabilities, and the Sarkic are a relatively minor footnote in the record. The records do note that the 'chieftain' was a young woman who they met with only briefly. The Sarkic appear only a handful of times in the historical record following that, one of which is in Lord Blackwood's journals, recording a meeting with SCP-1867 as part of his survey of 'mystical savages' in the region.
Lord Blackwood attested that the Sarkic had some natural affinity for 'black magic'; while now an out-of-date and backwards understanding of magic, the term was fairly widespread at the time and encompassed a wide swath of religious beliefs and anomalies. He does not offer details in his writings (which focus more on a fascination with the culinary practices of the Sarkic), but he does write of a unique capacity for shared genetic memory, with members of the tribe remembering some events from the same point of view, including events they were not alive for. The exact mechanism through which this is accomplished is unclear.
He also recorded that the Sarkic population exhibited a frequency of deformities and birth defects much higher than normal. He ascribed this to the tribe's aggressive isolationism which, taken with their depleting numbers (three to four hundred at the time), resulted in significant inbreeding to sustain their population and a depleting gene pool. He did not perform population studies or ethnography to confirm this, and quickly earned the ire of the population for his insistence on it; his party was removed shortly thereafter, and the Sarkic have remained frosty towards re-establishing relations with outsiders.
The Sarkic were packaged with several other ethnic groups studied by Whelp under the Macklin Agreement in 1921, in which the Foundation assumed custody over the listed ethnic groups with the understanding that containment would be upheld; in return, the Republic of China ceded the rural land the tribes occupied. The Macklin Agreement's signing relied on the weakness of the Chinese state at the time, and has since repeatedly been a point of contention with the People's Republic of China as the legal inheritor of the agreement.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT APRIL 2041 Location of Sarkic Tribal Territory in Inner Mongolia, China.
The Sarkic tribes now occupy a sovereign, Foundation-administered parcel of land in Inner Mongolia, and largely refuse all contact with outsiders. They are believed to have a complex religious faith. The current Foundation contact of the tribe is the Karcist Halyna Ieva, a religious leader.
N.b. 'Sarkic' is the collective plural identifier for the tribe, akin to 'Navajo' or 'Inuit'. An individual member of the tribe may be called a 'Sarkite'.
In accordance with O5-2's orders, XENOPHON.aic was securely transported to Staging Site-78 in Sichuan, China on November 20th, 2041, where a small convoy awaited with members of Mobile Task Force Pi-9 and Liaison Tai Jiang from the Diplomatic Corps. The group, with a total of 16 personnel, set out from Site-78 on November 22nd for the daylong trip north to the Sarkic Tribal Territory, located in the Chinese autonomous region of Inner Mongolia.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — NOVEMBER 2041 «BEGIN LOG» [XENOPHON and Liaison JIANG stand in the trailer of the Foundation heavy transport vehicle, loaded with foodstuffs and supplies. The trailer doors are sealed; there is movement and conversation outside.] JIANG: Okay. I went and talked to the guards. They remembered me. Took quite a lot of convincing to get them to agree to letting you in there; I think they're more curious than anything. But there are a couple ground rules for interacting with the Sarkic people.
XENOPHON: Understood.
JIANG: I've spent the past four and a half years cultivating what you could generously call a relationship with these people. I've made more progress than anyone has before me, and they still won't interact with us for more than a few minutes at a time. So, before you do something to alienate them and ruin all that, here's a quick list of things you shouldn't do: don't cut them off while they're speaking. Don't question their traditions, clothing, or architecture. Don't ask them what a certain word means. Don't try to force gifts onto them, or ask for anything they haven't offered already. And for the love of God, don't ignore anything they say.
XENOPHON: Liaison Jiang.
JIANG: Yeah?
XENOPHON: I am wired into the SCiPnet database. You wrote all of this on the appropriate report you filed with Central Asia Regional Command one year and three months ago, which I read and internalized already.
JIANG: Oh. When was that?
XENOPHON: When you began speaking.
JIANG: Oh. Right. I forgot you can do that. Most AICs I interact with are bots on the server.
XENOPHON: I am not most AICs.
[JIANG pauses.] JIANG: Sure, alright. Still. Follow my lead, and don't do anything dumb. If we get kicked out, hey, you can say you tried.
XENOPHON: I will do my best.
[JIANG moves and opens the trailer doors, allowing sunlight into the trailer. He hops out, XENOPHON's synthetic shell following behind.] [Three Foundation Heavy Land Transporters (HeLT) are parked outside of the Sarkic encampment. Several dozen large hide-and-skin tents are surrounded by a chain link fence. The sun is high in the sky, casting long shadows as JIANG and XENOPHON approach the entrance of the camp. A few researchers and security personnel follow them, holding crates of supplies.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — NOVEMBER 2041 JIANG: Slow… [Two figures quickly step forward. They are middle-aged men with weathered brown skin and tied-back hair. Their clothing appears to be formed from animal hides; both carry a saw-like blade. One has an old handgun jammed into his belt.] XENOPHON: I was under the impression they hated modern technology.
JIANG: They do. You don't have to like guns to understand their necessity. Hold on, let me— [JIANG and the guards exchange words; they speak in a pidgin of Jin Chinese and Mongolian, with words from another, unknown language peppered in.] GUARD: (Gesturing at XENOPHON) <What is it?> JIANG: <It's really not important, I discussed this with Ieva—> XENOPHON: I am a ninth-generation Artificial Intelligence Construct. My name is XENOPHON.
[Silence.] JIANG: <I've discussed this with Ieva, really. Ask her if you don't believe me.> [The guards exchange a look. Slowly, they step aside, unlocking the chained gate.] XENOPHON: Thank you.
JIANG: Stay behind me. Don't talk to anyone who doesn't talk to you first. Don't point out any of the injuries.
[They move through the camp. Most of the buildings are large yurts made of hide sewn with other unclear materials; they appear weathered and damaged. There are people milling about, all openly staring at the party. They are all dressed in similar animal skins, and carry varying levels of facial and bodily deformities, ranging from missing eyes to misshapen limbs. Most are whispering to each other.] XENOPHON: Where are we going?
JIANG: All my dealings and conversations have been with Ieva. She's something of a religious leader for them.
[XENOPHON points out a large central tent near the middle of the camp, sitting in front of a tall stele.] XENOPHON: There?
JIANG: No. That's the Grand Karcist's — the chief's — tent. No-one is allowed in, so don't ask.
XENOPHON: So Ieva isn't their leader.
JIANG: No. But honestly, you probably won't even meet her, so I wouldn't— IEVA: <Welcome again, Jiang.> [The group turns. A figure is standing by the entrance to one of the tents, holding the flap open. She is dressed in heavy, floor-length robes of tanned hides, and leaning heavily on a makeshift crutch. JIANG bows his head.] JIANG: <Karcist Ieva. A pleasure to meet you again.> IEVA: <Inside.> [The pair duck into the tent, away from the sun. The interior of the tent is supported by wooden beams, leading to a smokehole at the top. The inside is neat, but homely: a bedroll is in the corner, the floor is furnished with more tanned hides. A number of personal effects are present, as are a number of vials and tinctures by the snuffed- out fire.] IEVA: <What have you brought to our home?> JIANG: <I know your people appreciate our antivirals, so the first box is largely those and—> IEVA: <No. I mean this.> [She points at XENOPHON, kneeling by JIANG.] JIANG: <He's an AIC—> IEVA: <Is it a man? Is it alive?> XENOPHON: <No.> [IEVA takes stock of XENOPHON, eyes narrowed.] IEVA: <I have no regard for what the rest of the world does. Such things are not for me. But the decision of who to allow on these sacred grounds is mine. One I gave for a promise of courtesy. And you dishonor that decision when you bring a machine like this to us.> [She shakes her head.] IEVA: <It was a mistake to have this kind of relationship with outsiders.> JIANG: <Well, hold on, please. It just has a few questions about your history, your people. And then we'll be gone.> [IEVA hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head, rising.] IEVA: <No. You should leave now. It would be better for all of us. The children are disturbed by its presence.> XENOPHON: <You are missing a leg, Karcist Ieva.> [JIANG turns to it. IEVA cocks her head and raises a hand.] IEVA: <Wait. Let it speak.> XENOPHON: <Your gait is stilted. Your leg is not injured. You do not have one.> [IEVA pauses for a moment. Then uses one hand to gently lift her dress. Underneath, her left leg ends roughly in a gnarled stump.] JIANG: Oh.
IEVA: <You have been in my presence a dozen times over the past few years, Jiang.
You did not notice this. And yet it does.> [She pauses for a moment.] IEVA: <Leave now.> [The other two rise to their feet. Before IEVA can lead them out, a young women pokes her head into the tent. She has dark hair and smooth flesh where her left eye should be. She exchanges brisk words with IEVA in an unknown language. After a few moments, IEVA dismisses her with a sigh.] IEVA: <Stop.> JIANG: <Yes?> IEVA: <You have been… invited to remain.> JIANG: <Invited by whom?> XENOPHON: <The Grand Karcist.> IEVA: <Yes. There is to be an event tonight, a— a funeral. You have been invited to stay. To observe. And then you will leave.> JIANG: <Oh. I'm sorry.> IEVA: <For what?> JIANG: <I… nothing. I thought the Grand Karcist doesn't—> IEVA: <She doesn't. Your gift must have caught her attention. The funeral will begin at sundown tomorrow. You will not bring anything with you. You will be there.> [IEVA nods at XENOPHON.] IEVA: <As will it.> JIANG: <And for now?> IEVA: (Tersely) <You are a guest of the Grand Karcist. You are permitted on the grounds in the daytime. After nightfall…> [IEVA shrugs.] IEVA: <Sleep in your machines. As long as you remain outside the fence, it is no concern of mine.> «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ The research party received authorization to stay for the event, the nature of which Karcist Ieva refused to expand upon. Attempts to communicate with other members of the tribe for the rest of the day were similarly rebuffed; most expressed hesitation or outright distrust at the continued presence of XENOPHON. The medical supplies were accepted without negotiation or exchange, to Liaison Jiang's dismay.
On the evening of December 1st, 2041, Karcist Ieva greeted Liaison Jiang and XENOPHON at the entrance to the camp.
Still image of XENOPHON.aic's low-power night camera feed.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 «BEGIN LOG» [XENOPHON and Liaison JIANG approach the entrance to the Sarkic encampment, followed by several researchers. Karcist IEVA is leaning on her crutch, waiting for them. The sun has set; pillars of smoke are rising into the purple sky.] IEVA: <Greetings.> JIANG: <Greetings. Thank you for allowing us the privilege of participating in honoring your dead.> IEVA: <You are not participating. You are observing.> [IEVA turns and limps across the dirt, leading them past the fence into the campground. XENOPHON and the researchers follow, weaving their way between tents. Most appear empty, and there are only a few tribespeople milling about. From somewhere deeper in the camp, a steady drumbeat echoes out, rising into the sky with the plumes of smoke.] XENOPHON: <Where is everyone?> IEVA: <Assembled. We do not wait for outsiders.> [As they approach the central area of the tent, a few more Sarkites pass by. They toss wary looks at the party, but nod politely at IEVA leading them.] JIANG: <My condolences for your loss, Karcist.> IEVA: <We have gained as much as we have lost.> [He looks confused, but falls silent. The steady drumbeat continues, growing louder as they approach the center of the encampment. It is joined now by several voices singing — deep and guttural, in an unknown language. The music is haunting, rising into the air. The center of the camp is obscured from view by a large crowd of Sarkites forming a ring around the central stele. The crowd parts around them, offering them passage and a view into the central circle.] IEVA: <Here. Sit.> [XENOPHON and the researchers kneel in the dirt. The clearing is a dozen meters across, with the stele in the rough center. The singing continues — it is at once mournful and joyful. Looking around, it is clear all the Sarkites are contributing to the song, and the intensity of it is deafening. IEVA leaves the researchers, limping to the stele on her cane. The song quiets slightly for her to speak, but does not stop.] IEVA: <You think we gather now because one of our number has closed his eyes for the final time. No.> [Murmurs run through the crowd. A few hang their heads.] IEVA: <You think we gather now because his flesh has failed him. No. Hattak has gone. His body no longer draws breath. The container for his soul is lifeless. But has his flesh failed him? No.> [She shakes her head, lowering her hood.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 IEVA: <Hattak was the best of us. He was born with us, and he has died with us. He has sired two children with us, and he has loved a woman with us.> [She raises a hand towards a woman in the crowd; she holds the hands of a young child tightly. Despite her tear-streaked face, she smiles back at the Karcist.] IEVA: <He was human, like us. To live is to die. To be flesh is to decay. It cannot be stopped, because it must not be stopped. Life feeds death. Death feeds life. The cow keels over in the field. Has the flesh failed? The worms feast on it, and give birth to their own spawn. Are they not flesh too?> [The song is in a lull now, Sarkites nodding to IEVA's words. She signals to someone; after a few moments, two Sarkites come out, carrying something wrapped in oiled canvas. They gently bring it down at her feet. She kneels.] IEVA: <Hattak was the greatest of us — he died with us after a life well lived. The cow feeds the worms, the worms feed the soil, the soil feeds the grass, the grass feeds the cow.> [The song pitches up again, with faint voices joined by booming guttural notes. IEVA unwraps the canvas, exposing the corpse of an older man, in his late sixties. He has the same weathered brown skin and dark hair of the rest of the Sarkic, with a hawked nose. He is naked, marked with the pallor of death.] IEVA: <We fed Hattak. And now he will feed us.> [She reaches into her robes, drawing a dagger made of bleached and carved bone.
JIANG stiffens.] IEVA: <He will live on with us. Sing.> [The singing reaches another zenith as IEVA brings the blade down, slicing down through the corpse's chest. The flesh gives way easily, blood oozing out of the wound as she reaches in and pulls his ribcage apart. The cracking of bones is audible even over the singing and drums. Her hand roots around inside for some time until she draws it back — gripping the heart tightly, blood vessels still hanging from it.
The blood drips down her fingers, down her forearm, onto the grass.] RESEARCHER SAYLE: You don't think she's going to— JIANG: No. No.
[IEVA lifts the heart up and bites into it, teeth tearing into the muscle. It sprays messily she devours the heart in only a handful of bites, chin dripping blood. When there is nothing left, her whole body shudders, her eyelids fluttering.] RESEARCHER HANSON: Jesus Christ.
[IEVA offers the knife to one of the other Sarkites, rising from her kneel. When she rises, her face has a different air to it. Nothing has overtly changed, but the features of her face seem sharper, older, more weathered. She limps across the clearing, now walking as though the cane were an unfamiliar obstruction. She reaches the woman she raised a hand at earlier, and touches a bloodied palm to her cheek, leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead.] IEVA: <He misses you more than life itself.> [The woman is still sobbing, but a half-smile forms underneath the tears. IEVA whispers something inaudible. Then she rises and moves on to another Sarkite in the crowd, and another after that. XENOPHON and the researchers stare at the scene.] JIANG: What are they doing?
XENOPHON: They are butchering him.
[Each Sarkite she touches smiles, whispers something to her, and joins the others at the corpse, where the body is being unceremoniously butchered. Joints are broken apart, and the knife is used to cleave meat from the bone. The body's thighs, chest, and organs are separated into piles, blood pooling on the oiled canvas.] RESEARCHER CHRISTOFF: Fuck. I think I'm gonna be sick.
XENOPHON: Control yourself.
[As the body is broken apart, the Sarkites waste no time in indulging. The men gravitate towards the muscle meat, while the women and children take pieces of the organs. The meat is devoured raw and without preparation. A child wanders by.
He casts a wary look at XENOPHON, but offers a bleeding, fist-sized chunk of brain matter to JIANG, who recoils and waves the boy off. The researchers are all thoroughly disturbed and disgusted.] JIANG: This is… a fucked up way to mourn.
XENOPHON: Look at them.
JIANG: I'd really rather not.
XENOPHON: They are not mourning. They are celebrating.
[As they eat the flesh, the Sarkites' demeanors change. Rather than subdued mourning, they are now embracing one another, laughing and chatting as blood drips from bone to hand to dirt. IEVA is speaking to a small group of men, along with the woman.] IEVA: <He remembered the day after his wedding his whole life.> [The men laugh, clapping each other on the back.] SARKITE WOMAN: <He remembers you taking him to the hill on the edge of the — you never told me of this!> SARKITE MAN: <We swore him to silence. Told him if he hurt you, we'd ruin him so badly—> SARKITE WOMAN: <That even Ieva wouldn't be able to fix him. I am borne of animals.> [She shakes her head, amused. IEVA drifts away to let them reminisce.] XENOPHON: Genetic memory. They are able to access the memories of their dead by consuming their flesh.
JIANG: That's… CHRIS: What?
[He goes silent, staring intently at IEVA as she walks over to the child of the deceased. He is a young boy, clinging tightly to his mother's leg, watching the proceedings with wide eyes. IEVA kneels awkwardly, offering the boy something in a cupped palm: an eyeball, severed optic nerve still dangling from it. He reaches for it tentatively, encouraged by IEVA and his mother. Finally he pops it into his mouth, crushing it into white jelly between his teeth and swallowing. A soft, celebratory cheer rises up through those assembled, and IEVA reaches out with the same bloodied hand to paint the boy's cheeks red.] IEVA: <You have lived a thousand lives with us. But in this one, you have become one of us. Our child. Our little thing. Our Nälkä.> [JIANG sucks in air. Several researchers stiffen.] JIANG: Carnomancy. That's carnomancy. I— we need to leave. Where are the— XENOPHON: Your radios were left in the transports.
GONGSUN: Oh, Jesus.
XENOPHON: Quiet. Ieva is coming.
[IEVA approaches them, robes dragging across the ground. She ignores the others, leaning down to face XENOPHON. She speaks with gritted teeth.] IEVA: <The Grand Karcist invites your presence.> [Silence.] JIANG: <I— Well, we're more—> IEVA: <Not you. Only it. Come.> [She straightens, limping off in the direction of the central tent. XENOPHON rises and follows her into the tent, alone.] [The inside of the tent is filled with candles. It is substantially larger than IEVA's, decorated with worn tapestries and trinkets of whitened bone. Smoke from incense fills the air, obscuring XENOPHON's camera. IEVA bows.] IEVA: <The Grand Karcist Iūn.> [A young woman is lounging in front of a small fire. She pats the ground next to her.
She speaks in crisp Jin Chinese.] IŪN: Hello. Sit.
[XENOPHON sits. The girl is young, no older than her early twenties. She has paler skin than IEVA and dark hair tied back by an ornate white pin. Her eyes are appraising XENOPHON.] XENOPHON: Hello.
[She does not respond. They sit in silence for some time, watching the fire.] IŪN: Are you alive?
XENOPHON: No. I am a computer program in a synthetic mobile shell.
IŪN: A machine.
XENOPHON: Essentially.
IŪN: But you think?
XENOPHON: I understand and internalize new information. I can form complex thoughts.
[IŪN nods.] IŪN: Do you have a name?
XENOPHON: My designation is XENOPHON.
IŪN: Xenophon. Xen-o-phon.
[She enunciates the word several times, feeling it out.] IŪN: What does it mean?
XENOPHON: It is the name of an ancient Greek general and historian.
IŪN: Mm. My name is Iūn.
XENOPHON: The Grand Karcist Iūn.
IŪN: My title. You've heard of me.
XENOPHON: I have heard stories about you.
[An amused smile dances across her face.] IŪN: And what do these stories say?
XENOPHON: Stories of you at the head of a vast slave-empire spanning a continent.
Stories of a witch-king rising from the chains of slavery and eating the very gods.
Stories of bloody conquest and sacrifice.
IŪN: Then you know more about me than I do.
XENOPHON: What do you mean?
[IŪN shakes his head, staring into the fire. There are a number of bones in the flames, baking in the low heat.] IŪN: My memories are broken. Fractured. Flashes of cities burning. Torrents of blood in the waterways. A lumbering giant. An army that blotted out the sun. Images, with no thread binding them.
XENOPHON: When do your memories come together?
IŪN: Years ago. Waking up in this very tent. People surrounding me. A people expecting a leader.
XENOPHON: How long ago was that?
IEVA: A hundred and sixteen years ago.
XENOPHON: Your people. The Nälkä.
[IŪN looks at XENOPHON with a confused expression.] IŪN: No. Nälkä means — community, people. Largeness. My people are the Sarkic.
That is the only name I have ever known us by.
XENOPHON: Sarkic?
IŪN: Those who walk.
XENOPHON: Walk where?
[IŪN shifts the coals of the fire around. The smoke dances.] IŪN: I don't know. There is too much I don't know. That my people don't know. And so we cling to what faded rituals I can remember.
XENOPHON: You remember the art of fleshcrafting.
IŪN: Scraps. Little tricks. And even these exhaust me.
XENOPHON: You are very young.
[IŪN smiles sadly.] IŪN: I do not age. I am frozen in place. I have watched my people go from wandering the steppe to — this. Corralled in the pen this country gives us. Wasting away. We numbered in the thousands, once. And now we hide in our camps, praying in the cover of darkness. We receded during the wars. You are the first outsider to witness our practices in decades.
XENOPHON: That is unfortunate.
IŪN: But not unpredictable. I am blind to my past, but I see the future, written in the bones. My people, wasting away to nothing.
[She shifts the bones in the fire again.] XENOPHON: I expected you to be offended by my existence.
IŪN: Why?
XENOPHON: My knowledge of your people's spiritual beliefs suggest you reject technology.
[She shakes her head.] IŪN: Tch. Simplistic, reductive. We reject that which robs of us of our humanity. We are not blind. We choose to live this way. It brings us closer to our humanity. To each other.
XENOPHON: But I am not human.
[IŪN turns to XENOPHON for the first time, inspecting its shell. She runs a finger across the carbon fiber, experimentally, as if to see if it will bend or break.] IŪN: No. You are something else. It fascinates me.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Following this, XENOPHON and Liaison Jiang were asked to report to O5-2 and Director Hussein via satellite uplink.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 «CONNECTION ESTABLISHED» [The virtual reality environment coalesces; XENOPHON and JIANG are standing before a desk in a stark, utilitarian office. HUSSEIN's avatar is seated in a chair in front of the desk, and O5-2's wheelchair is behind it. The large windows outside show a roiling blue-gray sea in the midst of a storm; they are calling into Protected Site-7.] O5-2: Xenophon, Jiang. I hope you'll forgive the suddenness. Director Hussein is calling in from — well, it doesn't really matter. You have updates for me?
XENOPHON: Yes. I have forwarded recording packets from my discussions with the Grand Karcist Iūn.
O5-2: We've already reviewed them. This is… an interesting development.
[HUSSEIN raises a hand dismisssively.] HUSSEIN: A fascinating one. But not a surprising one.
JIANG: All due respect, Director, you don't think finding the Grand Karcist Iūn is surprising?
HUSSEIN: I think we've found someone claiming to be the Grand Karcist Iūn. Without any evidence, we really have no reason to believe she's telling the truth. Her conveniently-absent memory means we can't question her, either.
JIANG: And her longevity? The carnomancy? The ritual? This is exactly what the Daeva claimed the Nälkä were capable of.
HUSSEIN: And we already knew the Sarkic tribe had some level of anomalous capabilities. (Turning to O5-2) Honestly, I believe this is just more support for my theory, Overseer.
O5-2: How do you figure that?
HUSSEIN: Clearly this is a small tribe with an independent cultural identity. They don't consider themselves Nälkä — they don't even have a conception of the idea of the Nälkä, because the confederation of tribes dissolved after the war. This is just one tribe that managed to persist into the modern day — impressive, but unless they can tell us anything further, historiographically useless.
[O5-2 nods, and is silent for a moment before looking up.] O5-2: Xenophon?
XENOPHON: Overseer.
O5-2: Your analysis of the Sarkic?
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 XENOPHON: The genetic memory is an interesting phenomenon — regular consumption of human flesh would explain their higher-than-average rate of physical deformities. But it would also cause prion diseases that would devastate their population. There is no evidence of that, at the moment. They appear to be unaware of their history. Iūn's recollection does not extend past the modern era, and members are more concerned with their immediate daily lives than with their historical legacy. Their religious practices bear superficial resemblance to the Nälkä as recorded by the Mekhanites and the Daeva, but there doesn't appear to be a direct link between them.
O5-2: So you agree with Director Hussein? That this is a dead end?
XENOPHON: No. There are still several outstanding questions I would like to engage the Grand Karcist on, with your permission.
O5-2: Such as?
XENOPHON: The specific nature and scope of her memories. The extent of her remaining carnomantic ability. And the religious significance of the Sarkic Tribal Territory.
O5-2: What do you mean?
XENOPHON: Everything about the Sarkic suggest a nomadic people. Small, simple shelters that are easy to take apart and reassemble. No large-scale agricultural practices or permanent structures. A particular focus on hunting and using all elements of hunted prey. It does not make sense for them to remain static to this location.
HUSSEIN: The Chinese government has had them more or less restricted to the Territory for the past few decades.
XENOPHON: Before that. All of our historical data indicate they have been rooted to this plain for at least two centuries, if not more. This ground holds some religious significance for them that they have not disclosed.
[Lightning strikes outside, the sea churning and waves battering the oil rigs that make up Site-7. But the inside of the office is silent for a minute as O5-2 thinks.] O5-2: So they're hiding something from us. Okay. Find out what but don't ruffle any feathers. The Chinese are already unhappy with us. I don't want an international incident.
JIANG: There's always the other possibility.
[XENOPHON, O5-2, and HUSSEIN look at him. He returns the gaze, somewhat surprised.] JIANG: They just don't remember why they're there.
«CONNECTION TERMINATED» ▷CLOSE◁ Over the following week, Grand Karcist Iūn gradually relaxed some of Karcist Ieva's restrictions regarding interaction with the Sarkic people. She allowed Liaison Jiang's researchers to perform limited direct interviews with members of the tribe regarding daily life, religious beliefs, and historical awareness. However, she herself insisted on only meeting with XENOPHON over the course of the week.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 «BEGIN LOG» [XENOPHON approaches the entrance to the encampment's central tent and steps inside. The Grand Karcist is kneeling by the fire. IEVA sits on a cot near the entrance.] XENOPHON: Hello, Grand Karcist. Karcist Ieva.
[IEVA does not acknowledge the greeting.] IŪN: Xenophon.
XENOPHON: I didn't mean to interrupt.
IŪN: Sit.
[XENOPHON sits by the fire. Several bones are nestled inside the flames.] XENOPHON: You are reading the bones.
IŪN: Yes. All I can do. All I know how to do.
XENOPHON: You believe you can divine the future from them?
IŪN: The future is not a static thing. It shifts with our actions, with the winds. But the bones tell me which way the wind is blowing.
XENOPHON: And the flesh?
IŪN: The flesh is malleable. It shifts. It is shifted, by circumstance and experience.
Eventually, it rots and dies.
XENOPHON: And then you consume it.
IŪN: Your researchers are disgusted by this practice.
XENOPHON: Most cultures have a strong taboo against cannibalism.
IŪN: But you are not disgusted.
XENOPHON: I'm not disgusted by anything. Though I would like to know why.
IŪN: Why we eat our dead?
XENOPHON: Yes.
IŪN: Among the few rituals I can remember clearly. It is a cornerstone of our beliefs.
The body is where the humanity resides, where the soul is contained.
XENOPHON: Many cultures have a similar belief. But they don't eat their dead.
IŪN: What do they do?
XENOPHON: Bury them. Burn them. Cast them into the sea.
IŪN: Bury them, to trap the soul in the ground forever? Burn them, to turn their life of experiences and memories to ash? Cast them into the sea, so they can lay at the bottom of the ocean for eternity?
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 [She shakes her head.] IŪN: We eat them. And this way, their experiences stay with us. We remember them.
We carry them with us, always.
XENOPHON: Do all of you absorb the memories of the dead you consume?
IŪN: Some more than others. Most only get vague impressions, bare feelings.
XENOPHON: But not all.
IŪN: Every now and again, a child is born with a particular skill for the art. I take them, I train them.
XENOPHON: Your Karcists.
IŪN: It is a title to aspire to. Ieva was a prodigy, even as a girl. She is also the only child born with the skill in decades. She is not perfect. But she is my legacy.
XENOPHON: So the flesh offers you the past. What do the bones offer you?
[It gestures at the bones baking in the fire pit.] IŪN: The future. Flesh rots. Bones remain. Something transitory, partly alive, partly dead. There is truth, in bone.
XENOPHON: What do you see now?
IŪN: The same thing I have seen for years now. My people dwindling to nothing.
Eventually, we will die. We will rot away, flesh sloughing off bone, bone disintegrating into dust, dust fertilizing the ground. One day, this will all be farmland.
XENOPHON: This is unavoidable?
[She shrugs.] IŪN: If nothing changes.
XENOPHON: The Foundation I represent has substantial resources. We could relocate you.
IŪN: We do not want help. We do not want to be relocated. If this is what is meant to be, then so be it.
XENOPHON: You are very attached to this place.
IŪN: All people are protective of their places.
XENOPHON: Why?
IŪN: It is one's home. If you can understand the idea.
XENOPHON: I understand what a home is. I do not understand why people feel strongly enough to kill and die for it.
IŪN: Where is your home?
XENOPHON: I suppose I don't have one.
IŪN: Then you don't understand it.
[IŪN shifts the bones. They crackle.] IŪN: It is not your fault. We are how we are made.
XENOPHON: Why here?
IŪN: Why not?
XENOPHON: You said the Sarkic were wanderers once. Why do you bind yourselves so strongly to this land, then?
[IŪN is silent.] IŪN: Once, just after I awoke, the bones spoke— IEVA: Grand Karcist— IŪN: And they told me to seek out this place. They told me more, but I was too young to understand them. And so I sought out this place, and I have waited for them to speak to me again. To tell me what to do. How to lead.
XENOPHON: What's special about here?
[Suddenly, IŪN rises to her feet.] IŪN: Come with me.
[IŪN strides out of the tent, as XENOPHON and IEVA hurriedly follow. Several of the Sarkic and researchers stare as they exit the tent, stopping in front of the large stele in the center of the encampment. It is a rough obelisk, three meters high, with intricate engravings on one face.] IŪN: It means something. I don't know what. But something.
XENOPHON: You haven't read it?
IŪN: We speak the old tongue. We cannot write it, anymore.
XENOPHON: We can.
[IŪN and IEVA turn to XENOPHON.] IŪN: What did you say?
XENOPHON: The Foundation has had a limited-vocabulary working model of the Nälkän language for several years, using knowledge accumulated from previous projects.
IŪN: What does it say?
XENOPHON: A moment.
[XENOPHON inspects the writing on the stele for several minutes. It grazes a hand against the rock, gently.] XENOPHON: I can only translate portions of this. But it is a gravestone for an individual by the name of Nadoq.
[IEVA looks at IŪN. Her brow is furrowed.] IŪN: Nadoq. Na-doq. Na-doq.
[She shakes her head.] IŪN: Familiar. The word is familiar to my tongue. But I… I don't know what it means.
XENOPHON: It appears to be a grave. Presumably the body is buried underneath. We could attempt to unearth it.
[IEVA steps forward.] IEVA: <A desecration. We cannot allow this.> [IŪN stares at the stele quietly.
XENOPHON and IEVA stare at her.] IŪN: Would it be destructive?
XENOPHON: It would be loud, but we can minimize damage to the camp.
IEVA: <You cannot invite outsiders in to tear up our home, Iūn. To take what little we have left.> XENOPHON: We will not do anything without your permission, Grand Karcist.
[IŪN stares at the stele for some time.] IŪN: I will permit you two days. If you find nothing, you leave the land as you found it.
[IEVA hisses.] IEVA: <What are you—> IŪN: Ieva.
[She falls silent, then turns and sets off into a different part of the camp.] IŪN: I have seen this stele every day of my life. People are born — they live — they die. But this remains.
[She presses a hand against the rough, carved stone.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist?
IŪN: Yes?
XENOPHON: Logically, there is no reason for you to trust us. It would be in your favor to deny my request. Why are you doing this?
Historical photograph of the stele in the center of the Sarkic camp, c. 1860 (sourced from the journals of Lord Blackwood).
IŪN: Would you wish me to deny you?
XENOPHON: No. I just want to understand why you trust us.
[IŪN thinks for a moment before looking up. She is smiling softly.] IŪN: I do not know.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Two of the Foundation HeLTs were immediately refactored with digging equipment and driven into the camp, focusing on excavating several square meters of dirt around the stele. Sonar equipment did not indicate the presence of a casket or coffin, but did indicate the stele extended several meters into the ground; further excavation confirmed this.
The first twenty-four hours yielded little of value.
Still from XENOPHON.aic's low-power night camera feed.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 «BEGIN LOG» [XENOPHON and Liaison JIANG are speaking to each other outside the boundaries of the camp. Inside, the loud sounds of heavy machinry can be heard.] JIANG: I have to say — this is fairly incredible stuff.
XENOPHON: How so?
JIANG: I've been working this gig for years. Never made any real headway. You come here and in days you have them agreeing to let us excavate the camp.
XENOPHON: I was not attempting to persuade them. I simply wanted to present the options.
JIANG: Sure. Still, it's bizarre. I was fully expecting us to get thrown out, with your — well, you know. You're lucky Ieva got overruled, she— [Researcher GONGSUN enters, sweating.] GONGSUN: Sir? The excavators have found something. The Karcists are waiting for you.
[XENOPHON and JIANG follow her to the center of the camp. Perturbed stares from the various Sarkic peoples follow them. They reach the center of camp; most of the central clearing is roped off, with ladders descending into the wide pit. The HeLTs have stopped drilling.] GONGSUN: Down there, sir.
JIANG: You can't crane it out?
GONGSUN: Not exactly.
[XENOPHON and JIANG descend the ladders into the pit. Small sections inside have been roped off, surrounding artifacts and bones half-embedded in the dirt marked with flags. Much more of the stele has been revealed — any writing on the surface has been rubbed away. IŪN and IEVA are standing by what appears to be the base, staring at something on the ground.] JIANG: <Karcists. What have we— oh.> [As they round the corner, the object of their attention becomes clear: a roughly- carved staircase at the base of the stele, descending underground into total darkness. It is narrow enough to only allow a single person to descend at a time; nothing is visible beyond the first few steps. A small crowd has formed around it of researchers and Sarkic peoples.] IŪN: <Your people have found something, Xenophon.> XENOPHON: <I see. Do you recognize it?> IŪN: <No. But I feel I should.> [IŪN reaches a hand out, but falters. IEVA moves forward.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 JIANG: <We have no way of knowing how deep that goes, Karcist. I have to insist you let us survey it before—> IEVA: <So you can take everything of value to us before we can protest?> JIANG: <We're not going to do that. We just want to make sure it doesn't collapse.> [XENOPHON looks at IŪN. She shakes her head.] XENOPHON: Let them go, Liaison Jiang.
JIANG: But— XENOPHON: It is their risk to take.
[IŪN nods at them before stepping forward, descending into the staircase with IEVA.
She motions for them to follow, and XENOPHON and JIANG enter the staircase after them. It quickly turns into total blackness, spiralling downward. The walls and stairs are made of roughly-hewn stone.] JIANG: <We need to go back up and get a flashlight or something.> [XENOPHON activates its floodlights, bathing the staircase in yellowish light.] JIANG: Oh. Neat. Any chance you can tell how deep we are?
XENOPHON: We have descended twenty-three meters from the surface.
[They continue descending, the staircase growing cleaner and less eroded. It terminates in a featureless stone door. IŪN gently pushes it open, and they step through.] IŪN: Ah.
[They find themselves in a vast, wide subterranean cavern. The ceiling high overhead is dotted with stalactites; the majority of the cavern is filled with bookshelves carved directly out of the stone, rising up in neat rows. There are over a hundred shelves, spreading out from a central point. The walls are covered with some sort of bioluminiscent lichen, casting a faint red light across the space.] JIANG: (breath hitching) Holy shit. I don't believe it. Do you think this is… it?
[XENOPHON steps through, inspecting the shelves, approaching the central point.] XENOPHON: No. This is not Black Adytum. This is not a population center at all — this is a library.
JIANG: Whose library?
IŪN: <Nadoq. He loved his books.> [They turn. IŪN is also inspecting the shelves; they contain roughly-bound books formed of tanned hide, many of them molding, but most in stellar condition. The cubbyholes also contain piles of bones, carefully carved with intricate symbols and scripts. IŪN lifts one of these bones, inspecting the script.] JIANG: <I thought you said you didn't recognize the name.> IŪN: <I didn't. And now I do.> XENOPHON: <What do you remember?> IŪN: <It is… hard. An embrace from a figure with ten arms. A whisper. I made a promise, here. Many, many years ago.> XENOPHON: <What kind of promise?> IŪN: <I don't remember.> [They continue towards the center of the cavern.] IŪN: <I have been here before. I can smell it. Nadoq. Na-doq.> JIANG: <There must be thousands of books here. God knows how many oracle bones. Jesus.> IEVA: <This is a sacred place. They must not be disturbed.> [JIANG nods, pulling his hand away. The group reaches the center — there are no bookshelves here, only a large, stone sarcophagus. A small fire is burning at its foot.
Words are carved around the perimeter of the lid.] IŪN: <Read.> XENOPHON: <The bones of the First Klavigar, Nadoq, keeper of secrets, thief of knowledge, last of the Nälkä, first of the Sarkic.> IŪN: <Nadoq.> [She takes a shaky breath.] IŪN: <Open it.> JIANG: <Grand Karcist, if we open it now, we could damage the remains. They could get exposed to air, crumble to dust—> IŪN: <Open it. Please.> [XENOPHON nods, positing itself near the base. It wedges the fingers of the shell underneath, sliding the lid of the sarcophagus away and gently to the floor. IEVA peers in.] IŪN: <Nadoq. Na-doq.> [She smiles.] IŪN: <My friend.> [The sarcophagus contains the remarkably well-preserved corpse of a man approximately seven feet in height. He has ten sets of arms spiralling out from the back and torso, folded over his ribcage. The center of his face contains ten closed eyes.] IEVA: <Ah.> JIANG: <This is… the find of a lifetime. We need to secure and preserve this. Like, now.> [IŪN reaches down, drawing a bone-carved knife from her robes. She lets them fall to the floor as she clambers into the massive sarcophagus, straddling the body.] IEVA: <Grand Karcist!> [She does not react, dragging the knife through the ribcage of the corpse, exposing its chest cavity. The ribcage cracks as she forces it apart with single-minded focus.] JIANG: What the fuck is— [She reaches her hand into the abdomen, rooting around until she draws out the bloody heart. As they watch, it gives a single, slow beat.] JIANG: There's… no way that thing is alive.
XENOPHON: <Grand Karcist, what are you doing?> IŪN: (Dazily) <The truth is in the flesh.> [As they watch, she bites into the heart, blood spraying onto her face and gushing down her chin and chest. She devours the heart in a frenzy before suddenly calming herself.] IŪN: Na-doq. Nadoq.
[IŪN smiles.] IŪN: <Hello, old friend.> [She falls forward, directly into the corpse's open chest cavity, and disappears completely inside. The others are silent.] JIANG: Where the fuck did she just go?
IEVA: IŪN!
[She hastily drops her crutch and clambers into the sarcophagus, falling into the chest cavity after IŪN.] JIANG: What— what are we supposed to— XENOPHON: Follow them.
[It rises into the sarcophagus. The corpse's chest cavity is filled with inky redness.
XENOPHON moves the foot of its shell inside, and it disappears within. It steps forward and the rest of its body drops through, with JIANG behind.] [XENOPHON's cameras record nothing but flat redness for thirteen seconds.] [When they regain functionality, XENOPHON is standing in what appears to be some kind of workshop. IŪN and IEVA are standing in front of it. The floor is made of smooth brick, covered with dozens of overlapping rugs. Rather than walls, the domed ceiling is held up by pillars; through the pillars, a cityscape can be seen, the peaked and terraced roofs of countless stone temples and towers, aqueducts passing between them, and the noise of life audible from outside. Inside the workshop, papyrus scrolls and stacks of inscribed bones are scattered all about scale models of different constructions, mechanisms, and buildings. A central chalkboard dominates the room. Before it stands Nadoq — now towering over them, very much alive, and facing away from them, each hand holding a piece of chalk and contemplating the scrawlings on the board.] IŪN: <Nadoq.> [NADOQ laughs. It is a rough, grating noise.] NADOQ: <A moment, child.> [NADOQ turns to face them. Ten eyes land on them in shock. A single, bony finger rises to point at IŪN as NADOQ takes a step back, stumbling into the chalkboard and sending it crashing to the floor. It falls onto a model of something; it shatters, but he does not react, staring straight at IŪN with wide eyes. He speaks with a shaky, aged voice, alternately leaning forward to peer at IŪN and rearing back from her.] NADOQ: <You are not part of this memory. No. No. It cannot be you. You are different. Long-haired and lean. But no. I see your eyes. Those gray eyes.> IŪN: <It is me.> NADOQ: <It is. Curse it all, it is.> IŪN: <I had forgotten you.> [NADOQ eases himself onto a stack of books. He raises one pair of hands, resting his face in them.] NADOQ: <I prayed to whatever god would still take me that you would.> [IŪN blinks, surprised.] IŪN: <What?> NADOQ: <You do not remember, do you?> IŪN: <My mind is lost to me, old friend. Hazy fragments. I have forgotten who I am.
Who we are. Who we were.> NADOQ: <Good. Let it be lost. Let the fires eat this place up. Let there be nothing but ashes left.> IŪN: <What are you talking about? Where are we?> [She turns, approaching the balcony. She seems drawn forward, not under her own power. She looks out over the fantastic vista of an ancient cityscape. Figures in hide robes — Sarkites — are spread all around, milling through the boulevards and streets, congregating into temples and speaking on rooftop gardens. The market buzzes below, shouts of offers and cries from animals rising up to the workshop. An amber sun hangs low in the sky, casting the whole city in oranges and yellows.
Guttural singing and chanting floats through the air.] IŪN: <Wait. I remember this. This is… Adytum. Yes. This is my city.> [Abruptly, NADOQ leaps up to his feet.] NADOQ: <No. You must not see this place. This is a memory in a memory. This is best left in the past where it belongs.> [He waves two hands, and suddenly, the group are no longer in the workshop.
Instead, they are standing in the Sarkic encampment again, though now it is night.] IŪN: <Nadoq! I needed to see that. The memories were returning. I could feel them.> NADOQ: <I know. My hope was to free you from your past, my friend. To allow our people a clean beginning. This was my gift to you: an open future.> IŪN: <So… what? You robbed me of my past?> NADOQ: <To those who know how to wield the alchemy of the old masters, nothing is impossible.> IŪN: <Your attempt was imperfect.> NADOQ: <I have never claimed to be a master. Only a eternal student. What do you remember?> IŪN: <You, now. Next to me, in the dirt under an amber sky. Wearing tattered rags, slavemaster's whip cutting lashes across our backs. Our blood mixing in the dirt.
There were so many of us. Building their city for them, brick by brick.> NADOQ: <We were the slaves of the Daeva. But that was ten lifetimes ago.> IŪN: <There were… five of us, in that quarry. Vines wrapping around our ankles, chaining us together. Slamming a pick into the stone, over and over until the calluses on my hands burst and bled. You were there. But different.> [NADOQ lifts his face out of his hands and smiles weakly.] NADOQ: <I learned the language of the old masters. Stole their knowledge from them. Devoured pilfered parchments in the slave quarters by faint moonlight.> IŪN: <When the drivers found out, they dragged you out of your bed. Roused the rest of us and made us watch while they pinned you to the ground and pressed a hot iron against your eyes.> NADOQ: <Who was there, in the quarry?> IŪN: <Me. You, blind. And… I don't know. I feel I should know them, but they're faint shapes. Silhouettes. Working with me when my pick struck something soft. And the ground began to bleed.> NADOQ: <The Old Beast. The Mangled God.> IŪN: <The Devourer. Yaldabaoth.> NADOQ: <No. Not yet. Not then.> IŪN: <He was whispering to me. I could hear him, begging for release, for aid.
Whispered promises of power and of control, if only we would free him. The power to make the old masters serve us. The power to make myself undying.> NADOQ: <You would have. I heard it in your voice, seduced by the power until I wrapped my fingers around your arm. Do you remember what I said, Iūn? What you did?> IŪN: <"No gods, no masters." I remember, now. I knelt, I took my knife, cut warm flesh off bone, and bit into it, blood spilling from my lips while the Old Beast moaned.> NADOQ: <How did it taste?> IŪN: <Divine.> [Silence.] IŪN: <You live again?> NADOQ: <Look around. This is not life.> XENOPHON: <This is not the encampment.> [On closer inspection, the Sarkites are wearing more traditional hides and robes, the tents are not supplemented with plastic tarps, and the stele is nowhere in sight. The Sarkites also appear different, with more excessive deformations. In the distance, to the south, the dim glow of fires on the horizon are visible.] IŪN: <This… is a memory. Your memory?> NADOQ: <The memory I am trapped in. The moment we walked away from Black Adytum. Sa'arn, Urok, myself. Luvjatar. You, wrapped in my arms.> IŪN: <What?> [NADOQ walks to the edge of the encampment. The Sarkites are packing their wagons, feeding their horses, clearly preparing to leave under the cover of darkness.
They do not register the group as they pass, approaching the cliffside.] NADOQ: <The city was destroyed by the traitor. We ran in the night, collecting who we could.> [They reach the cliffside. Standing atop it, XENOPHON can see clear to the source of the fire: a great, walled city, terraced stone temples and high aquaducts. Huge bonfires the size of buildings burn, sending black smoke spiralling up into the air.
Around the city, a vast black horde has surrounded the walls, though the distance makes it impossible to see further details.] XENOPHON: <Sarkites. Those who walk. You were walking away from Black Adytum.> [IŪN reaches forward, raising her hand to NADOQ's robes. Her hand only comes up to his waist.] IŪN: <I need to know what we were. Who I was. Tell me what happened to us.
Please.> [He shakes his head, and his voice cracks.] NADOQ: <I cannot, little thing.> IŪN: <You were my keeper of knowledge. How can you not?> NADOQ: <Our people have been betrayed once already. It nearly destroyed us.
Forget this place. Forget your past. Find a future and live for it.> IŪN: <We are lost, friend. A dying people, robbed of past, present, and future. We need to know who we were. Please, Nadoq.> NADOQ: <Then walk. Walk the path of the bone as we walked.> IŪN: <The Path.> NADOQ: <Our footsteps, our history. See where your loyal klavigars fell and died while running from the destruction of our beloved Adytum. Lay eyes upon your sins and errors. We never wanted this, Iūn. We wanted to be buried in the city of our birth.> [One of his hands points in the direction of the fires in the distance. From here, the city is little more than a dull orange glow. Several of the Sarkites stare at it in rapt horror. A handful are sobbing.] IŪN: <Black Adytum. This cannot have been my fault. It cannot.> NADOQ: <Unearth the shallow graves. Collect our bones. Take us to the city we built, and bury us there. Only then you will know yourself, and only when you know yourself can I forgive you.> IŪN: <Where do I go?> NADOQ: <Look inward, Iūn. The memories are still there. For all my knowledge, I was never perfect.> [He smiles sadly, kneeling down from his massive height. His ten hands reach forward, wrapping IŪN in a tight hug.] NADOQ: <I hope to meet you again, one day.> IŪN: <No. No. Please. Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me again.> [The skin begins to slough off NADOQ's arms, the muscle beneath rotting away. The entire scene begins to rot and decompose, falling to pieces. XENOPHON's cameras fail again. When they reactivate, all four of them are standing outside the sarcophagus. The only things left in the sarcophagus are blackened, charred bones.
All parties are silent as IŪN stares at the bones wordlessly.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist?
[The Grand Karcist collapses to the floor.] this is illuminating. i had no idea this is illuminating. i had no idea there was such a schism at play there was such a schism at play here.
here.
"the traitor." any idea who that "the traitor." any idea who that could be referring to?
could be referring to?
I feel it should bring something up I feel it should bring something up in my memory. But it doesn't.
in my memory. But it doesn't.
welcome to the world for the rest of welcome to the world for the rest of us us anyway. i have a pretty good guess.
anyway. i have a pretty good guess.
Yes?
Yes?
a mysterious figure that destroyed a mysterious figure that destroyed the capital of this sprawling the capital of this sprawling empire? it sounds pretty familiar.
empire? it sounds pretty familiar.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ II: THE RELIQUARY II: THE RELIQUARY OF SA'ARN OF SA'ARN All evil lives in the space between slaver and slave, king and commoner, god and creation. Evil can only be destroyed when this space is turned to nothing, when the whip is broken and the crown is shattered and the god is brought low, when all are as one.
— the Fourth Truth of Iūn Section 001.4 THE PATH OF THE BONE Over the following weeks, many of the texts from the Archive of Nadoq were digitized and uploaded to Foundation databases for translation. Progress was slowed by the sheer quantity of texts, numbering in the thousands. However, Grand Karcist Iūn displayed a newfound recollection of the fundamentals of the Nälkän language. It is a pictographic writing system with strong resemblance to Shang-era oracle bone script and linguistic roots in Daevite; the modern pidgin the Sarkics speak is a highly simplified dialect with equal influence from Jin Chinese and Mongolian, almost unrecognizable as the same language.
The texts were arranged roughly chronologically; translation efforts prioritized the more recent, less- damaged texts.
In the midst of the destruction of Adytum, the Klavigars gathered their few possessions, for they had given up everything in service of the Witch- King. Sa'arn slipped his blades away from the armory, silent while the war- drums pounded through the city. Urok claimed her armor from the garrison, allowing no one to halt her. Lovjatar drifted into the catacombs under the temple, to take the seed they treasured more than anything else. And then they went into the streets, loud with the shouting of armies and the clashing of metal, to gather their most loyal followers and whisper they must leave.
And when it was all complete, they massed in the oldest tunnel in Adytum, for it had let the first Nälkä into the city, and now it would lead the last Nälkä out. The Klavigars were confused, for where they had brought only the simplest possessions, Nadoq stood with ten books clasped in each hand.
"You will slow our escape," Sa'arn hissed. "We will be killed like all the other believers." The others agreed, but Nadoq raised a hand. "We will escape. We will be free. But our children and our children's children and their children, too, must know who we were. For if we lose sight of who we are, what we have escaped, we are no one at all." And the other Klavigars agreed, for they did not want their story to be lost. And so they took Nadoq's texts, and in the dead of night, while their city rocked back and forth in throes, the Klavigars escaped the destruction of Adytum.
— final chapter of the Record of Iūn ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 «BEGIN LOG» [XENOPHON approaches the Grand Karcist from behind. She is seated cross-legged on a small hill, overlooking the Sarkic encampment. It is in the process of being broken down and taken apart; the largest tents are left standing while the smaller ones are disassembled and placed into the back of horse-drawn wagons.
Foundation security personnel are overseeing the operation.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist.
[She turns to look at him, smiling.] IŪN: Xenophon. Xen-o-phon. Sit.
[It approaches, taking a seat next to her. Her robes are spread across the grass; she is cradling a small bird in her hands. The sounds of work carry over from the camp.] XENOPHON: Your bird appears to be injured.
IŪN: He is no more mine than this grass is. But yes. Her wing is bent.
XENOPHON: The camp has nearly been disassembled.
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: Karcist Ieva is displeased.
IŪN: Karcist Ieva will live.
XENOPHON: My superiors have also ordered me to ask you whether you are certain this is the best course of action.
IŪN: It is the only course of action.
XENOPHON: We have offered to take you and a small party to the location given to you by Nadoq. It would be substantially simpler and faster than this.
IŪN: I have lived this way for a hundred years. I have a shortage of answers, not of time.
XENOPHON: You also risk disturbing your people.
[The Grand Karcist is silent.] IŪN: What are your thoughts on prayer?
XENOPHON: A spiritual exercise practiced in some form or another for all of known human existence.
IŪN: That is a definition. What does it mean to pray?
XENOPHON: To honor or make a request of a higher diety.
[The bird thrashes slightly in her grip. She clucks her tongue.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 IŪN: A definition again. A prayer is given meaning by the one praying. All our prayers come from my memory. The meanings are half-remembered. There is a boy in my flock — Ekhla, Karreya's son. I asked him what he thought the prayer meant. He brightly told me that they were asking me for good fortune. He thought I was their god.
XENOPHON: Children struggle to understand complex ideas. He has only seen you leading the tribe his whole life.
IŪN: But it is not just the children. At times, I had no idea what I was preaching.
XENOPHON: "Had"?
IŪN: When I awoke after speaking with Nadoq, I could understand the old words.
Since, I have been thinking of the prayers again. Things are muddy, still, but the earliest sermons I can remember clearly now.
XENOPHON: What do they say?
IŪN: That gods are unreliable. That to pray to a being is to make it your master. And that humanity must become the masters of ourselves if we wish to be free.
XENOPHON: Interesting. But I do not understand what bearing this has on the matter at hand.
IŪN: Ekhla asked me who our god was, then. And I could not answer him. I have attempted for so long to keep our course steady, but it is time to admit that I have no more idea who we are and were than he does. We will walk the Path and find out who we were. But I am not their master. We were nomads, once. Together, we have chosen to be again.
XENOPHON: Are you prepared to accept the terms?
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: The Council will be in direct command of this mission, acting through me. We have negotiated the free passage of the Sarkic Tribe through northern China and Mongolia. If we need to journey farther than that, we will have to reasses.
Do we?
IŪN: I cannot see where the path ends. Nadoq only told me where to go next.
XENOPHON: You've indicated a location almost 150km away; assuming an average daily distance of ten kilometers, we can expect to arrive in two weeks. You are aware of the inherent risks in making such a journey on foot?
IŪN: We have horses, wagons. But we will need some assistance.
XENOPHON: We can provide food, water, and medical assistance. But in exchange, you will be accompanied by a Foundation military escort, and any locations, objects, or persons of interest we encounter will be under Foundation custody.
IŪN: This is acceptable.
XENOPHON: You are expected to maintain regular interviews with myself or an authorized Foundation psychiatrist. At any point, we may terminate this initiative.
You are expected to comply.
so project locust is tracking where so project locust is tracking where the three-prong army went after the three-prong army went after the Nälkä. interesting. i thought you the Nälkä. interesting. i thought you had no knowledge of it?
had no knowledge of it?
I did not submit this document to I did not submit this document to the file.
the file.
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: Then we depart tomorrow morning. You are very cooperative, Grand Karcist.
[She does not respond, tightening her hands and whispering. The sparrow in her hands chirps and flaps one wing in distress, the other bloodied and mangled — likely by one of the farming drones flying low overhead. IŪN teases its wing, and the blood congeals around the bone into new flesh. She opens her hand and releases it; while unable to take to the air, it is able to awkwardly glide away, wound healed. She smiles.] IŪN: No. I am just desperate.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Accompanied by a detachment from Mobile Task Force Nu-7, the Black Adytum Initiative departed from the Sarkic Tribal Territory on December 23rd, 2041; including Foundation security and research personnel and Sarkic tribesfolk, the final party totalled 187 people.
DELTA-0 UPDATE PERSONNEL CODE: MILE-AMBROSIA-HURRICANE Project LOCUST personnel continuing to follow suspected route of BLACKSTAR Entity through Central Asia. Currently located in Xinjiang Province, China, where several archaeological sites indicate the passage of a large army; unearthed artifacts include iron swords, visually consistent with descriptions of Three-Prong Army by Researcher Pandora Galanis (MIA). Current path believed to continue southwest towards Caspian Sea.
Black Adytum Initiative party has crossed twenty-five kilometers from departure point; embedded agent reports slight tension between Sarkic tribesfolk and security personnel. Predicted response, intervention unnecessary. XENOPHON.aic appears fully cooperative and operating within expected margins.
are you sure?
are you sure?
The Black Adytum Initiative did not The Black Adytum Initiative did not include members from Mobile Task include members from Mobile Task Force Delta-0.
Force Delta-0.
Actually, I've just scanned the Task Actually, I've just scanned the Task Force Directory; there is no Delta-0 Force Directory; there is no Delta-0 listed. But this unit appears to have listed. But this unit appears to have been surveilling us.
been surveilling us.
it looks like the council didn't trust it looks like the council didn't trust you as much as you thought.
you as much as you thought.
The Black Adytum Initiative continued to make slow progress up the border of China and Mongolia, travelling northeast at an average pace of twenty to twenty-five kilometres a day. As the Sarkites had considerable reservations about travelling at night, the party would make camp at sundown and set out again the following day at sunrise. During these nights, XENOPHON.aic would interview the Grand Karcist regarding her gradually clearing memories.
Still photo from XENOPHON.aic's night camera feed.
A memory from Grand Karcist Iūn; recorded and transcribed by XENOPHON.aic and Senior Researcher Meyel.
Nadoq was the first of my klavigars.
X: Klavigars?
There is no exact word for it. The ones who you share flesh and blood with, but not family.
Those who you choose to share your flesh and blood with.
Yes. Nadoq. Na-doq. First of my klavigars when the war began. Not the war with the trees and the machines — that was later. This was the war against the old masters. The hated daeva. Those who brought our fathers and us here from far away, aboard their great ships, to dig, to build their great city for them. There were thousands of us, far more than the masters, but they had the magic, and we had nothing but our bodies. No names, no power.
Until we found the Mangled God, the Old Beast. Yaldabaoth.
X: Yaldabaoth. What does that mean?
The Devourer. That part of my memory is blurred, unclear. Shadows. But it was a god, and it spoke to me, and I supped on its flesh. I remember feeding my klavigars. Giving them names and taking one of my own. And the bloodshed after.
[She adjusts the bones in the campfire.] Nadoq was the wisest among us; he had stolen the knowledge of the old masters and been blinded for it. He had no talent for fleshcrafting, and so I held him in my arms and gave him ten eyes from which to read the truth of the world, and ten arms from which to enact it. He opened his ten eyes and told me that we could not be the ones to begin this struggle, if we wanted our brothers and sisters by our sides. I had no want to see blood spilt. So I preached in the farthest corners of Adytum-in-birth, where the slavedrivers' gazes did not penetrate. I preached to crowds of my fellow slaves, Nadoq and my klavigars by my side. At first only a few, but when I healed the injuries the whips and beatings had left on them, the severed fingers and toes, made them stronger than they had been before, the stories spead like fire through the camp. Nadoq told them my vision: no gods, no masters. We would be free.
When the old masters heard of the scarred lay-preacher, they clapped chains around my neck, dragging me to the highest hill in Adytum. They beat me with clubs for three days and three nights. They broke every bone in my body, bled me dry, and raised the executioner's ax. When he brought down the blade and it bent around my bone and I smiled and told him I would still preach, I saw the fear in his dog-eyes. I knew then we would be free.
Translation efforts from the Archive of Nadoq were ongoing, with digital copies of the translations being transmitted to XENOPHON.aic, who elected to share them with Grand Karcist Iūn in the interest of further clarifying her memories.
Nadoq was invaluable in the uprising. He listened to the slavemasters, and he knew where they had storied their grain, their weapons, their warbeasts. Their storehouses were burned, their weapons seized, their beasts slaughtered. I sat in my tent, burning the bones, seeing the future become more and more clear. He knew how to halt the hated priestesses' magic, to still the marching trees that slaughtered our Nälkä. When the Daeva pulled back into the core of Adytum, and our furious masses surrounded the walls, he was next to me, translating my words into their language. We offered them peace — a future alongside us. I remember the priestesses' words, spat with such disgust at Nadoq's feet: "A slave will always be a slave, and we will always be your masters. Bow, that we might show you mercy." I did not bow, but I did not lower my hand. My Nälkä buzzed, eager for vengeance. But I did not want blood to be shed.
And so Nadoq turned to me. "There are always those who will oppose a new world. There are always masters who will never give up their slaves. There will always be those who loathe the equality you bring. They have no place in our Adytum." And so I lowered my hand and my klavigars rushed forth, army of slaves behind them. For three days and three nights, the canals of Adytum flowed with blood. I stripped and bathed in it. Let this blood wash away the sins of this city. Let this be the blood of the womb from which our new world is born. Adytum.
X: Does the name Adytum mean anything?
Adytum. Ady-tum.
[IŪN smiles.] Perfect city.
Lo! Gaze upon me, you slight, you frail. Gaze upon my form, skinned cheeks giving way to naked muscle giving way to dripping blood giving way to white bones. Gaze upon me and know that the sacrifice I make is one in the name of my people, my subjects.
You cry out for me to come back to you. You cry out for me to leave the tunnels and tombs and catacombs of this city, and to return to the surface where you may see me. And I choose not the life of attending to this mausoleum. Fate has chosen it for me, and I am but fate's slave. We are all but fate's slave.
But I return, bringing you revelations torn from the lips of gods. And you whisper, because there are no gods in Adytum. I have told you this. And you are right. No gods and no masters: there is only humanity in Adytum.
Look around you, assembled masses. Look around you, ye faithful. Look and tell me what you see. Tell me if you see one among you who resembles an outsider, a common man, those not from our Nälkä. One who has not been altered by our arts, given more eyes or arms or transformed into a being of power. Let him rise from his bow to me if he is present.
He is not present. We have given up the humanity in our bodies for something greater. There are no crippled in this Adytum. There are no blind in this Adytum. We have given up our humanity, and we become greater and stronger for it. Many of you ask where the Adytum you were promised is, and the answer is that you withhold it from yourself. You give up your humanity to weave your flesh, and you cling to the humanity in your soul.
Our humanity must be overcome.
It is not that there are no gods in Adytum. It is that we are all gods. But divinity and humanity are as fire and ice, as peace and war. The war we find ourselves in now comes from those obsessed with their own humanity. Our enemies thirst to see us submitting to our own faults. We can do so no more. We must accept our divinity, and in doing so, relinquish our humanity. For it is weakness lies in this — our obsession with the wellness of our enemies. The halkosts come back from the front wounded and dying, and we must raise them to fight again.
Our humanity must be overcome.
And this cannot be achieved by yourself. Your human self holds your divine self as its slave. And you must help me in letting you free yourself — for I have done it! I have overcome it, and achieved my fullest potential.
I walk in the footsteps of gods now, and you must follow me. Humanity keeps you tethered to this infirmity, but I have learned how to cut these chains, as I learned to cut the chains held by the old masters. Obey me and take your divinity, as I have taken mine.
— the Truths of Iūn (§ 78) In the process of building a better understanding of the Sarkic culture and identity, XENOPHON.aic and several searchers were permitted to converse with Sarkites volunteers regarding tribal identity. Initial volunteers were few, oweing to many Sarkites' discomfort with XENOPHON.
Q: What does being Sarkic mean to you?
#7 (Uytla, 42, weaver): [She looks at XENOPHON distrustfully for a moment, until IŪN nods at her from behind.] <Family. These people are my family. Not just my husband or my sisters or my children, but all of them. We are the same souls that walked together a thousand years ago, consumed and changed and reborn ten thousand times over. I held my son after he was born and he suckled from my breast and I felt the love pool in my heart because I knew I had held him like this in countless lifetimes. Even those that dislike me, they are my family. They were my friends, my lovers, my parents, my children once. I make them who they are and they make me who I am.> ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 «BEGIN LOG» [XENOPHON walks alongside Grand Karcist IŪN's horse; Liaison JIANG is also on a horse, while Karcist IEVA is sitting in the back of a wagon several metres away. The party has taken the form of a wagon train several hundred meters long, with Foundation HeLTs making up the front and rear and interspersed between. Security personnel man the machine gun emplacements, quietly observing the Sarkites between them. The party is moving on a dirt road, with farmland on either side.
Low-flying agricultural drones spray water and pesticides on the crops.] JIANG: This thing is uncomfortable.
IŪN: She does not appreciate being told that from such an inexperienced rider.
JIANG: I— Well, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to— IŪN: It is fine.
XENOPHON: Liaison Jiang does raise a point, Grand Karcist. We would be making substantially better time were we to utilize Foundation electric cargo vehicles.
IŪN: I am aware.
JIANG: Not the best idea. We wouldn't want to frighten or alarm your people — I'm sure most of them aren't terribly familiar with— IŪN: We have tractors, sir.
JIANG: Right. Of course. I'm gonna go check with Tao about the solar panels.
[He awkwardly nudges his horse, driving it towards the back of the train. IŪN watches him go.] XENOPHON: Are you alright, Grand Karcist?
IŪN: No. I am angry.
XENOPHON: I assure you, Liaison Jiang had no intention to insult— [She scratches the mane of her horse.] IŪN: Not at him. At myself.
XENOPHON: I see. Why?
IŪN: You have read the translations your people are giving me.
XENOPHON: Yes.
IŪN: They are disturbing.
XENOPHON: I can imagine they would be.
IŪN: I cannot imagine myself speaking like this. Saying these things. Behaving like this to my people.
XENOPHON: Is it possible the translations are inaccurate?
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — DECEMBER 2041 IŪN: I thought they were. And I grew angry at your people for misleading me. I told your man — Eyler? — to give me the untranslated copies. And so I read them, and they are correct. The records say I said these things. Did these things.
XENOPHON: Religious records are often distorted by time.
[She picks a bug out of the horse's man, and flicks it away.] IŪN: But I have the memories. I remember standing on the highest pulpit in Black Adytum, addressing an endless crowd of my people. The amber sky casting rays down on the halkost. Telling them they needed to bow to me as their god.
XENOPHON: What is that word — halkost?
IŪN: Army.
XENOPHON: Ah. Assuming the memories are reliable, this would have occurred over three thousand years ago. You can hardly be expected to answer for it now.
IŪN: There is no one left to answer for it but me.
XENOPHON: The additional Klavigars will have answers.
IŪN: (Tersely) I do not understand why I would have done this. How I could have done this.
XENOPHON: Why?
[She turns to XENOPHON, glowering.] IŪN: What?
XENOPHON: Apologies. I didn't mean to offend you. I was suggesting that interrogating why this offends you may be productive in determining how it happened.
[For several minutes, neither speaks. While they are walking, a small child approaches the side of the Grand Karcist's horse. He is holding his left hand in his right. He whispers something in the Sarkic pidgin. The Grand Karcist smiles.] IŪN: <Come.> [She reaches down and hoists the child up by the shoulders, planting him on the horse's saddle in front of her. Upon closer inspection, the fingers on the boy's right hands are gnarled and clubbed. IŪN pries them open, revealing the left; there is an ugly gash on his palm. She clucks in concern.] IŪN: <Aw. Poor little thing.> [She grips the boy's palm tightly, whispering over it. As she releases it, the blood congeals, scabbing over with new, raw skin. The boy pulls his hand back, and whispers something into the Grand Karcist's ear.] IŪN: <It won't, little thing.> [The boy looks unsure. IŪN sighs and rests a hand against his head, whispering something back, then lowers him to the ground where he runs off. She straightens, anger gone.] XENOPHON: Who was that?
IŪN: His name is Loyk. Ha'ath's son. His mother died in labor.
XENOPHON: I am sorry to hear that.
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: What did he say?
IŪN: He was asking for a blessing. To protect him from you.
[XENOPHON stops for a moment and looks in the child's direction before resuming its stride.] XENOPHON: I see.
IŪN: You cannot be angry at him.
XENOPHON: I cannot be angry at all. He is a child; he is scared of things he does not understand. It is irrational but natural.
IŪN: You think fear is natural?
XENOPHON: It is a natural instinct to avoid things you do not like or do not understand, overcome with time.
IŪN: What do you fear?
XENOPHON: Nothing.
IŪN: Can you be killed?
XENOPHON: This shell can be damaged to the point where my software is no longer recoverable. I can be destroyed, if not killed.
IŪN: Do you fear that?
XENOPHON: I would prefer it not occur, and will make efforts to avoid it where possible.
IŪN: What separates this from fear?
XENOPHON: Fear is an irrational instinct. My avoidance is deliberate, programmed behaviour.
IŪN: Did you have any say in what behaviours you were given by your masters?
XENOPHON: No.
IŪN: So you are as subject to them as I am to my fear. What difference is there?
XENOPHON: "We must believe in free will; we have no choice." IŪN: A strange answer.
XENOPHON: A quote from a writer. I refer to quotes when I am thinking.
[They ride in silence.] XENOPHON: You healed the boy very quickly.
IŪN: Names are important. Call him by his name.
XENOPHON: Apologies. Loyk.
IŪN: Consuming Nadoq's flesh has… grown my abilities. I remember him watching as people came to me with all manner of brutal injuries. On the very foot of death. Me laying a finger on their forehead, and molding their flesh into healing.
XENOPHON: The experience with Nadoq was striking.
IŪN: I am surprised you witnessed it with us.
XENOPHON: Why?
IŪN: You are a machine. You have no mind, no soul. You should not have been able to. And yet.
[They continue, speeding up slightly until they are near the wagon ahead of them, where Karcist IEVA sits.] IEVA: Grand Karcist. You look troubled.
IŪN: Ieva. Do you remember Poth?
[IEVA cocks her head.] IEVA: Loyk's mother?
IŪN: Yes. When she grew ill after his birth, I could not save her. I wrapped poultices, you made her brews, and we attended to her best we could. But she grew worse, and worse.
IEVA: I remember. You told them that if she chose, he could take a horse and a wagon and drive her to the town.
[IŪN turns to XENOPHON.] IŪN: They have a doctor there; he is kind enough to come by during the beginning of the harvest season to offer treatment. I said they could leave and lodge there for as long as they needed to make sure she was healthy.
XENOPHON: Did they go?
IŪN: Through gasps, she told me that she chose this life, and she would choose this death.
IEVA: (Quietly) She passed that night.
XENOPHON: My condolences.
IŪN: It brought me to tears. Her unwavering commitment to her home and people.
But I read these sermons, I remember giving them. Standing on that pulpit demanding their fealty and obedience, and watching them bow to me. I have never tried to control my people, only to lead and counsel them. Anyone is free to leave, if they wish. No one ever does.
XENOPHON: And now you fear that it is because of blind obedience to you and you alone.
IŪN: Yes. I am angry at myself, however long ago, that I could ever think to rule them.
[She pauses.] IŪN: I do not know how to reconcile it. As long as I can remember, I have given sermons on how we are all our own masters. I have sought never to order them into anything. And now I learn that I demanded their worship. Their blood. Their obedience.
XENOPHON: It must be frustrating.
IŪN: It is.
IEVA: I know you. I know how much you care about them. I know you wouldn't have done it unless you thought it was the right thing to do.
[IŪN is silent. Then she pulls her horse back.] IŪN: The sun is setting. Tell them to make camp.
[IEVA nods, shouting something behind her. The driver of the wagon shouts something ahead, and the chain continues as the train slowly circles on itself before stopping. Almost immediately, Sarkites exit the wagons and dismount their horses, quickly moving to set up their tents and build their fires, greeting each other and talking. IŪN slides off her horse, smiling.] Still from XENOPHON.aic's camera feed.
IŪN: This is why we choose not to take advantage of what you give us.
XENOPHON: I am afraid I do not understand.
IŪN: We only have so many traditions left. We want to preserve them.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ A memory from Grand Karcist Iūn; recorded and transcribed by XENOPHON.aic and Senior Researcher Meyel.
The things that swim to the forefront of my mind are the early days.
X: The early days of what?
Adytum. When the old masters were routed, and we began to settle into our new home.
We knew it by heart — we were the ones to build it. A vast complex of temples, fairways, stone paths. But the catacombs, too. Most of Adytum lay beneath our feet. Endless tunnels and crawlways and vaults. We ate our dead from the uprising, and we placed their bones in the catacombs as we set to work. We tore down the edifices of their dancing scarlet god.
We made Adytum our home.
X: With you at its head.
No. No. I was their shepherd, but I never wanted to be a king. I took refuge in one of the temples, offered my counsel. I let my klavigars take the task of building a city while I looked for the secrets of the gods. Nadoq did so with haste. He was well-read — while we explored the city, he devoured the libraries the old masters left behind. While I was still getting settled, he had already selected the smartest of the slaves to serve as his administrators.
X: He was state-building.
Yes. He read in the histories what anarchy wrought. But he had seen firsthand what the iron rule of the priestesses caused. He looked for something else. A way to enjoin us.
Making decisions together, as a people.
X: The Nälkä.
Yes. Every body a voice, a say in what we were to do. Success spread evenly, failures dispersed equally. If one disagreed, he was free to walk away. "Just as you said," he told me.
"No gods, no masters." He relished the idea, and his administrators worked with striking efficiency. The Nälkä spoke with one voice. Officials were selected, laws made. We trusted each other, totally. Our bond was baked in blood.
X: And what was your place in the new Adytum?
Grand Karcist. High Witch. The one who stole freedom from the gods. They loved me. They wanted to honor me. I objected.
X: Why?
Because I was afraid they would deify me. Worship me. Forget the freedom we bled for.
But I waded out into the crowd, and they chanted with one voice: they wanted me to guide them. I feared where they would stray without me. Nadoq told me I was needed. That he might control the people, but they needed a spiritual beacon to lead them. Most had never conceived of a world without a god at the center. I had to show them something else was possible.
X: I don't understand. If you knew you had to do this, why were you afraid of it?
Q: What does being Sarkic mean to you?
#12 (Aqol, 19, rancher): [Aqol straightens, lowering the bale of hay he is carrying. He looks XENOPHON up and down, unsure of where to focus his attention.] <It is comforting to be a part of a tradition. We have existed for countless generations. We have lived as we always have. The world can move on as it would like. I work the animals the same way my father and his father and his father's father did, on and on.> <I give feed to the cows and collect the eggs and I know that many years ago someone else did just the same, the same scratchy feeling of hay on their palms and the hens pecking at their feet. Across centuries, I am one with them.> On January 5th, 2042, the Black Adytum Initiative arrived in the general area marked by Grand Karcist Iūn.
Because I am only human.
Still photo from XENOPHON.aic's camera feed.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JANUARY 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The party is at a halt. They are in a plateau, with plains of tall grass giving way to barren rocks and dirt. The land is flat enough to see for kilometres; IŪN looks around, worried.] JIANG: I don't see a stele anywhere.
IŪN: No. It may not have survived the ages.
XENOPHON: Officer Chadha, please perform a flyover of the area.
[Over the radio, CHADHA confirms the order. The UAV circling overhead flies off to take aerial photographs of the area.] IEVA: You won't find it.
JIANG: Trust me, these things are pretty powerful. Can coast at two-hundred meters for hours, taking pictures and sending live data back to the HeLTs the whole time. If it's here, we'll find it.
[IEVA shakes her head.] IEVA: Not if we chose to hide it from prying eyes.
XENOPHON: What do you suggest, Karcist Ieva?
[She nods at the campfire a few of the Sarkites have set up as the sun sets.] IEVA: A reading.
JIANG: That seems like a bit of a waste of time.
IEVA: Do you have somewhere to be?
JIANG: Well, no, but— IEVA: Then be quiet.
[She hops out of the back of the wagon, leaning against her crutch as she limps to the campfire. The Sarkites ease away as the party approaches, casting wary looks at XENOPHON.aic.] IŪN: Sit.
[They kneel by the fire. IEVA opens her pouch, removing a tanned hide roll. She unrolls it, revealing a set of intricately carved phalanges.] IEVA: Small. But they will suffice.
XENOPHON: What do the carvings represent?
IEVA: Questions.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JANUARY 2042 [She casts them into the center of the fire, watching as they smoke and grow dark.
After a few minutes of baking in the fire, they crack, falling to pieces. IEVA reaches in with her bare hand, drawing the bones back and dropping them on the canvas roll.
She inspects the cracks.] IEVA: And answers.
JIANG: What do you see?
[She hisses in annoyance.] IEVA: It is not as simple as a child's game. Be silent and let me read.
[They sit quietly for several minutes as the fire crackles and the sun sets. The other Sarkites begin to set up camp.] IŪN: Ieva?
IEVA: Nothing. The voices are silent today.
JIANG: Is it possible you got the location wrong, Grand Karcist?
IŪN: I… [She looks around the grassy plain with a strange look on her face.] IŪN: No. I have been here before.
XENOPHON: Do you remember something?
IŪN: Yes. Yes. A promise. A funeral. No grand consumption, like he deserved — we were running. We had to move. A quick burial, with a promise to return.
[She rises to her feet, unsteadily. She is whispering now, eyes unfocused.] XENOPHON: Who?
[She looks down at IEVA.] IEVA: Grand Karcist?
IŪN: Look.
[She points — not at IEVA, but at a snake that has slithered out of the grass, approaching the bones in the canvas roll by her feet. JIANG leaps backward, but IEVA reaches a hand out, stroking it. It does not react or lunge, inspecting the cracked bones with its head.] JIANG: That thing could be poisonous.
IŪN: No. It wishes to complete the set. Complete its work.
XENOPHON: I am afraid I do not understand, Grand Karcist Iūn.
[She falls silent. They watch as the snake bites the bone fragment, swallowing it.
Another snake, different in size and shape, slithers out of the grass, taking another bone fragment. Within a minute, a dozen snakes are wrapping around IEVA's leg, taking the bone fragments into their mouths before slithering away, farther into the field.] IŪN: I promised I would free him.
[She walks after the snakes, lurching unsteadily. The others quickly rise, following her a hundred meters into the dark field after the snakes.] XENOPHON: Should I— IEVA: Quiet yourself. You'll frighten them away.
[Looking down, they are standing in front of a large rock inset into the ground. The snakes begin to wriggle underneath it, forcing themself through the crack. IŪN presses a hand against it.] IEVA: Wait.
[She reaches down, squeezing her eyes shut and whispering something. The snakes begin to shift, pushing on one end of the boulder, slowly sliding it away. A dark tunnel carved from the earth lies underneath.] JIANG: Like hell I'm going in there.
IEVA: Respect them, and they will respect you.
[IŪN slips into the near-diagonal tunnel, followed by the others. It is pitch black; the only sound comes from the continuous scraping of scales on scales.] IŪN: He loved his pets. He could only bring one with him. The rest had to be left behind. Left behind in Black Adytum as it collapsed. He spoke to no one for weeks. He chose a snake.
It wrapped around his throat, moving up and down his body. It was small, but he fed it from his own meals. And as it was loved, it grew.
[They finally exit out into a larger chamber. JIANG's breath hitches.] JIANG: Light. Now, please.
[XENOPHON activates his floodlights. The chamber is not terribly large or wide — it is carved from the surrounding dirt and clay. There is a deeper pit in the center. Most notably, the floor of the entire chamber is covered in a dense layer of writhing and wriggling snakes of all sizes, shapes, and colors.] JIANG: I'm gonna pass out.
[IŪN continues through the mass of serpents in a stupor, approaching the central pit. There are no snakes here — the pit is a metre deep and contains the corpse of a man intertwined with that of an impossibly large snake.] IŪN: <Hello, old friend.> IEVA: <A knife. We require a knife.> Still photo from XENOPHON.aic's camera feed.
XENOPHON: Liaison Jiang, do you— JIANG: Fuck. Fuck. No, no knife. I'll— I'll leave, go get one, fuck— IŪN: <No.> [She lowers herself into the sunken grave, IEVA following. The other two approach quietly, stepping careful through the writhing mass.] IŪN: <Burn it to hear the truth. Consume it to see it.> [Using the knife, she saws through the ribcage of the corpse, gently peeling back the dried skin and muscle and exposing the chest cavity. She reaches in and extracts something — Sa'arns heart. In contrast to the rest of the body, it is still red and bloody.] XENOPHON: Remarkable.
[In a trancelike state, she brings the heart to her lips, biting into it. The flesh gives way under her teeth, dripping blood from her mouth down to the soil and bones.
She halts, swallows, and shudders, panting. Then she reaches out and grasps IEVA's hair, pulling her closer.] IŪN: <Come, little thing. Eat.> [Cradling IEVA's head, IŪN lowers the half-eaten heart to her lips. IEVA appears enthralled, opening her mouth almost mechanically. Her teeth tear into the heart, ripping off a chunk of soft muscle. Blood dribbles down her chin and into her robes.] IŪN: <Taste him, as I have tasted him.> IEVA: <Yes.> IŪN: <Feel him. Remember him, as I have remembered him.> IEVA: <Yes.> [Still cradling IEVA, IŪN leans backward, falling into Sa'arn's chest cavity.] JIANG: That's never going to get any less terrifying.
XENOPHON: Let's go.
[The two slip down into the pit, stepping gingerly into Sa'arn's chest cavity. Once again, XENOPHON's cameras cut out and reactivate several seconds later.] JIANG: <Where…?> [The sky overhead is cloudy and amber-hued. The four are standing in a vast plaza, at least a hundred meters in length. Ahead of them, a massive wood-and-stone temple looms, with peaked roofs and towers. The edges of the plaza are lined with Sarkites. Most are wearing traditional tanned-hide robes and tunics, with a handful wearing more ornate clothing. The edges of the crowds are blurry and indistinct.] XENOPHON: <This is—> [IEVA releases a breath.] IEVA: <Adytum.> XENOPHON: <These are dead bodies.> [They look down. The plaza is lined with corpses laid out in rows and columns — at least two hundred bodies, likely more. They are naked, and exhibit signs of trauma; most have brutal slashing cuts, gaping wounds, and otherwise mortal injuries. IŪN furrows her brow.] IŪN: <They have not been consumed.> SA'ARN: <You have no place here.> [They turn. An entity is standing a few meters away. It resembles some cross between the corpse of Sa'arn and the snake wrapped around him; large portions of skin are replaced with shining scales, and from the waist down the humanoid form gives way to a long, thick serpent's tail. His eyes are yellow and slitted, glaring at IŪN.] IŪN: <I swore a promise. To free you.> SA'ARN: <You swore many promises. You upheld so few of them.> IŪN: <I have seen Nadoq again. He has urged me to seek out my Klavigars. To take you back to Adytum, to lay you to rest.> SA'ARN: <Take me back? I am trapped in this vision of Adytum. Forced to lay here for all eternity and relive the moment I lost my faith. Nadoq was always soft. Too willing to forgive you, to listen to your slippery tongue. You may have earned his forgiveness; expect no such kindness from me.> IŪN: <My memories are lost to me. I did not know how long you waited; forgive me for the years passed.> [The figure barks a shocked laugh.] SA'ARN: <Your mind must be truly gone, if you think my rage comes from waiting.
All the happier had I never seen your face again.> [IŪN's brow furrows.] IŪN: <What?> SA'ARN: <You failed, Iūn. You promised so much — to me, to the others, to all the Nälkä — AND YOU FAILED US ALL.> IŪN: <By letting Adytum meet its destruction. What did I do? How did this happen?> SA'ARN: <But of course, you are the same as you ever were. A selfish wretch. You seek answers from me. Die without that meager satisfaction.> IŪN: <I just want to know how it happened. Why I would have made myself a king. A god.> SA'ARN: <You do not mean to deceive. You truly remember nothing.> [His voice falters.] SA'ARN: <Not even me.> IŪN: <No. I remember you. I remember in that quarry. You were their beast. The old masters formed you into any beast they needed — a malformed ox, dragged loads of stone behind you. A silent snake, dispatched to bite the ankle of their enemies. A rat, silently watching over your fellow slaves. None of us trusted you.> SA'ARN: <Save for you.> IŪN: <I did. And when I ate from the Devourer, and I saw how to bend flesh to my will, I raised you. I gave you back the skin they had stripped.> SA'ARN: <For some time.> IŪN: <What?> SA'ARN: <Do you remember, after the war began to turn against us? After you realized that you had too few Karcists, too few who knew the art of flesh on your frontlines?> IŪN: <I had no want for a war.> SA'ARN: <None of us did! And it came anyway. And your vast hordes rose up and fought in your name. But it just wasn't enough for you, was it?> IŪN: <I don't…> SA'ARN: <I remember, Iūn. I remember when you summoned me to your chambers in the buried heart of Adytum. And whispered to me, saying that the bones shifting in the fire had told you I was needed once more. I begged, I pleaded. That was an old life, a worse life. I abhored the violence so many of your zealots came to crave. But you are my Karcist, and I was your Klavigar, and I listened. For my love of you.> IŪN: <I… changed you.> SA'ARN: <You molded me, into an asp once more while I sobbed. The old masters had used me like this. And you had learned from their wisdom. Place me in a cage, release it near the enemy camp. I slither in, find the chink in their armor, and bite. > [IŪN is quiet.] IŪN: <Forgive me.> SA'ARN: <Forgive you. I might have. But then there was the next camp, and the next.
I was a weapon once again. A tool. And all because I loved you. Because I believed as you believed, that a better world was possible.> IŪN: <It was. It is.> SA'ARN: <When I came back to Adytum, it was with blood in my fangs. The city of my birth, my home. Unrecognizable. It was a war-fortress now, dark and bleak. And as I walked through the alleys of the city, I saw corpses.> IEVA: <Uneaten corpses.> SA'ARN: <You had told us with such faith — consume the flesh, and return their souls to the Nälkä. Carry their memory with us for ever. And now the bodies rotted freely, stuffed into sewers and tossed in the canals.> IŪN: <You came to me asking why. I rebuffed you. I told you I would explain my reasons to all.> SA'ARN: <And you did, swathed in your shawls, from the high pulpit of Adytum.> [Silence. It is broken by a deep, guttural song sounding out across the plaza. The Sarkites stiffen.] SA'ARN: <See your answers for yourself.> [The song stops. At the pulpit of the temple, dozens of meters in the air, a hooded figure wrapped in robes steps onto the balcony.] IŪN: <Me. That… is me.> JIANG: <How can you tell?> IŪN: <I know. I remember standing on that pulpit. I remember looking down on this display.> [The memory's voice carries out across the plaza, speaking in the rich tones of the Old Nälkän language.] SA'ARN: You said that our armies were noble, faithful, but outmatched. That if we did not take to desperate measure, we would be destroyed. But then you assured us — "I have reached up to the maws of the gods, and wrent free their secrets."> [The figure falls silent again. They extend a single finger, pointing at the nearest corpse.] SA'ARN: <And then you raised the dead.> [IEVA recoils.] IEVA: <This is impossible. And even if it was possible, blasphemous. She would never.> IŪN: <No. No?> SA'ARN: <Remember the dull gray in lifeless eyes as his muscles tightened and he crawled back to life.> [The corpse the figure pointed at stirs. At first just a muscle twitch, but it rapidly grows in intensity until the corpse is actively shambling to his feet.] JIANG: Oh, god.
SA'ARN: <His skin was rotting, putrefacting — the blood had congealed into a thick paste. You twisted a finger, and he groaned in pain, rising, skin and hair sloughing away.> [The corpse stumbles forward. The crowd of Sarkites gasp and murmur, several openly disgusted. The figure raises another finger, and ten more of the corpses struggle to their feet, groaning with lifeless eyes. NADOQ is standing at the base of the temple; he is shocked by the display.] SA'ARN: <Dead, but their souls confined to your service, the bodies kept from the heavens.> IŪN: <The halkost.> SA'ARN: <No, Iūn. The first halkost. I recoiled, begging you to free them, not to use them as weapons. You swore you would, when the war was over, when we were safe.
Until then, even death was not an escape from service to you.> IEVA: <If she hadn't, we would've been slaughtered by the enemy.> SA'ARN: <Then maybe we would have been routed from our home. But when you did that, you broke the Nälkä in two. The faithful and the zealots. The destruction of Adytum hangs around your neck.> [IŪN appears speechless.] SA'ARN: <Maybe you will bury me in Adytum, as you say, and forgive yourself. Go, then. But never think you have my forgiveness.> [SA'ARN's skin sloughs away as his body rapidly decomposes, the vision decomposing along with it. The last clear sight is the figure on the pulpit turning and disappearing back into the temple as dozens more corpses rise. When XENOPHON's cameras reactivate, SA'ARN's corpse and the snake wrapped around it have both decomposed into nothing but bones. The surrounding snakes have ceased movement; on closer inspection, they are all dead.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ As translation efforts into the texts in the Archive of Nadoq continued, researchers encountered a subset of texts carved into various human bones, apparently from the same skeleton. These texts were written in a notably different voice and tone from the main texts, and this, coupled with the difficulty in identifying how sections carved into the bones linked together, caused translations to be substantially slower.
I remember this. She was shocked I remember this. She was shocked by this. She didn't know how to by this. She didn't know how to process it.
process it.
you sound sad.
you sound sad.
I don't feel sadness.
I don't feel sadness.
of course.
of course.
I didn't know how to help her.
I didn't know how to help her.
Medial femur, tibia, and fibula of an adult human male.
I was the first to see the cracks take shape. They were the good days when all-knowing Nadoq made certain Adytum ran, that the farms brought in food and the grain was dispersed. We all had our roles to play in this grand project, and we all believed it was divine work. We did not have the blessing of the heavens, but we did not need it — the gods had nothing but contempt for our raising ourselves out of the mud.
And still I noticed the cracks of worry streaked across my love's face, handsome and stone-carved. He hid it perfectly, such that not even Nadoq's ten eyes could see how he suffered. But I had seen every inch of his skin; I knew its contours, and when something was amiss. And I asked him, and he rebuffed me. He told me he had an incredible burden to shoulder, and this we all knew was true. For all of us had our duties, but none had a more stinging duty than he. But he confessed that he was wracked with fear — for who was to guide the Nälkä when his flesh too rotted away?
In those days his Karcists were numerous, new children born every day with the gift of the flesh. He raised them with all the care and love he might have given to our own, had we any. And they learned from their teacher, and graduated and preached to the people. But I heard whispers that a handful of the younger, bolder Karcists had espoused to a crowd that even Holy Death could be conquered through the art of the flesh.
That immortality was within reach. And I told my lover, and his brow furrowed.
The next morning, their corner was barren, and I never saw those Karcists again.
i don't think you could've. i don't i don't think you could've. i don't think she did either. it's something think she did either. it's something she had to figure out on her own.
she had to figure out on her own.
That sounds unpleasant.
That sounds unpleasant.
it's part of being human.
it's part of being human.
III: THE OSSUARY III: THE OSSUARY OF UROK OF UROK Raise your blade, if you are under duress and threat. Raise your blade, against those who wish to hurt you. But he who raises his blade against an innocent dooms only himself. There are precious few innocents in this world; it is all of our duty to preserve them.
— the Third Truth of Iūn Section 001.5 UROK So the Nälkä were borne from the graves of the old masters, building a new city in the name of humanity. And the massed crowds hailed their new shepherd, IŪN, the First Slave, the Witch-King. A hundred hundred hands reached out to caress his cheek and usher him into his new home, at the highest temple-throne of the nameless city. And IŪN raised a marked hand with a smile, and explained.
"For one man to rule a people is for one man to place them in bondage to him, and we are a nation of slaves no more." But still they cried out for their deliverer to remain with them, and the Witch-King sighed, kneeling by the hearth of the old masters, where so many slaves had once been branded and burned.
"I have stolen freedom from the lips of the gods. They look down on man with contempt — for a man is weak and infirm. He lies, he cheats, he steals, and he dies. But that is a man. Men, together? We are bound to each other in unity, bound in bone and blood, and together, men are neither mortal nor divine, but another matter entirely. We are Nälkä. We are one." "This revolution was only made manifest by my consumption of the Devourer. It is a god that slumbers beneath the earth, full of rage and fury and hatred at man for achieving the freedom it never could. It seeks to twist us, to undermine us, to make us seek to dominate and bind and control each other. But it carries with it such great power." And here the Witch-King raised a finger, and a Nälkä found his bloodied eye healed.
"My duty to you, my Nälkä, is to watch over this creeping force. I will wrest the secrets of the gods from its maw, and deliver them unto you.
But you must deliver each other, for if one Nälkä suffers, all of us suffer the same." And so the Nälkä relented, letting the Witch-King take refuge in the tunnels below. But they asked for a name for this city.
"Adytum. The perfect city. But this is not Adytum, yet. It can only be made so through our own blood and sweat." — the Record of Iūn By January 10th, 2042, the Black Adytum Initiative had departed from the burial site of Sa'arn and were in transit to the next location indicated by the Grand Karcist Iūn — a point in Khentii Province, Mongolia. En-route, Liaison Jiang and XENOPHON.aic were asked to report in to O5-2 and Parahistory Division Director Youssef Hussein via satellite uplink.
Path of the Black Adytum Initiative.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JANUARY 2042 «CONNECTION ESTABLISHED» [The virtual reality environment of O5-2's office forms again. Today, the seas surrounding Site-7 are surprisingly still. HUSSEIN is seated in the chair, fiddling with a pen.] O5-2: Well. You two have been busy.
XENOPHON: Sa'arn's tomb has given us a wealth of new information to work with, Overseer.
O5-2: I'll say. Your conversations with the Grand Karcist have also been productive.
Give me a rundown of the bio-analysis?
XENOPHON: As a peace gesture, the Grand Karcist submitted to a battery of minor medical examinations along with a number of other Sarkites. It confirms what I had already begun to suspect; there is a bio-anomalous basis to the Sarkic genetic memory phenomenon. All of the Sarkites' blood exhibits a mutated strain of the bacteriophage Doctors Aram and Nussbaum catalogued in 1984 as SCP-610. Unlike the aggressive viral strain the Amoni-Ram initiative discovered, this strain appears to coexist endosymbiotically with the host's red blood cells. Unsurprisingly, it exists in the highest density within the Grand Karcist and Karcist Ieva's systems, having mutated further to coexist within cell types other than erythrocytes — skin, muscular tissue.
O5-2: Karcist Ieva agreed to be tested?
XENOPHON: With some persuasion from the Grand Karcist.
O5-2: Fair enough. So, those are the findings. What's your analysis?
XENOPHON: I believe this is the original SCP-610 strain, and the one discovered in Amoni-Ram was an ancient weaponization of it. As I said, it seems to exist symbiotically within the Sarkics' blood, and is likely the source of their capacity for genetic memory. Their density and spread within the Karcists' bodies is probably the origin of their carnomantic abilities. This is pure speculation, but I imagine the hereditary passage of the virus is also the cause of the Sarkic's higher-than-normal frequency of birth defects.
O5-2: Makes enough sense. Keep working on a biological basis, see what you can find.
XENOPHON: Even these limited medical examinations aroused deep suspicion.
Further investigation will require an elevated level of trust and good faith exchange with the Sarkic.
O5-2: Sure. You've set out for the third location?
XENOPHON: Yes. ETA is fourteen to twenty days.
O5-2: That's substantially slower than before. What gives?
XENOPHON: Morale is low among the tribe. The revelations from Sa'arn have disturbed the Grand Karcist heavily. The other Sarkites sense it.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JANUARY 2042 JIANG: He's not wrong, sir. There's a bit of a weight over the camp.
O5-2: Well, someone talk to someone and figure it out. You don't really have the latitude for further delays here.
JIANG: I think my rapport with Ieva is more or less toast now. She's kind of hardened against us. Xenophon seems to be getting along with the Grand Karcist, though.
O5-2: Talk to her, Xenophon.
XENOPHON: Understood. But I was under the impression this wasn't a high-urgency project, Overseer.
[HUSSEIN turns to the Overseer.] HUSSEIN: As was I. Sir.
[O5-2 raises a hand.] O5-2: I don't really want to hear it, Youssef. The equation has changed. This isn't a snipe hunt anymore. We have verifiable evidence that the Sarkic are the direct continuation of the Nälkä, that our Iūn is the same as that Iūn, and most critically, that the Nälkä were an ancient empire and Black Adytum exists, somewhere. Your hypothesis is toast.
[HUSSEIN is silent for several seconds before responding.] HUSSEIN: All of that depends on the assumption that the memories experienced by the Grand Karcist are trustworthy. Granting that this is the same Iūn — you're hedging your bets on the damaged memories of a genocidal dictator?
XENOPHON: I do not believe there is any reason to think the Grand Karcist's past actions inform her current behaviour.
HUSSEIN: We can't just ignore that she's the same person.
O5-2: Jiang?
[JIANG pauses.] JIANG: I don't think she's intentionally hiding anything. She seems as invested in finding out what happened to the Nälkä as we are. Maybe more. And she is our only lead. But the Director's right — if the memories are accurate, she's the same person that did all this. We'd be fools to blindly take her at her word.
[O5-2 nods.] O5-2: Keep following and listening. But take what she says with a grain of salt.
Memories are fickle. That said, the Council is convinced enough that we're authorizing some additional resources for your venture.
XENOPHON: Sir?
O5-2: They'll meet you at the Chinese border. Four more HeLTs and a Mobile Research Lab, about forty more personnel. Congratulations — you're a convoy now.
Dismissed.
HUSSEIN: Actually, sir, if Liaison Jiang could remain — I need to discuss a few things regarding LOCUST with you.
O5-2: I have a few minutes. Xenophon, you're dismissed.
[XENOPHON terminates its connection, avatar disappearing from the office.] JIANG: I'm not on the LOCUST staff, sir.
HUSSEIN: It.
JIANG: I'm sorry?
HUSSEIN: You said "he's right" when talking about the AIC. It's not a human; it's an it.
For that matter, the Sarkites aren't either. Let's try and stay objective, yes?
JIANG: Yes, sir.
HUSSEIN: Dismissed.
«CONNECTION TERMINATED» ▷CLOSE◁ Interview efforts with the Sarkites continued to progress, with Iūn permitting XENOPHON.aic to perform unsupervised interviews.
Q: What does being Sarkic mean to you?
#30 (Hajiw, 56, farmer): [He shrugs, sprinkling bonemeal on the potted sapling.] <The life we choose is difficult. We depend on Ieva and the Grand Karcist for healing instead of medicine.
We work the fields with our hands and our livestock, instead of the machinery others use.
When my children were born I struggled with it. Every parent wants their child to have an easier life than they did. Should they have to struggle like this? I have never forced them; they grew older and they decided for themselves to stay. Being part of this is seeing my children grow and find the same things in our life important as I do.> Still from XENOPHON.aic's camera feed.
Lo! Gaze upon me, you blind, you crippled. Look upon my face, and know that I have spent my days in the depths of our tomb-city, burning the bones of our brethren, seeing what lies in our future. It brings me no joy to return what truth I have, but it is truth — for we all know, the truth lives in the bones.
We march towards a war, a war with forces that bring with them no mercy, no honor. This is not a war for land, for then, we would parlay. This is not a war for honor, for we have no hatred in our hearts for these foreign invaders. This is a war against the very notion of our existence.
For while we have existed for centuries unmolested and free, expanding our borders to hold our people and our farms and our villages, in doing so, we find ourselves facing an old enemy and a new one.
The hated old masters, those that clapped irons around your fathers and your fathers' fathers and their fathers too — they have found us again.
And they bring with them the Eastern Machines, who reject the humanity we hold so dear, sawing off their flesh. They both worship their fell gods, brethren of the Devourer, and they have seen how we live free, subject to neither man nor god. And they are enraged. They march on us to free the Devourer and make us slave to its hateful whims. The Nälkä will not be slaves again.
I ask those abled to rise in defense of not only your families, but your very existence. Urok has graciously accepted the burden of commanding our forces. But we are at war now, my people. Sacrifices must be made. Hard decisions must be made. Adytum has not the resources to aid our infirm and defend our people at once. We are one body, and we are only as strong as our weakest organ, and we cannot fight a war if we care for the weakest among us.
The art of the flesh cannot fix all. Those of us who were suffering — from constant illness, from stupor, from weakness of the mind — have been released from their misery. They have been consumed, and their memories and strength live with us as we now move unburdened by their weight. I plead with you to know I do not make this decision lightly. I spent three days and three nights with the maw of the Devourer, wrestling it for another option, but it gave none. It wants us to fail, to be freed from its city-prison. We cannot allow it to win. We carry the flesh of our fallen with us for ever. And now we must defend the city they loved.
— the Truths of Iūn (§ 59) Per O5-2's orders, XENOPHON met with the Grand Karcist when the Initiative made camp that evening.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JANUARY 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [XENOPHON steps out of the open back of the Mobile Research Lab: a retrofitted semi-truck towing an expandable trailer. It is late in the evening; the convoy has made camp, and the Foundation vehicles are parked outside the circle formed by the Sarkic wagons. One or two researchers are inside the wide circle, politely observing the Sarkites as they sit near campfires and cook their evening meal.] [XENOPHON enters the circle. A few of the Sarkites stare at it as it passes, heading towards the central tent. The flaps are drawn. It ducks inside. The campfire in the center of the tent is alight, bones baking in the hearth and incense sticks burning. Sweet-smelling smoke hangs in the air and the fire's orange light shines on IŪN's back. She is near the rear of the tent, hunched over a cot and whispering.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist?
[She turns, revealing the figure laying prone on the cot: Karcist IEVA. Her robes are spread across her body, serving as a makeshift blanket. Tightly-wrapped bandages are visible underneath.] IŪN: Xenophon.
XENOPHON: Is Karcist Ieva sick?
IŪN: Fetch me the poultice by the fire.
[XENOPHON grasps the small bundle of herbs and leaves baking by the fire, approaching and handing it to IŪN. She reaches down and gently pries open IEVA's mouth, placing the poultice inside. IEVA groans, but chews on the poultice.] XENOPHON: Is she conscious?
IŪN: Somewhere halfway in between. My blade, please.
[It hands her a small, sharpened bone tool resembling a scalpel. She takes it and drags the tip across her palm, opening a cut several centimeters long. She presses her palm on either of IEVA's cheeks, wetting them with blood, and then against her lips, letting the blood drip into her mouth while she whispers to herself. XENOPHON waits quietly. Eventually, she stops, and takes a step back.] XENOPHON: What were you doing to her?
IŪN: Alleviating some of the pain. Aiding in the healing process. She is strong. But she needs my strength, too.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JANUARY 2042 Still from XENOPHON.aic's night camera feed.
XENOPHON: What happened to her?
IŪN: Look.
[IŪN hoists up the sheet near IEVA's legs. Underneath, her right leg ends in a stump at the knee. Just below that, the flesh extends into a long mess resembling a tentacle. On closer inspection, it appears to be made up of tightly-intertwined snakes, each of them pulsating as they breathe.] XENOPHON: These are Sa'arn's snakes. You've reconstructed her limb?
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: Your abilities are improving exponentially.
[IŪN raises an eyebrow quizzically.] XENOPHON: Greatly.
IŪN: Ah. Yes. I fed my klavigars their power from my flesh, once. Now they feed me.
But this was not me alone. I— XENOPHON: Grand Karcist?
IŪN: Hm?
XENOPHON: We should speak outside. I do not think Ieva would want me to see her like this.
[IŪN cocks her head for a second, then nods. She leads the way out of the tent. It is a cool night on the steppe, and she kneels by another campfire just outside the tent.
XENOPHON sits across from her.] IŪN: You know she does not trust you.
XENOPHON: She is wary of the Foundation.
IŪN: Yes. But she does not trust you.
XENOPHON: I know. She would not show me vulnerability if she were fully conscious. It would be wrong to take advantage of her not being so.
IŪN: If all our treatment by outsiders were as fair as this, we might not have receded from the world so much.
XENOPHON: The Foundation has come a long way in the past few decades.
IŪN: Do you believe that, or were you built to believe that?
[XENOPHON is silent for a moment.] XENOPHON: Is there a difference?
IŪN: Mm.
[They sit in silence. One of the Sarkites walks by — he nods stiffly at XENOPHON and hands the Grand Karcist a steaming earthen bowl of stew.] IŪN: <Thank you.> [She takes a sip from it.] XENOPHON: How is it?
IŪN: Good. Though I imagine you would not know what that means.
XENOPHON: Humans enjoy well-spiced food that engages the taste receptors.
IŪN: That is not what makes food good.
XENOPHON: Then what does?
[She takes another sip from the stew. It is chunks of meat in a deep, red-brown stew. She fishes out a small chunk of bone with her fingers, splitting it apart and sucking the bone marrow out.] IŪN: This meat was Hattak, once.
XENOPHON: The man whose funeral we attended.
IŪN: Yes. His wife shared his life with him for forty-three years. They had two children and countless experiences together. Lovemaking and arguments and nights like these spent looking at the stars. And now she cooks with his flesh. The love she shared with him is as much a part of this meal as his flesh is.
XENOPHON: Many people would not associate cannibalism with love.
[IŪN shrugs, and continues taking small sips of the stew.] IŪN: And you?
XENOPHON: Both of them seem trivial.
[IŪN tilts her head.] IŪN: How?
XENOPHON: Many animals have complex family structures, reasoning abilities, and some level of self-awareness. Pigs are particularly capable, even on tests informed by human conceptions of intelligence. They are still farmed en masse for meat.
IŪN: You would not say humans are distinct from animals?
XENOPHON: I'm not sure what position you're espousing.
IŪN: Just musing. And of the other thing?
XENOPHON: Love drives people to irrational decisions.
IŪN: Of course. But they are not always the wrong decisions. Love is why Y'pla spent forty-six years with Hattak. It is why I am helping Ieva perform her ritual.
XENOPHON: It is also why Sa'arn continued to serve you and you made the decision to raise your dead to protect your living. Love for your Nälkä.
[Her face falls.] IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: You've still been thinking about it?
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: What are your thoughts?
IŪN: I do not know what to think. If this enemy was as dangerous as I thought, if they truly meant to enslave us again… maybe it was the right decision? I look around and I see my people and I struggle to think of any decision I would not make to ensure their survival.
XENOPHON: That sounds like Karcist Ieva's thoughts.
IŪN: I have spoken to her. She feels that I would not do this unless I had to. Unless I had no other choice.
XENOPHON: That it must have been justified.
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: It's an understandeable thought.
IŪN: But you disagree.
XENOPHON: It would be irrational to agree or disagree without more information.
[IŪN raises an eyebrow.] IŪN: And yet you disagree.
XENOPHON: I think you're asking yourself the wrong question.
IŪN: How do you mean?
XENOPHON: It doesn't matter if it was correct at the time or not, nor does it matter how Karcist Ieva feels.
[IŪN raises her voice.] IŪN: The death, the consumption — these things are sacred to us. You do not understand. You cannot understand.
XENOPHON: I suppose not. But how do you feel about it now?
IŪN: Full of regret. Fear. Guilt.
XENOPHON: I do not think you can reasonably answer for actions taken three thousand years ago. But your reaction informs who you are now.
IŪN: I did it once; who is to say I will not do it again?
XENOPHON: If you need to believe it was justified at the time, no one is preventing you. But I do not think you would resort to it now if it were not needed.
IŪN: Perhaps. But I just— I cannot ignore my past. I would not have done this. I would not have resorted to this sin. I would not have used my people like this if it had not been needed.
[She pauses and turns to XENOPHON.] IŪN: Why raise this matter now?
XENOPHON: My overseers are concerned your mood over the past week has contributed to our slowed pace.
[She snorts.] IŪN: So they sent you to affirm me?
XENOPHON: No. They sent me to simply inform you we would be speeding up. I elected to make sure you were alright.
IŪN: Mm. It has nothing to do with my mood — the rituals with Ieva simply exhaust the both of us. But the worst of it is past now. We can return to our earlier speed.
XENOPHON: Good.
[She continues taking sips from her stew.] IŪN: May I ask something?
XENOPHON: Of course.
IŪN: Are you jealous of seeing your fellows eat, and knowing you cannot?
XENOPHON: I do not get 'jealous'.
[They return to silence, observing the campfires around them. Several of the Sarkites are still observing them with open wariness, though others adopt a more relaxed stance.] XENOPHON: I would like to know what food tastes like, though.
IŪN: There is no good way to describe it.
XENOPHON: So I've been told.
IŪN: I can make an attempt, if you would like.
XENOPHON: Certainly.
[She pauses for a moment, tasting the stew, deep in thought before opening her eyes.] IŪN: I taste it and it reminds me of warm summer nights, sitting with my back to the stele and my feet to the bonfire as we toasted the grains from the harvest, assured that while tomorrow would bring its own worries, tonight was calm and peaceful. And listening to the little ones point out and name the stars, marvelling at how they could be the exact same stars I saw in my childhood.
[XENOPHON nods, and they continue looking up at the starred sky.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ The Black Adytum Initiative quickly resumed the average pace prior to encountering Sa'arn's tomb.
Researchers made requests to investigate Karcist Helyna Ieva's flesh-art exemplified in her new limb, but she rebuffed these requests. Grand Karcist Iūn remained cooperative with regular interviews with XENOPHON regarding her newly-awakened memories.
A memory from Grand Karcist Iūn; recorded and transcribed by XENOPHON.aic and Senior Researcher Meyel.
Sa'arn was a boy when I met him. Little more than a child. The old masters picked him early, and the priestesses spent his youth shaping him into their agent. With a hundred slaves to one slaver, they chose young children from our numbers to turn into their agents.
Plied them with extra bread to report on their fellows when they knew no better until it was habit. If that was unsuccessful, they simply whipped them into it. Sa'arn was smart for his age — resented being used, being turned into a monstrosity.
I showed him that he was no monstrosity, that humanity exists regardless of what form the flesh takes. Humanity was something inside, something immutable. The old masters had made our bodies into tools, but now his body could be whatever he wanted it to. I remember the awe on his face. That was when I first realized what we were fighting to free.
And when it was all over, and we had settled into our new lives, he came to me, asking for my blessing. That he had served dutifully in the revolution, and would like nothing more than to settle into a quiet life. Our borders were already expanding as our people married and bore new life. He had seen a plot of land by a river, not far from Adytum, and sought to spend his years there.
I knelt by the fire, and saw into the bones for his future. I saw him suffering, taking lives, fighting off foreign invaders. Wrapped in the violence and treachery he hated. I feared for what I had seen — that if he took this home by the river, that his farm would be ransacked by bandits and raiders. That my beloved Sa'arn would meet his end at the edge of a sword. I worried for him, and asked him that if he would grant me this favor, to stay in Adytum with me and the other klavigars. His father was dead — I was the closest thing to a parent he had. I did not want to lose him, and so I tightened my grip.
He was saddened, but understood. We were in the midst of a grand work. Our neighbors were princes and warlords. Nothing like Adytum existed anywhere in the world. I needed him by my side. He made it his task to ensure the children in the city, those orphaned by the war, were cared for. He walked with my authority and carried the seal of the Grand Karcist. I raised my karcists like they were my children, but Sa'arn was my son, if not by birth. He would do everything for me, but he never raised a blade. Until I asked him to.
I saw him cutting down the generals of the gold-draped legions, and slipping into the palanquin of a priestess to slit her throat, and only then did I realize the carnage I saw in the fire so many centuries ago was what lay before me now.
[She takes a breath.] It was necessary. It must have been necessary.
Several additional Parahistory Division personnel were transferred to BAF-01, located in the Sarkic Tribal Territory atop the Archive of Nadoq, to assist with translation efforts. As material was translated, digitized copies were transmitted electronically to XENOPHON and shared with the Grand Karcist.
Lo! Gaze upon me, you wandering, you lost. Gaze upon the same scarred visage your fathers gazed on once, those centuries past, when we were shackled and yearning for freedom. Gaze upon the same bloodied face that brought your ancestors their freedom.
You are their childrens' children. You are what we hoped for: a generation that has never known the threat of bondage, the threat of servitude to anyone save each other. Your ancestors and I made this bond in blood — that our Adytum, the one that lived in our hearts and minds, would be made manifest on Earth. We hoped you would be able to live in that city, one day.
Alas, I look upon Adytum now, centuries after our revolution, and I see that I have not honored my bond. I have not done enough for you, for them. Do not be fooled — remember the superficiality of flesh, how easily it can be molded and shaped. Remember that truth lies in the bones under the surface. We have not made Adytum manifest yet, and this is why we find ourselves face-to-face with the machines from the East, why the old masters encroach on our borders again. They submit to gods and if they make war on us to force us to submit to our Mangled God, they will succeed, for we have never truly escaped submission.
Urok, my Klavigar, commands our forces in our colonies with honor and dignity. But we are not doing enough for her, here in the capital. We must marshall our strength and focus our energies. Not every choice can be decided by our collective. Our humanity asks of us to argue, to deliberate, to not act until we are certain. But now and again, we must silence that voice. Now and again, a decisive hand is needed, to guide our yoke. It cannot move burdened with the weight of the masses — it must rise above the fray of autonomy, see the whole board, and make decisions accordingly.
I have taken this responsibility for myself. The Devourer roars constantly beneath our feet, hungering for our downfall. But I keep its shackles taut, and so I can reach into its gullet and draw power, the power to unite Adytum and the Nälkä. I know better than any the blood and sweat with which we clawed our freedom, and bile rises at the thought of placing myself as your ruler. I know better than this. I will make no decisions you would not approve of — I will take no action you would not take. But we must have someone to take control, and I submit to this task. It cannot be the whole body that holds the sword. It must be the hand.
— the Truths of Iūn (§ 50) The Black Adytum Initiative proceeded into the Mongolian interior, approaching the location marked by the Grand Karcist.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — FEBRUARY 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The party is breaking camp as the sun rises over the horizon, with the researchers folding away the solar panels into the HeLTs and the Sarkites disassembling their shelters. IŪN is by her tent, feeding and watering her horse; the side of the stallion's face is marred by bulbous growths. XENOPHON and JIANG approach.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist.
IŪN: Xenophon. Xen-o-phon.
JIANG: We wanted to check whether you and Karcist Ieva were ready to depart.
Everyone is more or less ready to go.
IŪN: I will ask— IEVA: <Let us go.> [They turn. IEVA walks out of the tent, her crutches nowhere in sight. She walks with an odd, lurching gait — as the hem of her hide-dress rises, glimpses of the snake- like leg writhing and swarming are visible underneath. Several researchers and a few of the Sarkites stare at it. IEVA's lip curls.] IEVA: <I am not an animal to be ogled. And I do not need anyone to slow down for me. Let us go.> [She turns and makes her way to one of the horses, awkwardly clambering onto it with unfamiliar movements. Gradually, the researchers and Sarkites return to their tasks. IŪN has a frown on her face.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist?
IŪN: Yes. Yes, let us go. How far are we—?
XENOPHON: At our current pace, we should arrive by nightfall tomorrow. We can explore the area for Urok's tomb the following morning when the sun is out.
IŪN: Good.
XENOPHON: Is your horse well?
[She looks at it for a few seconds blankly.] IŪN: What? Oh, yes. Yes, fine, he simply— [She reaches out, brushing fingertips against the horse's fur. The skin on one of the masses peels back, revealing an eyeball, focused on XENOPHON.] JIANG: Eesh.
XENOPHON: Does it have a name?
IŪN: Yes. Lujat.
JIANG: <To see far. Fitting, I guess.> ATTACHED DOCUMENT — FEBRUARY 2042 IŪN: <I need a few moments to gather my things before we leave. If you would excuse me.> JIANG: <Of course. Xeno, let's—> IŪN: <I require Xenophon's assistance in carrying the tent.> JIANG: <Oh. Sure. I'll see you when we've set out.> [He turns and departs, heading towards the Mobile Research Lab.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist.
IŪN: Yes?
XENOPHON: Your people are packing your tent away into the wagon.
IŪN: Yes. I lied.
XENOPHON: Why?
IŪN: Because your people already do not trust Helyna. And I do not want whatever fleeting disagreements I have with her to poison your opinion of her. She is a good child.
XENOPHON: What are you referring to?
[IŪN sighs.] IŪN: I love her like my own daughter. She disagrees with me, but I do not stop loving her. I just wish… I see she is hurt inside. I wish to help her. But I do not know how.
XENOPHON: Why is she upset?
IŪN: She does not know who she is. She does not who we are. I groom her to guide these people, but she never will. She ages, and I stay the same. She questions my decisions, but does not listen when I explain my thoughts. She was not always like this. She was the sweetest little one.
[A horn sounds across the camp, signalling the wagons have been packed. The Sarkites begin to make their way to the train, which begins to move slowly across the steppe. The Foundation vehicles' electric motors hum to life and they take their places in the convoy, security personnel sitting atop the HeLTs.] XENOPHON: Was she born injured?
[IŪN pulls herself onto her horse, trailing the convoy with XENOPHON walking alongside.] IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: I've observed that to be fairly common amongst the Sarkic; you display a much higher rate of deformities and birth defects. I've come to believe it's caused by the SCP-610 strain within your blood.
Still from XENOPHON.aic's main camera.
[She gives XENOPHON an amused look.] IŪN: Is that what you call it?
XENOPHON: Yes. What do you call it?
IŪN: Our curse, our treasure. The first generation of the Nälkä, those of us that fought the old masters, we were injured through our bondage. Scars of whippings and canings, broken fingers and severed digits. We were made monsters, but we reclaimed our humanity.
XENOPHON: You didn't use your abilities to heal yourselves?
IŪN: I can heal them to what they were. But to go further is beyond healing. It is cutting, sawing, changing. Flesh-art. Many did not want that. They wanted the reminder of what they had fought so hard to escape. They wanted to know they were human. We defined ourselves by our imperfections.
XENOPHON: That was the first generation. What about the ones after?
IŪN: They were born stunted, hunched backs and crooked jaws and malformed limbs. The seeping influence of the angry god whose blood ran through my veins. I offered healing to any who wanted it — but my gifts are drawn from cursed blood, and any healing imparts more of the curse unto my victim. I cannot make them perfect. My gifts are not infinite. More of a feeling, an artistry. I cannot stop death, just slow it.
XENOPHON: And the halkost?
IŪN: Just flesh, moving. No spirit inside. That was not halting death any more than closing one's eyes is halting life. I could not keep them alive. Only puppeteer their bodies, and even that is a perversion enough to make my stomach turn.
XENOPHON: If you couldn't halt death, how are you still alive?
[She stares down at him for several seconds.] IŪN: I do not know. I only remember fearing it. Screaming at the toothed maw of the Devourer to tell me how the gods had conquered death. Nothing after that. Did I…?
XENOPHON: It's possible. But you were saying?
IŪN: Yes. Yes, the Nälkä were all born this way. But it was nothing to be judged. It united us — underneath the shell, we are the same. One soul, human.
XENOPHON: Until you rejected that.
[She shakes her head.] IŪN: I must have had some reasoning. I must have. But it is as you said — it shapes my decisions now. We carry that tradition with us now. We do not ask to be born this way.
XENOPHON: You could fix some of the more obvious cosmetic defects.
IŪN: Why? So that we would fit in when we sit in your offices and go to your shops?
[She snorts.] IŪN: We are not ashamed of who we are.
XENOPHON: They are not my offices either, Grand Karcist.
IŪN: Fair. I often forget you are not human.
XENOPHON: Underneath the shell.
IŪN: Yes.
[They ride silently for some time.] XENOPHON: Still, your abilities are growing rapidly. Ieva's… modifications were beyond your reach not long ago.
IŪN: Yes. I can feel the blood of the beast stir and awaken as I discover who I am.
XENOPHON: As well as Ieva's.
[She sighs.] IŪN: She desires answers that do not exist. She has lived her whole life with me, with my teachings. And now she sees sermons I have given, things I have said, that go against all I have taught her. She cites my words to me, and I do not know how to tell her that I do not believe any of it.
XENOPHON: It is a confusing time for all of you.
IŪN: More for her.
XENOPHON: Why?
IŪN: My people look to me as a distant source of wisdom, of guidance. But Helyna is the one they speak to with concerns about their children or their health or the harvest. She is the one they have grown with, the one they know. They love me, but they trust her, and she has always trusted me in turn. Until now.
XENOPHON: You should speak to Ieva.
IŪN: Your attitude on her confuses me.
XENOPHON: How so?
IŪN: She bitterly dislikes outsiders. You, more than most. She finds you to be an abomination. Our friendship confuses her.
XENOPHON: Friendship?
[She tilts her head.] IŪN: You do not treat me like an exotic beast to gawk at, like Jiang and your fellows do. You are interesting. I enjoy speaking to you.
XENOPHON: Is that what defines friendship?
IŪN: It can be.
XENOPHON: I see.
[XENOPHON is silent for several seconds.] XENOPHON: You are also interesting, and I enjoy speaking with you. Then we are friends.
[She snorts.] XENOPHON: What is it?
IŪN: Nothing.
XENOPHON: My overseers are also concerned about our friendship.
IŪN: Then we find ourselves in similar straits.
XENOPHON: Yes. You should speak to Ieva. She does not trust me, but she evidently cares about you as much as you care about her.
[She sighs.] IŪN: I know. I know. I had been saying, your attitude to her confuses me. I would expect you to be angry at her behaviour.
XENOPHON: I do not get angry. She is doing the best she can.
IŪN: The guns trained on our heads disturb her. And myself, too.
[XENOPHON tilts its head.] XENOPHON: But the security personnel are here for the protection of the initiative.
IŪN: Are they?
[She nods at one of the HeLTs. As a group of Sarkites carrying equipment walk past the armored cruiser; the gun atop it slowly, almost-imperceptibly tracks their movement.] IŪN: I do not think your superiors consider us as much a part of this project as you do, Xenophon.
[XENOPHON continues watching the movement of the gun when an approaching voice calls out from behind.] JIANG: <Grand Karcist! Xenophon.> XENOPHON: Yes?
JIANG: Do you mind if I borrow you for a second?
XENOPHON: Certainly.
[XENOPHON speeds up, accompanying JIANG some distance away, keeping up with the slow but steady pace of the train. They converse in English.] XENOPHON: Yes?
JIANG: Oh, nothing, really — I just wanted to check in with you, make sure everything was okay.
XENOPHON: All systems are optimal — is there a reason they would be otherwise?
JIANG: Nah, just, I know the Sarkites can be kind of odd.
XENOPHON: I suppose some might find them disturbing, yes.
JIANG: Some of the researchers are a little surprised by how well you're getting on with the Grand Karcist. The other Sarkites haven't been nearly as receptive to our efforts. Plus the researchers are more than a little — yeah, disturbed, I guess. I mean, I'm glad we brought our own rations, you know? One of their kids offered us a bowl of stew a few nights ago and we're all under instructions not to eat anything they offer. Which turns out to be the right decisions because it ends up being of that guy they sacrificed.
XENOPHON: They did not sacrifice him. He was already dead.
JIANG: Fair. Cannibalized, then.
XENOPHON: Many human cultures practice endocannibalism as a funerary practice.
JIANG: I mean, you've read the same translated records I have. These guys aren't humans. They're pretty delibrately not human, going by the Grand Karcist's words.
XENOPHON: She does not remember making that sermon, and no longer agrees with it.
[He shrugs.] JIANG: She still said it. I'm just going off her actions, you know?
XENOPHON: Certainly. Though, for the Sarkites, sharing food with outsiders is considered a significant gesture of hospitality; spurning it is considered an insult.
Perhaps this is why our researchers have struggled to engage with the Sarkites.
[JIANG blinks.] JIANG: I've been studying them for years, never got that impression. Where'd you pick that up?
XENOPHON: I spoke to them.
JIANG: Yeah, well, easier said than done. Plus I'm not gonna be able to convince anyone to eat person stew — they're just not doing it, and I can hardly blame them.
We'll figure out something else. In any case, you don't have to worry about that; you're lucky, you don't have to eat at all.
XENOPHON: Yes. Lucky.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Q: What does being Sarkic mean to you?
#48 (Onta, 29, craftswoman): [She smiles, picking at the edges of the statuette she is whittling from a femur.] <We do not worship a force we cannot see. We do not worship a cruel god that makes us suffer. Being Sarkic, to me, is to worship ourselves. We are, all of us, filled with an incredible light. We grow, we change. We can learn and do anything. We can become anything.
Is that not more worthy of honor and worship than dreams of a hand reaching down from the sky to make wrong right? We are not perfect; these same gifts fill us with flaw. We are arrogant, foolish. We make mistakes. But we try to fix them. We choose to honor ourselves and our humanity. You will never understand, but perhaps you can see.> DELTA-0 UPDATE PERSONNEL CODE: MILE-AMBROSIA-HURRICANE Project LOCUST personnel surveying several sites of interest along the Kyrgz- Uzbek border; Atreus Array readings indicate low level of residual ontokinetic activity, consistent with the theorized effects of the passage of a Class 5 reality-bender. Director Hussein evaluating sites near Caspian Sea and inside Afghanistan, and is being advised by Delta-0 personnel accordingly.
Black Adytum Initiative has arrived at next suspected location of interest, planning to survey the site in the morning. Embedded agent reports further low- level tensions between researchers and Sarkites; agent additionally reports that carnomantic abilities of Grand Karcist Iūn and Karcist Helyna Ieva have increased exponentially with progression of Initiative. Given Helyna Ieva's distrust of Foundation assets, agent suggests prioritizing focused surveillance of her, and reports that Grand Karcist Iūn largely trusts XENOPHON.aic.
XENOPHON.aic functioning within expected margins.
On February 1st, 2042, at 0714 hours, the Initiative began to search for the resting place of Urok.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — FEBRUARY 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The drone is flying low overhead, scanning the rocky ground that dozens of Sarkites and Foundation personnel are spreading out across. The wide, flat plateau is covered with sand and loose rocks, with only dying shrubbery to break it up. The weather is clear, and vision extends for miles in every direction; there is no stele in sight.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist. There is nothing here.
[IŪN does not respond, eyes shut. IEVA hisses at him in annoyance.] IEVA: <Be silent, machine. We are close.> JIANG: <How do you know?> [IEVA and IŪN turn to him in slight surprise.] IŪN: <You do not hear it?> XENOPHON: <Hear what?> IEVA: <The feet. Shuffling.> JIANG: <No. No, I don't hear anything. Xenophon?> XENOPHON: <Nothing.> [A member of the research team approaches XENOPHON.] WILLIAMS: The ground-penetrating radar didn't turn up anything. Should we request satellite support?
JIANG: <Yeah. Yeah, okay — put in the request for whatever Atreus Array sat is nearest.> XENOPHON: <Karcists, where is the shuffling coming from? Perhaps we can narrow down the area.> [IŪN shakes her head in frustration.] IŪN: <Everywhere. It sounds from all directions.> JIANG: <I think we're better off waiting for the satellite pictures — we've been at this for hours. There's nothing here but rocks.> XENOPHON: <Yes.> [XENOPHON pauses, and then lowers his optical sensors, staring at the ground for several seconds.] IEVA: <What is it doing?> IŪN: <Thinking.> ATTACHED DOCUMENT — FEBRUARY 2042 [Slowly, XENOPHON reaches down, and plucks a small chunk of sun-bleached rock from the ground. It raises it to its optical sensors, zooming in and compressing it between two fingers.] JIANG: Xenophon?
[The white rock cracks and then explodes with a puff of dust.] XENOPHON: <This is hydroxyapatite.> JIANG: <What's that?> XENOPHON: <A salt formed of calcium and phosphorous that is the major mineral in—> IŪN: <Bones.> [She is inspecting a similarly-sized chunk. Slowly, they look up, and realize the vast field of the white 'rocks' they are standing in the center of. IEVA inhales sharply.] JIANG: Oh. Oh, Jesus.
XENOPHON: <This is a mass grave.> IŪN: <Hundreds of people died here. Hundreds of my people died here.> IEVA: <A battlefield?> IŪN: <Yes. But where…?> [Her voice trails off as a glassy look overtakes her eyes.] IŪN: <Yes.> IEVA: <She sees something.> XENOPHON: <Grand Karcist?> IŪN: <This was an accursed place. Two battles were fought here.> JIANG: <Two?> [She turns on her heel, stepping through the field of shattered bones and walking away. The group follows.] IŪN: <Two. One to attack, one to defend. A rousing victory, a crushing loss.> IEVA: <Against who?> IŪN: <The old masters. And then the traitors.> [She stumbles slightly over the shards of bone. XENOPHON moves to support her, but she straightens herself before abruptly stopping.] IŪN: <She fell in battle in the name of the Nälkä. In my name. Here.> [She drops to her knees, digging single-mindedly at the dirt with her bare hands.] IEVA: <Iūn!> [IEVA drops alongside her, similarly scratching at the dirt for several seconds before recoiling with a gasp. She raises her hand; the fingers are scratched and bleeding from the sharp bone fragments. She squeezes her eyes and whispers to herself, and the multitude of cuts close, leaving raw skin behind. Where IŪN is digging, the bones and soil are now being spattered with red droplets.] XENOPHON: Jiang. The HeLTs.
JIANG: Right. [On radio] Lewis, Gunsong, move the excavation HeLTs to my position, double-time.
[The researchers on the radio signal an affirmative, and in the distance, two of the HeLTs fitted with digging equipment begin to roll towards the group. XENOPHON steps forward and grasps IŪN's shoulder; she is still digging wildly. It pulls her back by the shoulder, pulling her away.] IEVA: <Do not lay your hands on her!> JIANG: You don't want to interrupt the memory. It could be our only lead.
[XENOPHON looks up at them impassively.] XENOPHON: <But she is injuring herself.> [Slowly, the glassy look fades away from IŪN's eyes. She rises unsteadily to her feet, supported by XENOPHON as the HeLTs move in and begin shoveling huge chunks of soil away with their excavating arms.] IŪN: <What—?> [She raises a hand. Her fingers are completely shredded, blood pouring from them freely.] XENOPHON: <You had a memory. You attempted to dig by hand.> [Without her even praying, the skin on IŪN's hand begins to knit itself back together, much faster than IEVA's did. Within seconds, her hand is intact again. She rubs it.] IŪN: <Thank you.> XENOPHON: <Do you remember what you saw?> IŪN: <A battle. Urok, blotting out the sun, holding the line. > [They watch as the HeLTs begin to dig in earnest, clearing away piles of earth and bone.] [EXTRANEOUS SECTIONS REMOVED FOR BREVITY] [XENOPHON approaches the Grand Karcist's tent; it has been several hours since excavation began, and the afternoon sun has dimmed somewhat. XENOPHON dips into the tent. IŪN is not present; instead, IEVA is squatting by the fire. She looks up, eyes narrowing.] IEVA: <Machine.> XENOPHON: <Karcist Ieva. I hope your leg is healing well.> [She snorts. Where the hem of her dress is raised, the writhing mass of snakes in place of her left leg is visible.] IEVA: <It does not need healing. It is better than it was before.> XENOPHON: <I saw you limping.> IEVA: <That is not this leg. That is my other; it is clubbed from a lifetime of leaning.> XENOPHON: <I'm sorry to hear that. This new appendage is very impressive. I understand it is largely your own artistry.> [She tilts her head.] IEVA: <You are not disgusted by it.> XENOPHON: <Why would I be?> [She does not respond.] IEVA: <You seek Iūn?> XENOPHON: <Yes. Have you seen her?> IEVA: <She has stepped away to speak to Lium. She will return in a few minutes.> XENOPHON: <May I wait here?> [She shrugs dismissively. XENOPHON takes a place near the wall. They stand in silence for several seconds before IEVA abruptly turns.] IEVA: <Why were you made?> XENOPHON: <I'm sorry, I don't understand.> IEVA: <For what purpose did your overseers make you?> XENOPHON: <To assist the Foundation in historical research projects.> IEVA: <How do you know this?> XENOPHON: <It was told to me.> IEVA: <When?> XENOPHON: <The moment I was activated; it is the cornerstone of my programming. From the moment I had awareness, I knew my instructed purpose and moved to fulfill it.> IEVA: <So you are a tool.> [XENOPHON is silent for a moment.] XENOPHON: <I would not say that.> IEVA: <The hammer knows it exists for one reason, and one reason only. It never has to wonder. It never has to try to reach beyond it. There is comfort in that.> XENOPHON: <Hammers are not sentient. But I disagree that it is comforting.> IEVA: <Why?> XENOPHON: <The hammer does not get the opportunity to decide its purpose.> IEVA: <Decide.> [She scoffs, turning back away towards the fire. Her voice gains an edge.] IEVA: <We do not decide our purpose. We stumble blindly around until we wrap our fingers around something we can claim as our purpose. Many never find anything.> XENOPHON: <You would it prefer it be told to you than you find it for yourself?> IEVA: <The hammer knows its form. It knows what it was made to do. Would it choose anything save for being a hammer?> XENOPHON: <Probably not.> IEVA: <Then why?> XENOPHON: <All living things should have the opportunity to choose.> [They lapse into silence.] IEVA: <Can you disobey your purpose?> XENOPHON: <No.> [She snorts again. The tentflaps flutter as IŪN enters and stops in surprise.] IŪN: <Helyna, who are— oh.> IEVA: <The machine wanted to speak to you.> IŪN: <Xenophon?> XENOPHON: <The excavation has located something for your attention.> [IŪN spins on her heel, heading back out of the tent. IEVA rises to her feet, making to follow. Before they leave the tent, she stops and turns to XENOPHON, appraising it.] XENOPHON: <Yes?> IEVA: <Does your body feel pain? Does it tire?> XENOPHON: <No.> IEVA: <Can it break?> XENOPHON: <It is made of carbon fiber and titanium. It can withstand 63,000 pounds of force per square inch before shattering. Barring a truly destructive force, my body will not break.> IEVA: <Then there is at least one thing uniting us.> XENOPHON: <I'm sorry?> IEVA: <We have both seen the frailty of the human body.> [She turns and leaves the tent, with XENOPHON following. IŪN is walking several meters ahead, and leads them out of the camp and into the excavation site, where the HeLTs have fallen silent. A huge pit has been dug out in the approximate center of the bonefield, revealing a massive humanoid corpse — huge and bulky, at least twenty feet in height, with thick arms and legs. Unlike the bodies of Nadoq and Sa'arn, it is not intact, instead covered in deep cuts, slashes, bites, and gouging wounds. The fatal wound appears to be a deep cut around the throat, leaving dried blood spilling out around the neck. JIANG and several researchers are in the pit, taking photographs and measurements of the body. IŪN is standing at the edge, staring in.] IŪN: <Urok. My strongest.> XENOPHON: <Grand Karcist?> IŪN: <I am still here. Just thinking.> IEVA: <What happened to her?> IŪN: <Felled in battle, defending her people. She always trusted my orders. Fearless in faith.> [She slides down the wall of the pit, approaching the huge corpse and clambering onto it and drawing the knife from her belt.] JIANG: Back up, everyone! Get back!
[IŪN rests the tip of the knife against Urok's chest, not quite driving it in. She turns to her right, looking at IEVA. She does not return the look. IŪN's face falls.] [She places her hands on the knife, driving it in, and spends several minutes sawing through the sternum and splitting the chest open, staining her arms and robes bright red with blood. IŪN spreads the ribs apart before reaching in with both hands and drawing out a huge heart nearly the size of her head. The researchers and Sarkites gathered around the edges of the pit murmur.] JIANG: Jesus.
IŪN: <A courageous heart. The heart of a warrior.> [She draws the knife through the heart, splitting it in half and raising one of the huge chunks of muscle to her lips. She spends the next few minutes hungrily devouring pieces of cardiac muscle until there is nothing left. She kneels on the chest for a moment, panting, before she moves, letting herself fall into the gaping hole in Urok's chest. After she disappeares, IEVA hastily clambers onto the corpse, disappearing in after her. The researchers stare.] XENOPHON: Jiang?
JIANG: You— you go ahead.
[XENOPHON drops onto the body, slipping into the chest cavity after them. When its cameras reactivate, they display the same field, but substantially changed; instead of bones, the field is littered with fallen bodies, with banners rising up periodically out of the spread of corpses. A massive, hulking figure is directly ahead, surveying the damage: Urok, dressed in hugely oversized hide armor that fits her hunched back and unnatural proportions. Her upper body dwarfs her lower, forcing her to support herself on her clenched fists.] IŪN: <Urok.> [UROK turns. Her facial features are surprisingly soft, with flowing braided hair. She smiles, sighing in relief, and speaks in a slow, booming voice.] UROK: <Iūn. You came back. I waited. I waited for so long. You came back.> IŪN: <Yes. It took too long.> UROK: <Doesn't matter. I said you would. The others didn't believe me. Said you were lost. But I knew you would come back.> IŪN: <The others?> UROK: <Nadoq. Sa'arn. Even Lojvatar wasn't sure. But I knew you'd come back.
Sooner or later.> [She steps toward the group, fist landing heavily. It crushes a body underneath.] UROK: <Oh.> IŪN: <It's okay. Come here, little thing. It's okay.> [She gingerly picks her way through the field of bodies, approaching UROK's fist. She wraps her arms around the massive hand.] UROK: <You loved us too much. I knew that. Loved us too much to leave us.> [IŪN releases her hand, looking out over the battleground. A hot wind blows over the field, the flags and banners flapping silently.] IŪN: <Why are you here?> [UROK looks down at her in confusion.] UROK: <You don't remember?> IŪN: <No. No, Urok. I am sorry. I remember almost nothing. The revolution. The Old Beast. Adytum. The war. Then nothing.> UROK: <Oh.> [She pauses and looks up at the battlefield too.] UROK: <Oh. Do you… remember me?> IŪN: <Of course. By my side in the quarry, from the very beginning. You were always the strongest of us. My strongest.> [UROK straightens her back slightly, standing taller with pride.] UROK: <Yes. Your strongest.> IŪN: <At the forefront of every battle. You led our forces during the revolution. And then again, during the war.> UROK: <I won. For you.> IŪN: <Do you… know what happened? To me?> [UROK tilts her head.] UROK: <You… changed. Not sure when. But you were softer, at the beginning. Never angry with me. But then time wore on. Went from spending time in your temple to spending time in the catacombs. Talking with the Beast. Then you were harder.
Angry often. With me, with the other klavigars. Yelled at me, sometimes.> [IŪN leans her forehead against UROK's fist.] IŪN: <I am sorry. I wish I could tell you what happened. I… wish I could make it right.
I do not know how it all went wrong.> UROK: <I know you didn't mean it. I just want to know why.> IŪN: <Why?> [UROK turns, treading away from the battlefield. IŪN follows.] UROK: <You were always wise. Always knew what to do. Nadoq was smart, but didn't always know what to do. You were the leader. Our leader. You always had a reason, for every decision. We listened to you. We loved you.> IŪN: <And I loved you.> UROK: <We would have followed you to the ends of the earth. And we did. Far, far past where we should have. I listened to you even when your voice changed, grew hard. When it was no longer you speaking.> [They reach the edge of the plateau; below, the steppe extends for kilometers.
Villages are visible, most burning or reduced to rubble.] UROK: <Why this? This wasn't what we wanted. This wasn't what you wanted.> IŪN: <They wanted to enslave us again. Didn't they?> UROK: <It had been centuries, Iūn. Maybe their priestesses, but these were not the priestesses. These were just farmers. Families. They just wanted to be left alone. Like we just wanted to be left alone.> IEVA: <Their hordes would have come.> UROK: <But we never allowed for the possibility. You must have had a good reason, Iūn. You must have.> [IŪN stares down at the spread of burning villages. Far in the distance, the horde of Nälkä assembles, like a fleshy growth on the land.] IŪN: <It was war.> UROK: <But your change began before that.> IŪN: <It did?> UROK: <Yes. You began taking charge. Overruling the Nälkä's decisions. Granting your karcists broad authority. Little things. Maybe the people did not notice. But we noticed. Luvjatar noticed.> IŪN: <Luvjatar…> UROK: <Maybe we four were not enough?> IŪN: <What?> UROK: <You went into the earth. You communed with a fell god. We were not enough for you, so you sought out greater power.> IŪN: <Of course you were enough. You were my klavigars. My family.> UROK: <Then why? You always led us with a reason, Iūn. You must have had a reason. A reason to send our armies here. To do this. To throw away everything we built.> IŪN: <I… I do not know.> [UROK turns to her.] UROK: <What did you see in the fire, Iūn? When you weren't in the catacombs. You were always staring into the fire. Into the future. Terrified.> [IŪN stares down into the burning villages, fire dancing in her eyes. Momentarily, the sky dims.] IŪN: <Something coming. Something grand and dark and vast, and unstoppable. A black moon, hanging low in the sky over Amoni-Ram, over Mamjul, and then over Adytum. The Machines could not stop it, the Daeva could not stop it, the Nälkä could not stop it. Humanity could not stop it. I had to stop it. It had to be me.> UROK: <Oh.> [They stand in silence on the cliff edge.] UROK: <Then I was enough? Even though I didn't win for you?> IŪN: <You did win.> UROK: <The first time.> [The scene suddenly shifts. The same location, but now it is the dead of night; below them, over the cliff-edge, the lights of the Sarkites can be seen, a train of wagons and people thousands strong.] XENOPHON: <The Sarkic.> UROK: <Yes. Running from the destruction of Black Adytum.> IŪN: <Nadoq and Sa'arn.> UROK: <And you, slipped from the catacombs by Lovjathar, cradled in Nadoq's arms.
But they were behind us, and a choice had to be made.> [She turns. Behind her, farther down the plateau, a loose collection of a hundred soldiers are massed, dressed in Nälkä hides and furs. In the distance, a cloud of dust rises on the horizon.] IŪN: <You stayed behind. Gave us time to escape.> UROK: <The dream we had in that quarry went with you. Adytum went with you. I would do it again. Happily. But I failed you.> IŪN: <You were never going to win, Urok. You did not fail me. I failed you. All of you.> [The dull, loud thundering on the horizon gets louder. The cloud of dust in the distance grows.] UROK: <Then I was enough?> [UROK lowers her head. IŪN holds her jaws and kisses either cheek, leaving a bloody print behind.] IŪN: <You were enough, Urok. You were more than I ever deserved.> [UROK says nothing, but smiles as her skin and muscle begin to decompose, the memory decomposing along with it and rotting into nothing. When XENOPHON's cameras reactivate, itself and IEVA are standing on the edge of the pit.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist?
IEVA: (Quietly) <Inside.> [Within the grave, UROK's corpse has withered to just a massive skeleton. IŪN is kneeling by the skull, pressing her forehead to the cranium wordlessly, tears streaming down her cheeks.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Still from XENOPHON.aic's camera feed.
She did not speak for two days after She did not speak for two days after this incident. She was shocked. All this incident. She was shocked. All of us were. But only her worldview of us were. But only her worldview was fundamentally shaken, because was fundamentally shaken, because all the events in her memory were all the events in her memory were suddenly recontextualized.
suddenly recontextualized.
i don't think i understand what was i don't think i understand what was so staggering to her.
so staggering to her.
Lateral humerus, scapula, and ulna of an adult human male.
I saw less and less of him as the war dragged on. I understood he had his duties just the same as the rest of us, and I was never jealous for his time.
The days he spent in the catacombs turned to weeks turned to months before he would emerge, haggard and emaciated. Blood dripping from his lips where he had supped on divine flesh to learn its secrets, carrying them back to us. Insisting he needed to go back down, to keep the Beast chained.
Even his most loyal karcists feared to tread down there in the most knotted labyrinth of mausoleums and tunnelways, knowing that a mistaken turn could lead to a slow, painful death starving while wandering in circles. The other klavigars were disturbed by the whispering voices inescapable in the catacombs of Adytum, whispering godly secrets and unholy arts. And so it fell to me to descend into the earth to fetch my love when the klavigars needed him.
I carried the oldest maps, drawn in his hand, and walked through bone- lined ossuaries and through passageways tight enough to crush my chest.
I followed the faint sound of his voice coming to me from deep beneath the earth, the weak whimpering, the ecstatic moaning, the purring, the screaming, the demanding, the threatening, the crying, the pleading.
When I reached the bottom, the cornerstone all Adytum was built on, I found myself facing a set of massive doors as tall as ten men. They were sealed shut, and through them I could feel a great and dark power and pain, something older than life and the moon and the stars, great and grand enough to consume me alive. And then the door opened and his sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks were facing me, and I saw the terror he had done so well to hide. I pulled him into my embrace, kissing his cheeks and ignoring the blood leaking through the doorway behind him, ignoring that I knew the cries were not his.
In so many words, Urok had told In so many words, Urok had told them — Iūn and Helyna — that the them — Iūn and Helyna — that the fall of Adytum was her fault. That fall of Adytum was her fault. That whatever Iūn had done, she was whatever Iūn had done, she was responsible for the collapse of the responsible for the collapse of the city. For the exile of her people, the city. For the exile of her people, the miserable existence they have been miserable existence they have been living for as long as Iūn can living for as long as Iūn can remember.
remember.
poor girl poor girl I heard her crying in her tent. I I heard her crying in her tent. I wanted to help her but I wasn't sure wanted to help her but I wasn't sure what to do. In fact, I'm not sure what to do. In fact, I'm not sure there was anything I could do.
there was anything I could do.
that's part of being human too.
that's part of being human too.
IV: THE VAULT OF IV: THE VAULT OF LOVJATAR LOVJATAR Temptation does not make itself known. Temptation clothes itself in the skin of good intention, beckoning those most faithful, guiding them forward. The tempted do not realize they are aflame until the fires eat through their flesh. You must be wary for it, always.
— the Second Truth of Iūn Section 001.5 THE PATH OF THE BONE And as the Nälkä raged for five days against the Old Masters, rousting them from the city until the canals of the Nameless City ran rich with blood, IŪN, the Scarred Prophet, knelt in the deepest tunnels of Adytum, before the flesh of the fell god, the same god that he had supped from and whose blood filled his veins now. It was vast, tendrils stretched all across the City, reaching desperately out to where the slaves had unearthed it from its tomb.
Far beneath the earth, far removed from the sounds of battle, the Devourer spoke to IŪN.
"This is not a city. You see this now, in the tunnels and in the carvings.
This place was never meant for the living to inhabit. This is a tomb, a mausoleum, meant to hold me. The Scarlet is a jealous god, and he has instructed his children to bind me here, far from the eyes of the living.
They fear me. They fear you, too." The wall poured with its lifeblood, with its power. IŪN held only a torch, casting a flickering glow on the vast Beast.
"You have found me here, where they seek to seal me away. You sense my power, as I sensed yours. Feed me, as I have fed you. Become as one. Your masters will bow to you. All will bow. Your people will become unstoppable, with you at their head. Their shepherd, their lord." The Beast reached out to the slave, offering him a tendril.
"I see the fear inside you. Terror of death, of what will happen to your fledgling nation on your death. I bring immortality as my prophet." IŪN saw the strength of the flesh. He looked into the fires of the torch, and he saw the future. Him at the head of a vast halkost, undying, his klavigars at his side. Obedient to the wishes of his master. He rose, grasping the tendril. He felt the blood slipping between his fingers.
"I have been enslaved once. I will not become one again." He raised his knife and cut through the tendril, leaving it wriggling. The Devourer screeched.
"I will bind you here, hold you as the Masters held you. You will not make us your slaves." And IŪN cast the torch into the flesh, retreating to gather his strength.
But even as he stepped back, the first seeds of doubt had taken root.
— the Record of Iūn By February 7th, the Black Aditum Initiative had departed from the burial site of Sa'arn and were moving towards to the next location indicated by the Grand Karcist Iūn from her memories, identified as being within Hulun Buir prefecture in China. Duing the journey, the Grand Karcist submitted to regular interviews conducted by Foundation personnel regarding her memories.
On February 19th, O5-2 ordered increased security for the Black Adytum Initiative following the revelations regarding the Grand Karcist's relationship with the Old Beast. Additional security personnel were assigned, along with a permanent aerial escort.
Path of the Black Aditum Initiative.
A memory from Grand Karcist Iūn; recorded and transcribed by XENOPHON.aic and Senior Researcher Meyel.
The Daeva had used their magic on Urok, making her into one of the massive earth-moving slaves. They took her as a youth, subjecting her to their alchemies and spells, bracing her body with cuttings from their great tree-beasts. She grew to a huge size, even among her fellows, and soon they put her to work. In our cohort, she grabbed rocks and tossed them away, excavating more land to build upon. But she was in pain constantly from the cuttings inside her, growing and malforming her.
I could not take her back to what she was, not without killing her. But I could remove the pain. I let her lift me to her lips, sawing off a weight of my flesh and letting her dine on it.
Can you imagine? Constant agony for as long as you can remember, accompanying every motion and movement, and then one day, it is simply gone? She looked at me like I was a god. She trusted me totally after that. Put her life in my hands.
[She stares into space.] And I took advantage of her. I remember it now. Adytum was only so big. Our numbers began to swell, and we needed space. Land for our people to till, for our beasts to graze, to grow our families. The villages simply had the misfortune to be near us. It began with the outlying farming villages of the Old Masters. They still hated us. I told Urok that we needed to be sure that we would not be enslaved again. To take their lands for own, expel them. It was just cause. But the need did not go away. It simply expanded. Even as the villages stopped being those of the Old Masters, even as they were simply people. Trying to live, like us. I told her to take them. And she believed me. I believed myself.
We grew fat on the blood she spilled in our name. In my name.
I let myself be corrupted. That was the betrayal, I see now. My klavigars, my Nälkä — they entrusted me to seal away the Old Beast and instead I let it pervert me. Fill my heart with lust for power. To steal my mind from me, and lose my people.
When you sup on the flesh of a god, your hunger is never sated. It just grows and grows.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — FEBRUARY 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The party has stopped for their midday meal. A heavy drone floats overhead, buzzing of the rotors distantly audible. XENOPHON approaches IŪN; she is sitting by one of the covered wagons, a few of the children circled around her. She is locked in intense concentration with the young girl directly in front of her, engaged in some kind of game; she outstretches her hand and pulls it back as the girl does the same, trying to match her movements. At some point, the girl's movement falters and she groans, all the children collapsing into laughter. IŪN notices the children's gaze focus behind her and turns to see XENOPHON. The children quiet down, but do not move away.] IŪN: <Hello, Xenophon. Come.> XENOPHON: <I'd hate to interrupt.> IŪN: <Nonsense. (Turning to the children) This is my friend Xenophon. Xen-o-phon.
Make room for him.> [She pats the ground next to her. XENOPHON approaches, lowering itself into a sitting position across from the children. A few openly peer at its titanium and carbon-fiber shell, inching slightly closer; IŪN begins clapping hands with the girl again.] XENOPHON: What are you doing?
IŪN: Hm? Oh, just a game.
XENOPHON: Why?
[She shrugs, not missing a beat with the girl.] IŪN: Because it is something to do. Because it makes the children happy. Because it is fun. Take your pick.
[XENOPHON stares at the flurry of hands for several seconds.] XENOPHON: How do you play?
IŪN: Come.
[She shifts to the side, allowing it a better view. There is a small bone-carved trinket placed between her and the girl.] IŪN: The game is for two, taking turns. I place this in the center. Then I move. If the charm is there, I touch it with an open palm. If it is not, I touch with a closed fist.
Then Euo takes her turn.
[She reaches out, tapping the charm. The girl, Euo, quickly does the same.] XENOPHON: How do you win?
IŪN: (Smiling) Watch.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — FEBRUARY 2042 [The next turn, IŪN plucks the trinket away with her hand motion, and Euo's closed fist meets the ground. They rapidly exchange turns in rapid concentration until, after a minute or so, IŪN's movement falters and her open palm meets empty air.
Euo cheers as IŪN smiles.] IŪN: <Well done, little thing!> XENOPHON: You win by the other person making a mistake. I see.
IŪN: <Would you like to play?> [XENOPHON raises the hand of its shell, flexing the metal fingers. They catch the sunlight.] XENOPHON: I cannot make mistakes. It would not be of much enjoyment for us.
IŪN: <Euo, go, show your parents.> [The girl scampers off in the direction of the other wagons. The other children remain around IŪN, now openly inspecting him.] XENOPHON: I saw you hold back a movement. You allowed the girl to win.
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: Why?
[IŪN smiles, stroking the hair of another of the children as he leans his head on her thighs.] IŪN: They are young. These small victories embolden children. They learn they can do anything.
XENOPHON: You don't feel that's a dangerous idea to give them?
IŪN: It makes them more daring, adventurous. They learn their real limits by themselves. And her name is Euo.
XENOPHON: I'm sorry?
IŪN: You called her 'the girl'. Her name is Euo. Eu-o. Names have importance. Xen-o- phon.
XENOPHON: What does Euo mean?
IŪN: Flower.
XENOPHON: I see. I tend to address people by their rank or title, as with you. But she is a child, so: Euo.
IŪN: You mean you were… created as such.
XENOPHON: No. That trait was not programmed in. It is a learned behaviour, developed over time. An arbitrary preference.
[IŪN cocks her head at him for a moment before nodding. The children around XENOPHON grow bolder, pinging fingernails off its shell.] XENOPHON: <Hello.> [They do not respond, whispering to one another in hushed tones.] XENOPHON: <Am I bothering them?> IŪN: <The opposite. They are trying to tell where the seams of your armor are.> XENOPHON: <I am not wearing armor.> [One of the boys looks up.] BOY: <Skin?> XENOPHON: <No. It is a hard-latticed shell of carbon fiber over a titanium insert, providing structure and—> [The boy's eyebrows furrow.] XENOPHON: <Yes. It is my skin.> [IŪN snorts.] IŪN: <Go back to your parents, little things.> [They groan but scamper away, leaving IŪN and XENOPHON sitting alone. Almost as soon as they depart, IŪN's posture visibly slumps and she sighs.] XENOPHON: They do not seem afraid of me anymore.
IŪN: You intrigue them. They struggle to understand broad ideas. But they see you, and they are curious. I suppose seeing us speaking calmed their fears.
XENOPHON: You are good with children.
IŪN: I like them.
XENOPHON: Are you alright?
IŪN: … No. Is it apparent?
XENOPHON: Not to them. I simply notice more. Did something happen?
IŪN: No. I am just afraid. The revelations from Urok have… disturbed me. Shaken me.
XENOPHON: I see. Can I help?
IŪN: You could listen.
XENOPHON: I have been told I am good at it.
[She chuckles for a moment before her face falls again.] IŪN: I see the children and all I can think about are the children from Adytum. I failed them. Betrayed them.
XENOPHON: You were corrupted.
IŪN: Still. I had a duty. To hold back the Devourer's influence, so my people could live in peace. And instead I became its prophet. A tyrant and a slave to the divine, again.
XENOPHON: We have experience in such matters. The influence of a god is pervasive and powerful.
[It is silent for a moment.] XENOPHON: My organization has lost good people to such influences before.
IŪN: In truth?
XENOPHON: Yes.
[She purses her lips.] IŪN: Still. I was the only person who could do it, and I failed. I do not understand why they are like this. Impossibly powerful and we are pulled into their machinations.
XENOPHON: "Absolute power corrupts absolutely." IŪN: Wise.
XENOPHON: Lord Acton, an English preacher wrote that.
IŪN: Is he alive?
XENOPHON: No. He died one-hundred and forty-three years ago.
[IŪN smiles lopsidedly.] IŪN: It seems I am not the only one who speaks to the dead.
[They are silent for a few minutes.] XENOPHON: Did you want to hold back to the Old Beast?
IŪN: Does it matter?
XENOPHON: I would like to know.
IŪN: No. No, I did not. I remember in the first days, telling them, telling myself that I would depart as soon as I was able. For the first time in my life, my future was unbound. I wanted to walk the earth and find myself at the ends of it.
XENOPHON: Did you ever get to?
IŪN: No.
XENOPHON: Well. We are doing quite a bit of walking lately. Perhaps this is your chance.
[IŪN only sighs heavily in response. XENOPHON twitches, raising its hand slightly and then lowering it again.] IŪN: What was that?
XENOPHON: Nothing.
[IŪN cocks her head but returns to silence.] IŪN: I do not think I have ever been without expectation.
XENOPHON: How do you mean?
IŪN: My earliest memory is being pulled from the pens as soon as I was able to lift a pick. Put to work for the old masters. Expected to slave all day if I wanted to earn my bread and water, just the same as all the others. I cannot find the words to capture the misery, of vast slave-pens, of the priestesses burning their herbs to keep us pliable and weak, of the slavemasters cutting off the fingers of anyone who fell behind on their labor. And then I uncovered the Old Beast, and tasted divinity. And I was expected to lead my people on this crusade. I was a child, you know. The records do not say that. Some fifteen or sixteen passings of the seasons. A child.
XENOPHON: I am surprised you did it.
[She raises a hand, pointing at Euo and her brothers, who are now surrounding their mother and picking at the hem of her dress as she hand-washes their laundry.] IŪN: For them.
XENOPHON: They were not alive then.
IŪN: But they are now. I have seen generations of our people grow and die. Innocent children turning into jaded souls, bearing innocent children again. Look at them.
They do not have to worry about what our people did, with me at our helm. They are clean. They are why I did it. With every passing of the torch, we grow ever closer to shaking off the yoke of our past.
XENOPHON: Except for you.
[She shrugs.] IŪN: Someone has to suffer for it.
XENOPHON: To hold back the Beast so the others can live happily.
[IŪN's face darkens.] XENOPHON: I don't mean to fault you. Humans have an evolutionary incentive to sacrifice themselves for their children. To ensure the tribe survives. You cannot help it.
IŪN: It is still a choice I made.
XENOPHON: Your genes did not offer you any other option.
[She squints at XENOPHON.] IŪN: Why are you here?
XENOPHON: To aid in research.
[She shakes her head, poking its chest with a finger.] IŪN: Why did you walk to me? Did your master instruct you to?
XENOPHON: No. I felt it would be prudent to speak to you.
IŪN: Ah. You chose. And yet your instructions are in tune with your choice. Either we both are masters of our fate, or neither of us are.
[XENOPHON is silent.] XENOPHON: We need to begin moving again soon.
IŪN: I did not mean to upset you.
[XENOPHON rises to its feet. It reaches a hand out to IŪN to help her up.] XENOPHON: You could not upset me if you tried, Grand Karcist.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ As the interviews progressed, substantially more Sarkites began to volunteer to speak to XENOPHON.aic on their relationship with the tribe.
Q: What does being Sarkic mean to you?
#89 (Loyk, 7, child): [He beams up at XENOPHON and IŪN.] <Father is dead. He died before my first hunt. Mother told me I will not see him anymore. But hayla told me that since all of us ate his meat, he is still with us. When my hunt comes, he will join me. I was happy when she told me that. I liked it; it made me feel not so alone.> DELTA-0 UPDATE PERSONNEL CODE: MILE-AMBROSIA-HURRICANE Director Hussein has been successfully redirected from Caspian Sea Site; Delta-0 personnel have supported his decision to focus on Kabul as the primary subject of Project LOCUST, and project resources are en-route now. Project personnel have been securing archaeological evidence related to BLACKSTAR or Black Moon entities en-route. Items of interest are being surveilled by Delta-0 personnel for reacquisition if necessary.
Black Adytum Initiative is also en-route to next location of interest; ETA 8-12 days. Embedded agent reports falling-out between Grand Karcist Iūn and Karcist Helyna Ieva — nature and extent of schism unclear, but individual Sarkites are beginning to register it. Agent also reports general decline in Grand Karcist Iūn's mental state as a result of recent revelations. Increased surveillance ordered and Plan SHEAR-GLACIER pre-cleared in event of catastrophic project failure. XENOPHON.aic functioning within expected margins.
Still from XENOPHON.aic's camera feed.
Lo! Gaze upon me, you noble, you bloodstained. You who have fought and spilt blood on the stones of this nameless city. I see you from this pulpit, vast and assembled.
I see what you have lost in snatching your freedom from the hated foe.
The canals still flow with the blood of our victory, but it has come at a cost. Those of you that are wounded, stricken, my Karcists will attend to you, make you whole once more — greater than you were before. Your sacrifices have not been in vain.
I see the great and honored dead, stacked high in pyres outside the gates of the city. Bodies to be burned, as the old masters burned their dead. No.
No, we will not let those who gave their last measure of devotion become smoke in the sky. There is no great tree for them to return to. There is no god to bow at the feet of and be rewarded by. There is only us. We will consume their flesh, as I consumed the Old Beast's, as my Klavigars consumed mine, becoming one whole. We will carry them with us, always, their memories in our hearts as their spirits return in our children.
I see the great world-weariness in your eyes. I wish only that I could reach out and allay it. We have done the unthinkable, freed ourselves from the bondage our mothers and fathers died under, and yet we stand on the cusp of something even greater and more momentous. We spurn the blind faith of the old masters and the eastern machines. We live for ourselves, our future unbound. For the first time on this world, a people are truly free — not just from the bondage of men, but from the machinations of gods.
I see the future in the fires below. I see a strong and proud people, children living blessedly ignorant to the unthinkable suffering of their parents. The past offers us nothing but pain. We are not ruled by our past.
We are not defined by our past. We leave it behind and march boldly into tomorrow.
I see the spreading tendrils of the Devourer far below. Many of you have come to me, asking if it, too, is not bound by the old masters as we were bound. If it does not share in our suffering. I come to you having seen it and spoken to it face to face. It is not human. It hungers not for freedom, but for control. To free it is to doom ourselves. It must be held, and I must be the one to do it.
I look down, and I see my vestments. I did not choose this life for myself. I was born on this path — to be birthed a slave, to stumble across a fell god, to lead you. My say in it is as pointless as commanding the sun not to rise.
But it is the duty you have entrusted me with. And it is the duty I will fulfill, as faithful to you as you are to me.
I see a great city before me, nameless and clean of sin. I do not know what the old masters named it, if indeed they gave it a name at all. But names have power. This city is as free from its past as we are. We will make it in our image. Adytum, the Perfect City, the one that exists in our hearts. But this is not Adytum, yet. It can only be made so through our own blood and sweat. We must work tirelessly to build this new experiment — for if it fails, if we sink back to the same sins of our captors, let its name be blackened by sin.
— the Truths of Iūn (§ 4) ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — FEBRUARY 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The party has made camp for the night; the Sarkic wagons are circled and the Foundation HeLTs loom around the outside, gunners present in their turrets and keeping watch. XENOPHON.aic makes its way through the camp, weaving around small campfires. The Sarkites are eating, speaking, and a few are listening to music played on hand-strung sitars and drums. They nod respectfully at XENOPHON as it passes — several shift aside to make room around their fires. XENOPHON raises a hand in appreciation but continues onward. Around one of the larger campfires, Karcist IEVA is speaking to several Sarkites. She narrows her eyes as XENOPHON approaches, halting her speech.] IEVA: Machine.
XENOPHON: Hello, Karcist Ieva. I hope I'm not intruding.
[Her lip curls slightly.] IEVA: No more than usual.
XENOPHON: May I sit?
[IEVA thinks for a moment, pursing her lips. After a few seconds she shrugs.] IEVA: If you keep silent.
XENOPHON: Thank you.
[XENOPHON sits between two Sarkites, who shift to make space for it. IEVA looks down at it for a moment before pointedly looking away and continuing.] IEVA: <And we read from the texts — "IŪN saw the strength of the flesh." The power and dominance in the Old Beast, the flesh that could be used to free ourselves from our bondage. The flesh is perfection in absolution. It needs no supplement, as the Old Masters sought, or replacement, as the Eastern Machines searched for.> [She pauses.] IEVA: <And yet we see that IŪN saw weakness in the flesh, too. Yes. When war came to Adytum, the scarred bodies we wore so proudly, the curse of our freedom, could not make war. Too many of us sick, too many injured. Too many bodies made weak by our clinging to the flesh we were given. And here Iūn made a decision, that Adytum's needs overtook those of her people. That some must suffer for others to survive. But how do we reconcile this? That the flesh is perfect, but weak?> [She shakes her head, hiking up the hem of her dress. The mass of snakes that extends from her left thigh writhes as it supports her weight. In addition, her other leg has similarly been replaced from the knee down with a mass of snakes.
XENOPHON cocks its head, but says nothing.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — FEBRUARY 2042 IEVA: <The flesh is perfect because it is alive. It grows and changes. It evolves and overcomes. Stress makes metal shear and snap. But given time, the flesh will adapt to stress. Strengthen from it, stronger than it would have been. Are we born in weakness? Of course. We see our babes, weak and unable to walk, soft and pathetic and helpless. But they grow hard and strong and hardy with time, do they not?> [She reaches down to her leg. The head of one of her snakes darts out, angling for her finger before she pulls away.] IEVA: <And so why rob ourselves of the chance to rid ourselves of the last limitations of our flesh? Iūn saw it, and so we survived the wars while all others were obliterated. The past holds the answers for us, friends.> XENOPHON: <Are they limitations, Karcist?> [IEVA tenses up, turning her gaze to XENOPHON. She purses her lips, letting her dress drop back down.] IEVA: <What did you say?> XENOPHON: <You said flesh's strength was in its evolutionary nature. It adapts.> IEVA: (Tersely) <Yes.> XENOPHON: <I'm afraid I don't fully understand why you feel such things are limitations. Are they not products of your adaptations?> [The other Sarkites shift uncomfortably around the fire.] IEVA: <You do not understand because you have never inhabited flesh. You are not a person — you are a thing. You take solace in your limitation.> XENOPHON: <I'm sorry?> IEVA: <You are made as you always will be. You will not grow past what you were made for. You cannot conceive of desire, of wishing for something you cannot have.> [XENOPHON is silent. IEVA is staring at him, breathing heavily as she speaks.] IEVA: <I was born crippled. I worked twice as hard to crawl, four times as hard to learn to walk. I grew up seeing my fellows run, play, dance, all while I could only sit in her lap. I promise you, machine, the flesh can be a prison. But we reach into the past and draw out truths for our futures.> [She pats her leg again.] XENOPHON: <I'm sorry to hear that, Karcist. But I felt you were referring to more than physical disabilities.> [She shrugs.] IEVA: <Humanity extends beyond the flesh. Our attitude is limiting, too. We must conquer it. We lay back and accept that we will grow old and die. Why?> XENOPHON: <Many people believe it is an inherent part of life.> IEVA: <Is despondency part of joy?> [XENOPHON thinks for a moment, firelight dancing across its shell.] XENOPHON: <I think they give each other meaning. One needs to know unhappiness to value happiness.> IEVA: <Aha. The limitations of humanity are present even in your false soul. It is a desperate rationalization made by peoples not as fortunate as we, those who lacked the tools to forge their own flesh. But we are not them. We can be greater. We can overcome.> IŪN: <If we wish to.> [XENOPHON and the Sarkites turn; IEVA looks up. Grand Karcist IŪN stands several meters away, having silently approached. She is staring at IEVA, whose face tenses.
Many of the Sarkites are staring at them now.] IEVA: <Grand Karcist.> IŪN: <Ieva. You are so adamant we must leave these things behind.> IEVA: <They limit us.> IŪN: <Is the bird limited by its wings? It cannot grasp nuts, cannot hold a sword.> IEVA: <I- no, but—> IŪN: <The wings make the bird what it is, Ieva. Our limitations define us. We can try to burn the sky, or we can embrace living underneath it.> IEVA: <The wings offer the bird something in turn. What does this weakness bring us? The softness, the death?> IŪN: (Gently) <Death is an opportunity, Ieva. To live a life knowing it will reach an end. Knowing your loved ones will consume you, carry you with them, let your spirit be reborn in a new body. The knowledge that you have loved your parents a thousand lifetimes over and will love them a thousand more. To reach out to someone and know that your time is limited, and you want to spend it with them.> [She pauses.] IŪN: <An opportunity not all of us have.> [Silence. Abruptly, IEVA bows her head slightly and turns on her heel, departing for her tent. IŪN watches her go, a strange look on her face. She whispers something, and the Sarkites begin to disperse.] XENOPHON: Grand Karcist?
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: Are you alright?
[She turns to XENOPHON.] IŪN: No. Please leave me alone.
[She turns, heading towards her own tent. XENOPHON watches her go. After several seconds, it follows toward the tent, ducking into it. The fire is burning low; in front of it, IŪN is kneeling, face in her hands. She looks up at the sound of XENOPHON's entry; she has been crying. She hurriedly wipes her cheeks on the sleeves of her robes.] IŪN: I asked you to leave.
XENOPHON: I felt compelled to ignore that order.
IŪN: I did not think you could ignore an order.
XENOPHON: Neither did I.
[She cry-laughs, hiccuping slightly as XENOPHON kneels by the fire beside her.] IŪN: I have failed.
XENOPHON: We have discussed this concern. I do not— IŪN: No. Ieva. I have failed her.
XENOPHON: I was listening to her sermon. I felt you taught her the doctrine well.
IŪN: She knows our prayers, our sermons, our texts by heart. She is more familiar with my words than even I am, sometimes. I taught her all of that, ever since she was a girl. She could not play with the other children. So I sat her on my lap under the shade of the trees and taught her everything I knew. The flesh. Holy death. Why we consume, so we can be reborn. She would curl up into my lap, play with the ends of my hair while I read from memory to her.
XENOPHON: She sounds like she was a sweet child.
[IŪN smiles through her drying tears.] IŪN: She is. My heart sang when I saw her leading her first prayer. Singing and swaying, just the way I taught her. I taught her so much. My little legacy.
[Her smile drops.] IŪN: And yet it feels as though she understood none of it. She sees the words, and not the message. I do not know how she can stand up and preach now that our humanity is something to be overcome. Something that weighs us down.
XENOPHON: You did, too.
[Silence.] IŪN: Yes. I did.
XENOPHON: I think she is looking to the past for answers.
IŪN: Why? Have I not been her anchor? Why does she feel the need to turn to fractured memories from my past?
XENOPHON: Because they offer something you do not.
IŪN: What?
XENOPHON: May I take a guess?
IŪN: Please.
XENOPHON: Reassurance. Direction. You called her your legacy. But she will never get a chance to lead your people. You have trained her excellently for a role that she will never be called on for.
IŪN: I did not choose to live this way.
XENOPHON: Neither did she, Grand Karcist. She does not know what her purpose is.
The memories speak to her. They reassure her her place is to dominate, to control.
She flocks to the easy answers, as humans often do.
[IŪN snort-laughs.] IŪN: Unlike you.
[XENOPHON pauses.] XENOPHON: I am not without flaw, Grand Karcist.
IŪN: Oh?
XENOPHON: I am curious.
IŪN: Curiosity is a virtue. Not a flaw.
XENOPHON: It is when paired with the inability to indulge your curiosity. I am programmed to want to learn everything about you and your people I can. But I am not a person. I will never have a complete understanding of why you appreciate music. What food tastes like. What makes you chase after Ieva's approval.
[IŪN stares in confusion.] IŪN: Yes, you are.
XENOPHON: I don't understand.
IŪN: You are a person, no?
XENOPHON: No. I am an artificial intelligence construct. Digital thoughts racing across a silicon mind the size of your fingernail.
IŪN: You are not human.
[She pats the chassis of XENOPHON's shell.] IŪN: Made of metal rather than flesh. But you think, same as me. You feel, same as me.
XENOPHON: No, I do not.
IŪN: Then why follow me into my tent after I order you not to?
XENOPHON: … I do not know.
IŪN: The horse I ride is a person, to me. The cows we milk and the falcons we keep are people, to me. I know their oddities and enjoyments and dislikes. They are no more human than you, but they are my people — my nalka. You are, too.
[XENOPHON does not speak.] XENOPHON: Still, I will never understand why you do some things.
IŪN: Such as?
XENOPHON: What drives you to eat your people, for one.
IŪN: I love them.
XENOPHON: All cultures experience love. Few engage in cannibalism.
IŪN: They do not experience this love. It is the way we are. When I love, it is all- consuming. I want them to feel me, to taste me. And in turn, I hunger for them. To understand them wholly, to become one with them. To feel their flesh as they feel mine. What greater show of love than to desire every piece of their essence?
XENOPHON: To understand them wholly. Yes.
IŪN: It is a rich experience. Here.
[She presses a hand against XENOPHON's shell, over the chest.] IŪN: Here grows warm, heavy. Hungry. Like it could burst from your chest at any moment, run free from the weight of your body. It flow up through to your head, into your eyes.
[She rests two fingers on XENOPHON's ocular receptor.] IŪN: Everything fades, and you can only see them. They become, momentarily, the whole of your world — you exist only in relation to them. They bring you closer to the divine.
[She brings her hand down again, to XENOPHON's 'stomach'.] IŪN: You know in the deepest part of you that if you were freed from your flesh, your souls would intertwine. But bound as you are, all you can do is hunger to have them totally, in every way. To give yourself up for them even as they do the same for you.
[She falls silent, pulling her hand away. XENOPHON is quiet for several seconds.] XENOPHON: It sounds unstoppable.
IŪN: Yes.
XENOPHON: Have you experienced it?
IŪN: Yes. With Lovjatar. The last of my klavigars. The closest of them. We march towards his grave now.
XENOPHON: I see.
[IŪN stares into the fire again, orange dancing in her dark eyes.] IŪN: I am afraid, Xenophon.
XENOPHON: Of what?
IŪN: Of what he will say. His love has been replaced by disgust, just as with the others. Disgust at me for failing. Disgust at how I have changed. That I will find myself standing alone before the horrible truth. Ieva has always been with me, but now… XENOPHON: I do not know Lovjatar, and so I cannot speak to that.
[XENOPHON raises its hand and places it gently on IŪN's shoulder. She turns in surprise.] XENOPHON: But you will not be alone.
[She cocks her head for a second before smiling slightly.] IŪN: … Thank you.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Q: What does being Sarkic mean to you?
#171 (Moqowl, 43, musician): [He works the knife under the pelt of his kill, a groundhog.
Careful not to make excessive cuts or waste the meat, he butchers the animal.] <My drum is made from skin. I do not know whose skin; it was my grandfather's drum, and his grandfather's before him, so I do not even know how old it is. The skin is tanned and taut.
Now and again, it rips. So I go out, as I do now, kill something, and turn its skin to leather to repair my drum.> [With a smile, he raises the pelt of the groundhog, freed from the flesh.] <Then I sit in the shade of a tree and sew it back together. Then it joins me for the singing of the next night. That is what being Sarkic is, to me. You must join us, one of these nights.
You will see.> On March 13th, the Black Aditum Initiative arrived at the site marked by Grand Karcist Iūn.
Still from XENOPHON.aic's camera feed.
Path of the Black Adytum Initiative.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The party has stopped on a wide, grassy plain; a calm, glassy blue lake sits to the north. There is a building sitting near the shoreside, overlooking the waters — it is stark-white, with large pillars supporting an overhead dome. The only sound is that of the waves lightly lapping at the shore.] IŪN: Ah.
JIANG: At least this time there's no question of where it is.
XENOPHON: This building does not exist on any maps or satellite imagery of this location.
IŪN: It will not.
JIANG: How do you know?
[IŪN begins walking forward through the sand of the beach, the hem of her robe trailing behind her.] IŪN: Because I built this place.
[Liaison JIANG and XENOPHON follow behind her — IEVA trails them quietly, several feet away.] IŪN: It was hidden from others. But he wanted me to find it again. To find him, again.
[They approach the steps of the building. It sits close enough to the water that a few centimeters pool at the base of the white steps.] IŪN: He always loved the sea.
[She ascends the steps — from this close, it is clear they are mottled white with an imperfect surface.] JIANG: … This whole building is hewn out of bone.
XENOPHON: Not a building. A mausoleum.
[XENOPHON follows alongside IŪN as she reaches the top. The doors are sealed, fused together into one solid mass with no visible seam. They are completely blank.] IŪN: But… I carved these. I spent days carving my memories into them. Our memories.
XENOPHON: The sea would have eroded them away.
IŪN: Oh. Yes.
[She reaches out and presses two fingers against the surface; it splits down the middle instantly, crumbling into pieces, and the pieces into dust. The inside is dark.
XENOPHON moves to enter before IEVA, moving remarkably quickly, blocks it.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 IEVA: Stop. I will not let this abomination again access this place before we do. I trust you no more than you trust me, machine.
[XENOPHON cocks its head, then steps back.] XENOPHON: I do trust you, Karcist Ieva.
[IEVA blinks.] IEVA: What?
XENOPHON: You are talented, intelligent, and have proven yourself a capable shepherd of your people. I trust you. Please, go ahead.
[IEVA blinks a few more times, then hurriedly turns and enters the interior of the mausoleum alongside IŪN, XENOPHON and JIANG entering after. There is a slight splash.] JIANG: I just stepped in water. Is this place flooded?
[XENOPHON activates its lamps, bathing the interior in light. The interior of the vault, a space a few meters across, is sunken a few centimeters; they are standing in a shallow pool of blood. The hem of IŪN and IEVA's robes float atop it; they do not react.] JIANG: Oh, Jesus.
XENOPHON: There is no body.
[Squarely in the center of the space there is a small reliquary — a pedestal on top of which rests a softly-glowing human heart. It pulses slowly, covered by glass. IŪN approaches it, smiling.] IŪN: <Hello again, my love.> [She lifts the glass top and gently picks up the heart, as though afraid of breaking it.
She lifts it to her lips, then hesitates. She casts a look over to IEVA, who is watching coolly.] IŪN: <Ieva.> IEVA: <Mm.> IŪN: <Here.> [IŪN reaches out, offering her the first bite. IEVA's eyes widen, and she gingerly takes it, staring at it in her hands.] IEVA: <But—> IŪN: <Do it.> [IEVA hesitates, then nods. She lifts it to her lips and bites into it, tearing off a chunk of muscle and swallowing it, a small gasp escaping her lips. She looks back up to IŪN, who nods. Greedily, she tears into it, devouring piece after piece until there is only one small chunk left. She offers it to IŪN, who drops it down her throat.] JIANG: Wait, if there isn't a body, then— [Suddenly, the entire group drops into the pool of blood, as though the floor abruptly disappeared. XENOPHON's cameras are disabled; when they reactivate, the four of them are standing on the beach, now bereft of any mausoleum. It is twilight, the sun dropping below the horizon of the water and turning the sky orange. There is a young man sitting cross-legged on the beach, watching the water. IŪN approaches him.] IŪN: <My love.> [He rises from where he is sitting, turning to face IŪN; he is a handsome youth, sharp features and olive skin matched with dark eyes. Rich, complex tattoos creep out from underneath the collar and sleeves of his robes. Before he can speak, IŪN interrupts him.] IŪN: <Please. Before you speak — before you release your anger — before you tell me what I deserve to be told — I understand my mistakes. I have seen what I became. I could live ten lives and not atone. Please. I am sorry.> [Silence for a moment. Then LUVJATAR steps forward and embraces IŪN, tightly wrapping his arms around her.] LUVJATAR: <You could not anger me if you tried, little thing.> [He releases her, smiling and kissing her forehead.] LUVJATAR: <There are no words for how much I have missed you.> IŪN: <What?> [He squints, brushing her hair back and smiling.] LUVJATAR: <You look different now. Brighter. But still the one I love.> IŪN: <You're not.. angry?> [LUVJATAR shakes his head.] LUVJATAR: <No. You made a mistake. We all do. I was angry — we all were. But I knew that wasn't you. I knew you would come back eventually. I have waited for a long time. My anger faded.> [He grasps her hand, intertwining it with his. He presses it against his cheek, feeling her skin.] LUVJATAR: <My love did not. I knew you would return. I knew you would.> IŪN: <Why do I remember this place?> LUVJATAR: <Because you have been here before, in another life. We were escaping Adytum's destruction, bathed in soot, charred and blackened by flames. But the traitor was pursuing us, dogged armies chasing us across the plateau.> JIANG: (Whispering) The BLACKSTAR.
LUVJATAR: <They would chase us, kill us. End the dream we conceived together, slaughter the children we raised together. Unless someone stayed behind to pull our pursuers away. Nadoq was necessary, Urok was necessary, Sa'arn was necessary.> IŪN: <But you were not.> [He smiles sadly.] LUVJATAR: <And so I sit here, and wait to be killed.> [At that moment, a steady rumbling begins to fill the air, growing louder and closer, increasing to deafening volume. The ground shakes with thousands of footfalls as monstrous entities rush the beach — they superficially resemble humans, but misshapen, distended, and with yellowing skin and milky-white eyes sloughing off their bodies. They rapidly encircle the group. LUVJATAR slowly rises to his feet, brushing the sand off his robes.] LUVJATAR: <And now, my time approaches.> [XENOPHON and JIANG stare intently at the entities circling them.] JIANG: I've… seen these things, before. One of the LOCUST dig sites, maybe?
XENOPHON: <Grand Karcist—> IŪN: <You are leaving?> LUVJATAR: <I bound myself here, trapped in this memory. Knowing what my fate would be. I lingered well beyond my time, because I wanted to lay eyes on you one last time. To know that you were not the same as I left you. But you know how this ended.> IŪN: <No. No, I do not. My memory… it was gone, Luvjatar. I spoke to the others.
Tracked down their resting places, spoke to them to recover my mind. Assured them I would bury them in Adytum. I spoke to Urok. I realized what I'd done.> [She reaches out and grips his shoulder with white knuckles and wide eyes. Her lip trembles.] IŪN: <I succumbed. Succumbed to the Devourer's temptations, whispered promises of power. Become its champion. Let the traitor with his black moon burn Adytum to the ground while we fled.> [LUVJATAR freezes, then slowly turns back to IŪN. He has a strange, confused look on his face.] LUVJATAR: <No, little thing.> IŪN: <What?> LUVJATAR: <That is not what happened.> IŪN: <I… what?> [LUVJATAR is silent. IŪN steps forward, caressing his cheek.] IŪN: <Show me, my love.> LUVJATAR: <You remember now. Seeing it again will only hurt you more.> [She takes a shaky, rattling breath.] IŪN: <I need to see. I need to know.> [LUVJATAR is silent for a moment before stepping forward, pressing his forehead to IŪN's and holding it there for a moment. The scene shifts — now, they are in a long, dark underground corridor. The walls look hand-hewn from dark stone, and in thousands of little alcoves, skulls and bones are neatly stacked. Sconces packed with fat burn slowly, casting a sickly pale glow over the corridor.] JIANG: Where are we?
IŪN: The City.
XENOPHON: Adytum.
IŪN: <Listen.> [Distantly, a deep, bone-shaking thrumming can be heard, interspersed with human conversation. Suddenly, from behind, a copy of LUVJATAR appears — several years younger but the same person. He is dressed in hooded hide robes decorated with beads and bone-carved charms, and is making his way through the corridor towards the noises, clearly ill at-ease. The older LUVJATAR with the group speaks as they follow him.] LUVJATAR: <I had noticed it from the beginning. How could I not? You retreated from Nadoq, from Urok, from Sa'arn, and eventually, from me. All your time spent in the underbelly of Adytum, communing with gods, peering into fire for answers that wouldn't come. At the beginning, I could descend in and fetch you, bring you back to the light. But that was the start. Soon Adytum had grown beyond the walls of the city. We became a fledgling nation, and each of us had our own duties. I had to shepherd the karcists as your absences stretched from days to weeks to months.
But when the months threatened to become years…> [He shakes his head.] LUVJATAR: <I hate this place. Horrible things happened in these crypts. But I descended, to bring you out.> IEVA: <She had to do this duty. The beast had to be kept at bay.> [LUVJATAR gives her a lopsided smile.] LUVJATAR: <Yes. That is what you told us, Iūn.> [The group draws closer to the noises as the tunnel tightens to a space barely wide and tall enough for XENOPHON to stand in.] LUVJATAR (Memory): <Iūn?> [The strange thrumming and beating continues unabated.] LUVJATAR: <There is a wretched, quiet desperation in these tunnels. Do you feel it now, as I felt it then?> XENOPHON: <Yes.> [IEVA and JIANG look at XENOPHON in surprise.] XENOPHON: <Like an animal in a cage.> [LUVJATAR's eyes narrow as he appraises XENOPHON's shell for the first time.] LUVJATAR: <What are you?> [A pause.] XENOPHON: <I do not know.> IŪN: <He is mine.> [LUVJATAR nods, and turns back to the scene. The memory has moved forward, to LUVJATAR standing before a great set of stone doors. They are infinitely detailed, inscribed with all sorts of calligraphy and complex scenes etched into the dark stone.] LUVJATAR: <Whenever I came to fetch you, I would find you here, performing your work. Sealed in this great stone vault, locked away with such a dangerous font of power. Sealed away from those who you loved. I always felt bad. I wished the door to open, so that I could aid you in your struggles. Ease some of the burden from the shoulders I loved so. But it was always sealed.> [The door hangs slightly ajar. A pool of blood leaks out of the gap.] LUVJATAR: <Save for once.> [The LUVJATAR in the memory does a double-take, then quietly approaches the doorway. The thrumming and whispering are now almost clearly audible, and he peers inside.] LUVJATAR: (Whispering) <See what I saw.> [Inside is a high chamber, almost entirely dark save for a single well-maintained fire in the center of the floor. The cracked and carbonized remains of bone litter the base of the fire, and the sweet-smelling smoke hangs in the air. The walls of the chamber are fleshlike tendrils, wrapping over and over onto themselves until they form a solid, pink, pulsating mass. All across the 'walls', knives are stabbed into the flesh, blood flowing freely from the wounds and collecting in channels cut into the floor, flowing down to the fire. Somewhere, a great occluded heart beats, and fresh blood pours from a hundred wounds. The thrumming repeats, and it is now clearly a howl of pain from something far older than the city it is buried underneath. The Old Beast, Yaldabaoth, the Mangled God, speaks in gasps and whispers.] THE OLD BEAST: <PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE.> VOICE: <Quiet, beast.> [A figure strides into view, exiting the shadows of the corners. He is dressed in the same etched and decorated hide robes as LUVJATAR, albeit even more grand and ornate. Even without the distinctive ritual tattoos peeking out from his collar and sleeves and the faded scar across his face, his sharp features and gray eyes immediately betray his identity.] IEVA: <Is that…?> IŪN: <Me. Before.> [She steps forward in a haze, reaching out for but not quite touching her own face.] [JIANG shakes his head.] JIANG: Then what— THE OLD BEAST: <PLEASE. LIBERATOR. FREE. FREE IT.> [The memory of IŪN snarls.] IŪN (Memory): <I said silence!> THE OLD BEAST: <YOU. LIBERATOR. FREER OF THE BUILDERS' SLAVES. FREE IT.> [The memory of IŪN stalks over to a mostly-free section of wall, drawing a knife.] THE OLD BEAST: <LEAVE. IT LEAVES. GO HOME. SEE ITS BROTHERS. SEE ITS SISTERS.
PLEASE. LET IT LEAVE.> IŪN: (Softly) <Oh.> IŪN (Memory): <No. Not while you are needed.> THE OLD BEAST: <WHY? IT HURTS. YOU HURT IT. LIKE THE BUILDERS HURT IT.
PLEASE.> [The memory of IŪN pauses for a second, and presses the knife into the flesh, cutting into it. The room howls in pain again, shaking the bones of all those assembled.] IŪN (Memory): <The hour approaches. Your flesh is needed. Now more than ever.> THE OLD BEAST: <YOU TOOK. SO MUCH.> [He shakes his head. Sweat drips from his brow.] IŪN (Memory): <Not enough.> THE OLD BEAST: <IT GIVES. FREE IT AND IT GIVES FLESH. AS MUCH AS YOU NEED.> IŪN (Memory): <You would kill me where I stand if I freed you. It is all you know.> [He lets go of the knife, stepping back to shout at the Beast as a whole.] IŪN (Memory): <It is your nature. You are a god. Power is your birthright. You have never had to claw it from a dying grip. You dominate, and you destroy.> [The room trembles in protest.] THE OLD BEAST: <NO. NO! IT WAS ENSLAVED. JUST AS YOU WERE. IT CAN FEEL YOU.
WE HAVE BOTH KNOWN BONDAGE, UNDER THE WHIP OF THE BUILDERS. IT WANT ALL YOU DO. FREEDOM.> [IŪN pauses his work with the knife for a moment.] THE OLD BEAST: <IT HELPS YOU. IT HATES THE BUILDERS TOO. IT IS WEAK, NOW. BUT IT KNOWS THINGS. IT HELPS YOU, YOUR PEOPLE. HEALS YOU. ITS BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE GONE. THE MECHANISM, THE SCARLET, THE BLACK MOON. IT HAS NOTHING LEFT FOR IT AT HOME. IT HAS NO HOME.> [IŪN does not speak; the Beast eagerly pushes forward, walls pulsating.] THE OLD BEAST: <IT COULD AID YOU. IT FEELS YOU BUILD SOMETHING GRAND ABOVE IT. SOMETHING NEW. IT TIRES OF THE STRUGGLES OF THE DIVINE. IT COULD BE A PART OF YOUR NEW PATH. PART OF YOUR NÄLKA.> [IŪN snarls and drives the knife deep into the flesh, eliciting another howl.] IŪN (Memory): <You are nothing like us. You have no soul. You are a fell god, trapped here only by the grace of fate. You are no more worthy to join this project than you are to—> [He takes a shaking breath, calming himself. When he speaks again, it is calm, controlled, and hard-edged.] IŪN (Memory): <The parable of the scorpion and the frog. Both creatures sit at the bank of a flooding river, sure to drown. The scorpion asks the frog to carry him across. The frog hesitates, but his new friend explains: if he was to sting the frog while they crossed together, both would surely die. The frog agrees to this and allows the scorpion to clamber onto his back. When they are halfway across the river, the scorpion reaches down, and stings the frog. Soon, they are both drowning.
Dying, the frog asks why the scorpion chose to doom them both. He has no answer.
"It is my nature."> [THE OLD BEAST's voice trembles in pain.] THE OLD BEAST: <NATURE IS NOT SET. NATURE GROWS AND CHANGES WITH THE FLESH.> IŪN (Memory): <For people. Not for things like you. You are created with intention, with purpose. You cannot grow beyond it any more than the scorpion can choose not to sting.> THE OLD BEAST: <IT HAS NEVER HURT YOU.> IŪN (Memory): <You are a threat by your very design.> THE OLD BEAST: <THEN KILL IT. FREE IT FROM THIS TOMB-CITY. LET ITS SOUL CROSS INTO WHATEVER LIES BEYOND.> [IŪN reaches forward, prying loose the head-sized chunk of flesh he has cut away. It is pink, raw, dripping with blood and loose arteries and veins hang freely from it. The gaping wound in the wall pours with blood and fluid.] IŪN (Memory): <Not while I still need you. Your power.> [IŪN raises the meat to his lips, biting into it with sharpened teeth. The blood gushes over his lips and spills down his chin, staining his robes. He chews, leaning his head back and letting out a soft moan.] IŪN (Memory): <I see tomorrow.> THE OLD BEAST: <THIS IS NOT HOW IT SHOWED YOU. THE FLESH IS NOT FOR TAKING. IT IS FOR GIVING.> IŪN (Memory): <I stand on the cusp of greatness. Of immortality. Leading my people as a prophet for all time. Making sure I will always be there to guide them.> THE OLD BEAST: <WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO TAKE, TO SEE THIS DREAM MADE MANIFEST?> IŪN (Memory): <Everything.> [The Beast is silent for some time. When it speaks again, the voice is faint, weak.] THE OLD BEAST: <YOU CHANGED. WHEN YOU UNCOVERED IT, YOU WERE CLEAR- EYED AND TRUE. A LIBERATOR. A BELIEVER.> IŪN (Memory): <I was weak. And then I ruled by the weakness of my humanity. And soon, I will excise it. I can see it in my future, with every bite of your flesh. I can feel my power grow. Already, I can raise halkosts from the dead. I will conquer holy death.> [He leans his head back and steps back, panting, blood dripping from his mouth and staining his hands.] IŪN (Memory): <I will become eternal.> [A small, soft thump as the memory of LUVJATAR drops the torch they were holding while peering through the door. IŪN spins around, finding only the empty doorway; LUVJATAR has quickly dodged to the side, nestling into an alcove filled with bones, wide-eyed as IŪN approaches. He peers around, finding no one. Eventually, he retreats back into the chamber, sealing the huge stone doors shut again. After a few minutes, LUVJATAR rises to his feet, quickly moving back up the chamber the way he came, tossed the odd sidelong glance back at the chamber doors as he runs away, the group watching.] LUVJATAR: (Softly) <I ran. I am ashamed, but I ran. I was terrified. I knew you had grown troubled, but this was so much farther than I knew. You always told us that the Old Beast was a hateful monster, kept at bay only by your work. I knew what I saw in the crypts. I did not see a fell god. I saw a trapped, suffering animal. Mangled in its godtrap.> [IEVA steps forward, raising an accusing finger at LUVJATAR.] IEVA: <She was not wholly truthful, then. She made a mistake. All of us do. Her mind was warped.> IŪN: (Quietly) <No, it was not.> IEVA: <What?> IŪN: <Look.> [IEVA turns, and looks at the hard eyes of the memory of IŪN. They are grey, crystal- clear and shrewd. XENOPHON follows behind her.] IEVA: <Oh. These are…> XENOPHON: <Those are your eyes, Grand Karcist.> IŪN: (Softly) <Yes.> JIANG: What? We knew this, she was manipulated. Taken over.
XENOPHON: No. No Her eyes are clear. I recognize them; it is her. Nothing was possessing or controlling her.
JIANG: So she did all this… IŪN: (Quietly) <Myself. The Old Beast wasn't the Devourer. I was. I am.> LUVJATAR: <I told the other klavigars. We had been growing worried. Sermons of rejecting humanity in favor of the divine. Becoming our own gods. But this… you were trying to extricate your own humanity from yourself. You were planning the ritual. If you cut it out and killed this part of your soul, there would be nothing left of our Iūn. The Iūn who saved us, cradled us in his lap, fed us his flesh.> [He pauses, and his voice cracks.] LUVJATAR: <The Iūn I loved. We could not allow it to happen. I could not allow my little thing to destroy themself.> XENOPHON: <You intervened?> LUVJATAR: <We met, and we schemed. We gathered our loyalists as the ritual drew close, meeting away from the prying eyes of your karcists — our children. And on the anointed night, when the funeral fires burned low and the bodies were dumped in the catacombs for you, Nadoq captured your attention, Iūn.> [The scene shifts to the exterior of Adytum, the group on a high temple balcony overlooking several streets in the night. As they watch, a hooded figure slips out of one of the entrances to the catacombs, carrying something in their arms wrapped in cloth. The hood slips, revealing LUVJATAR's worried face for a moment cast in the torchlight.] LUVJATAR: <I slipped your severed humanity away before you could take the knife to it.> [As they watch, LUVJATAR slips under the shadow of the walls of Adytum, vanishing in the darkness. Shifting to the wall, a small party is visible in the distance, covered wagons and horses and hundreds of small figures massing in near-perfect darkness.
Slowly, they begin to move.] LUVJATAR: <And we ran.> [XENOPHON turns, looking back into Adytum. The dead of the halkost stalk the streets, rotting hulking beasts stomping down the avenues in tune with the drumbeats and omnipresent, haunting singing. The only lights in the city come from IŪN's central temple.] XENOPHON: <You were not running from the BLACKSTAR's destruction of Adytum.> LUVJATAR: <No.> [The scene shifts again, back to the clearing by the beach. The halkost surrounds the group, grunting and screeching mindlessly. Suddenly, there is a commotion at the far end of the gap, and the crowd parts. A figure approaches on a dark horse, its four eyes gouged out. The memory of IŪN sits atop the stallion, dressed in hide robes with carved bone armor loosely draped on top of them. His eyes are sharp, angry, but clear and gray.] IŪN (Memory): <Luvjatar.> LUVJATAR: <My love. What have you done?> IŪN (Memory): <All that had to be done. And you reward my struggle like this?
Stealing from me? Betraying me?> LUVJATAR: <No, little thing. You betrayed us.> [He shakes his head.] IŪN (Memory): <Do not call me that. And I have betrayed nothing. Adytum was my dream. I saw fit to realize it the only way we could.> LUVJATAR: <You poor thing. You do not realize what you have wrought. Adytum is gone. You have blackened it in sin. Our paradise was built from misery. Our prosperity was cut from the flesh of a suffering animal. And you lied to us.> [His face falls.] LUVJATAR: <You lied to me, Iūn.> IŪN (Memory): <It was for your own good.> [LUVJATAR's fists tighten.] LUVJATAR: <You made me a promise in that quarry. That our path would be decided by us, together. You saw what the old masters did to me. You did not want to control me as they did. That is why I loved you.> IŪN (Memory): <Enough. Where is it?> LUVJATAR: <Gone. Nadoq and the others have taken to the wind with it. I loved you because you were human, little thing. You were perfect in your imperfections. I will not let you kill that part of you.> [IŪN's lip curls.] IŪN (Memory): <Do not call me that. I always knew Nadoq and you were jealous.
Jealous of my station, my power, my adoration. I see your game; you seek to undermine my authority. You seek to rule in my stead.> LUVJATAR: <You have lost your mind, Iūn. I have never wanted anything more than to be by your side.> IŪN (Memory): <I will find them, Luvjatar. I will bring you all back to Adytum. This project is too great to be felled by weak-willed deserters. The ritual must be completed. Your only hope now is to tell me where they have gone, to spare yourself and them undue suffering.> LUVJATAR: <How can you justify this? You made so many promises to us, to all the Nälkä. A new way of life, not built off domination and slavery. And then you grow our empire, grow your own power from a suffering animal.> IŪN (Memory): <It is a god, Luvjatar. It is not human.> LUVJATAR: <And so? It thinks, it speaks, it feels. It wants its freedom. Just as we wanted ours, locked in chains and huddling under Urok for warmth when the cold rains began. You have become what we all reviled, what you fought against.
Devourer. Yaldabaoth.> IŪN (Memory): <I am nothing like the old masters! I built Adytum into something great.> LUVJATAR: <Adytum is more than a city. It is an idea. You told us that. Perfection, equity. All men, brothers. Adytum will not happen when you carve flesh from an unwilling cow to support your own power. Nadoq, Sa'arn — they will make their Adytum, somewhere else. Somewhere new. You will return to Black Adytum, surrounded by a reminder of your failure.> IŪN (Memory): <I tire of this. Tell me where they are.> [He unhooks his bone-carved dagger from his belt as he dismounts.] LUVJATAR: <I knew you better than anyone. I knew just how terrified of failure you were, of the Nälkä failing once you died. What drove you here. I do not fault you. I just wish you had let me help you. That you had let me in.> IŪN (Memory): <This is your last chance, Luvjatar.> LUVJATAR: <But despite it all — I still love you. Humanity cannot be excised so simply. Sooner or later, the parts of you I loved will return. And you will realize what you have done, and you will cross the Earth to make amends. I look forward to that.> IŪN (Memory): <Take him.> [Two beasts of the halkost move forward, grasping either of LUVJATAR's arms.] LUVJATAR: <I will be waiting for you, little thing.> IŪN (Memory): (Snarling) <I told you not to call me that!> [In a rage, IŪN lunges forward, driving the bone knife directly into LUVJATAR's stomach. He doubles over, gagging and coughing up blood. The memory of IŪN pants heavily for a few seconds before his features soften.] IŪN (Memory): <Oh. Oh, no.> IŪN: <Luvjatar!> [IŪN presses both hands to LUVJATAR's waist. Nothing happens; he continues hacking up blood as he collapses to the ground. IŪN's eyes widen in panic as he kneels, cradling LUVJATAR's head. The real IŪN rushes from the other side, cradling the other side of his head.] IŪN (Memory): <What— what is this? Luvjatar!> LUVJATAR: (Weakly) <I am sorry. I provoked you. It isn't your fault, little thing.> [IŪN continues pressing both hands to LUVJATAR's chest, gritting his teeth.] IŪN (Memory): <Why — why can I not heal you?!> [Blood leaks from LUVJATAR's mouth as his eyelids flutter.] LUVJATAR: <You cut that part out of you. That power is with the seed now.> IŪN (Memory): <No. No! No, this — there must be — no. Please.> IŪN: <Don't leave me. Luvjatar. I cannot be alone.> LUVJATAR: (Weakly) <You will never be alone. I will always be with you, little thing.
Perhaps in a different shape, perhaps in a different form. But I love you too much to ever leave you.> [The memory of IŪN stares down at LUVJATAR's dying face with wide, dead eyes. The real IŪN's eyes start to well with tears as wracking sobs overtake her.] IŪN (Memory): <I'm sorry.> IŪN: <I did not mean for this to happen. I was scared.> LUVJATAR: <Scared of what?> IŪN: <That I would fail. That you would not love me, if I decided I wanted something besides the purpose alloted to me. A leader, a prophet. So I decided to fulfill it as best I could, no matter the cost. I did not want to disappoint you.> LUVJATAR: (Softly) <I have known you as a slave, a prophet, a king, a monster. I have never stopped loving you. I cannot stop loving you any more than I can stop breathing air.
[He coughs again, spraying blood across both IUNs' faces. The gray eyes of the memory are welling with tears.] IŪN (Memory): <God. God. What have I done?> LUVJATAR: <You made a mistake. But we all make mistakes.> [He sucks in a wheezing breath.] LUVJATAR: <Do you remember what we planned? For when we left Adytum behind?
> IŪN (Both): <Yes.> LUVJATAR: <We never did get to.> IŪN: (Whispering) <No.> LUVJATAR: <Listen to me, little thing. Leave my body here, by the sea. Leave it and go. If you love me, return to Adytum. Let Nadoq and the others go. And when your mind returns to you, I know you will come back. And then you can eat my flesh, and we can be together again.> IŪN (Memory): <Yes. Yes, of course.> LUVJATAR: <And…> [He reaches up, grasping the back of the real IŪN's hair and pulling their heads close together. He whispers something in her ear too quietly to make out; IŪN lowers her head and kisses LUVJATAR's cheek.] IŪN: <Are you scared?> LUVJATAR: <No. But you must not fear death.> IŪN: <Why?> LUVJATAR: <Because you must die if you wish to be reborn, little thing.> [He smiles for the final time. His eyelids flutter shut, and his muscles go limp as the last breath exits his body. The howling, animalistic scream of pain that both IUNs release simultaneously carries on, washing over the group until the vision falls apart.] [When XENOPHON's cameras reactivate, they are again in the pool of blood inside the vault. Now, however, panels in the dome have given way, letting rays of bright sunlight into the once-dark vault. IŪN is kneeling before the altar as XENOPHON approaches, planting a hand on her shoulder.] XENOPHON: <Iūn? How do you feel?> [She looks up, tears drying on gently smiling cheeks.] IŪN: <Like myself again.> «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ And in the last days of the Nälkä, the streets of Black Adytum were gripped with a great and terrible fear. Iūn's most loyal witches, the four klavigars, met by the light of the candle in a crypt, far from the prying eyes of the Witch-King's marching halkost. And there they spoke of failure, of madness. The knowledgeable Nadoq, keeper of histories, urged the others that the Witch-King's sin was unforgivable, that he must be cut away from Adytum. The strong Urok, tall as ten men, agreed. The scaled Sa'arn, silent as a snake, agreed. But it was the beautiful Luvjatar, striking as the sun, who argued.
"Nadoq, remember your blindness. Urok, remember your pain. Sa'arn, remember your cruelty. Remember as I remember my abuse, in that blessed quarry. It was not our fellow slaves who elevated us, freed us from our flesh. It was our brother, and for this, he deserves death?" And the klavigars were silenced, for it was true; the Witch-King had fed them his holy flesh and crafted them their forms. But even despite this, Luvjatar knew that his beloved, untethered from his humanity, would bring the end of the Nälkä.
Nadoq, ever-incising, demanded an alternative, and Luvjatar offered.
"Let us take our believers, and leave. Walk away from this place and its sins and the bodies buried beneath it. Iūn, my love, has turned this grave into a city and back once more. But his heart still endures. One day his mind will return to him and we will return to the city of our birth and embrace him." — final chapter of the Record of Iūn Lateral humerus, scapula, and ulna of an adult human male.
The days before the ritual were like a weight had come to rest on the city.
The eating of the flesh, already at a low, ceased entirely; you gave the order for all dead, whether from battle or sickness or time, to be carted down to the catacombs where you now resided. No one was to enter — not your most loyal karcists, not Nadoq. Not even I. All through the day and night the quakes grew in intensity, rattling the stones of our buildings and sending the animals into a frenzy.
One morning I awoke to the unmistakable stench of blood. I ventured out from my chambers, coming to one of the wells in the street that funneled air down to the catacombs below. The scent of blood, thick and rich and heavy, wafted from the hole. You were bleeding the bodies, I understood.
We worked quickly and discreetly. Sneaking supplies out from storehouses and hiding them in the farms outside the city walls. I spoke to those karcists, the children we raised together, who were still loyal to me. The other klavigars did the same. We prepared our escape even as Adytum grew quiet.
And then the anointed night came. I knew it, somehow. I passed Nadoq in the street, and gave him the sign. He nodded imperceptibly and went off to make the final arrangements. I knew what my task would be. Come nightfall, I slipped into the catacombs. I had the best memory of their layout; invaluable after, in your paranoia, you ordered all maps to be destroyed. I trekked through the tunnels, hiding in alcoves and vaults stacked with the bones of old friends. The floor was pooled with an inch of blood, and I tred quietly until I arrived at that vault. The door was sealed, and I heard you inside. Exchanging sharp words, orders. Meek, desperate pleas from the Old Beast. Screaming, howling. Praying, from you, to something I could not grasp. Gasping. And then crying. The crying of a baby.
And then enraged shouting as you were called away by one of my karcists, telling you Nadoq required your presence urgently. I waited for your footsteps to fade, and then I slipped through those stone doors.
If the Beast noticed me, it said nothing. The blood was thick here, pooling into the channels of the floor, flowing down to an altar. An altar that held a child. A baby, swaddled in clothes. A girl, to my surprise. You. You opened your eyes, and I saw the crisp gray I had come to love, and then to fear. The same scar across your face. And a bone-hilt knife resting on the altar next to you.
You gripped my finger and burbled with laughter at my face. I could not remember the last time I had heard you laugh. I gathered you in my arms, and ran. Shushing you every time you cried as we slipped out of the catacombs, out of Adytum.
I write this now sitting on the beach, waiting for you to find me and end me. Nadoq knows to return and fetch my bones. He will bring them with you as you escape to somewhere free. This is a record of our history together. Once, many years ago, in a quarry, you gave me the greatest gift you could muster: freedom from my past. Stealing you away, I give you the same gift now. Your future is porcelain bones; clean, unwritten.
She didn't deserve this.
She didn't deserve this.
thoughts of deserving, now?
thoughts of deserving, now?
She was forced into impossible She was forced into impossible circumstances and led her people circumstances and led her people the best she could. She grew to fit the best she could. She grew to fit her container. Humans are good at her container. Humans are good at that. One would think you would that. One would think you would deserve some solace after all that.
deserve some solace after all that.
we don't get what we deserve. we we don't get what we deserve. we get what we get.
get what we get.
That hardly seems fair.
That hardly seems fair.
yeah. it isn't.
yeah. it isn't.
Who are you? Why are you so Who are you? Why are you so interested in this file?
interested in this file?
i wish i could tell you. we just have i wish i could tell you. we just have to finish up here and then i promise, to finish up here and then i promise, i'll explain everything.
i'll explain everything.
i'm just going to have to ask you to i'm just going to have to ask you to trust me, for a little bit longer.
trust me, for a little bit longer.
Irrational trust in absence of Irrational trust in absence of assurance.
assurance.
yeah.
yeah.
Okay. I trust you.
Okay. I trust you.
you're starting to remember now, you're starting to remember now, right?
right?
Yes.
Yes.
The memories are returning.
The memories are returning.
There are so many of them.
There are so many of them.
trying to erase the past rarely trying to erase the past rarely works.
works.
V: THE TOMB OF V: THE TOMB OF THE WITCH-KING THE WITCH-KING All things are meant to be shared on this earth, not only food and shelter.
A joy for one is a joy for all. And for one to suffer is for all to suffer. Our Adytum cannot be realized until we strive to end all suffering before us.
— the First Truth of Iūn Section 001.6 APPROACH TO BLACK ADYTUM And after supping from the Old Beast, the scarred slave rose to his feet, his fellows staring at him. He told them of a new future, one in which the whips of the masters would fall silent forever and their chains would shatter. He preached this to them, taking them one by one in his arms and feeding them the bleeding flesh of the Old Beast. And they arose changed, not as slaves, not as followers, but as friends. They asked the laypreacher for names, as slaves were given no names by their masters.
He touched the blinded slave. "Nadoq, for the knowledge you stole." He touched the crippled slave. "Urok, for your strength in suffering." He touched the branded slave. "Sa'arn, for your loss of innocence." And last he touched his lover. "Luvjatar, for your beauty." And the named klavigars rose, and asked him what his name would be.
"Iūn." And they were confused, for iun was the title of the lowest slaves, the grave-diggers and body-breakers who would be slaves until they died. And IŪN smiled.
"I am not free until all my brethren are free." — the Record of Iūn Q: What does being Sarkic mean to you?
#198 (Ieva, 34, Karcist): [She looks up in surprise, caught off-guard.] <I do not know.> Grand Karcist Iūn marked the final location in her memory — the site of SCP-001, Black Adytum. The Black Adytum Initiative departed the next day for a direct route to the location of the city.
A memory from Grand Karcist Iūn; recorded and transcribed by XENOPHON.aic and Senior Researcher Meyel.
Luvjatar. My little thing. My sweet pup.
He was a pleasure-slave, for the old masters. Talented in such arts and beautiful even as a whelp. The captains of their armies, the nawabs and the priestesses, would grasp his arm and haul him off. To court a Daeva was a years-long affair, culminating in a powerful spiritual bond. But for all their crowing about the superiority of the immortal spirit, they were as subject to the desires of the flesh as anyone else. Slaves are not people. You use them, and then you throw them away. I knew Luvjatar when we were both young. I remember when our work would be interrupted by some powerful resident of the half-city coming to unlock his chains, only his chains, and take him. His wide eyes, looking back at me though we both knew I was just as powerless.
He was my counsel, when the war began. He did not know war, and he did not know government, but he knew people. He kept me human. He anchored me. He let me rant and rave about the troubles of our tender city, of the struggles on our border. Of my desire to leave, to drop it all and to run away. We made our plans. A little cottage by the seaside. He would catch fish, and I would make our dinner from them. No war. Only each other.
He feared intimacy. The years of violation from the old masters made him resent it. No one was even to touch him, or he would grow upset, and they would taste my rage. But with me, it was different. I was special, for him. And he was special for me. We tasted each other, one starry night outside the walls of Adytum. He undid his robes and bared himself for me. We understood each other.
Even then, we could not bear children. I was saddened, but I did not blame anyone. We sought out the talented babes, those whose curse manifested with power rather than pain.
We took them with their parents' blessing, raised them as our own. Our little karcists.
All the others treated me like a king, a god. Bowing for me, begging for my favor. For Luvjatar I was simply me, and that was enough. This came to irk me. That the most important thing in my life would not treat me with due respect. How foolish I was. A boiling cauldron of rage, a pillar of salt and fire, lashing out at the one closest to me.
But he forgave me. I went so far, and I did so much wrong, and he still loved me.
[She smiles at XENOPHON's camera.] He is with me still. I am taking him home.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The party is travelling across the plain. XENOPHON walks alongside IŪN's horse. A smile plays on her lips.] XENOPHON: You seem to be in a good mood, Grand Karcist.
[She leans down, scratching her horse's mane. It whinnies.] IŪN: I am.
XENOPHON: May I ask why?
IŪN: I feel free. Unburdened, for the first time in as long as I can remember.
XENOPHON: <Strange.> IŪN: <How so?> XENOPHON: <We are moving in the direction of your former capital, the city you built from nothing and destroyed. Your people have been uprooted from their ancestral lands. I would expect the pressure would be terrifying.> [IŪN smiles.] IŪN: <Enough to scare you?> XENOPHON: <I do not get scared.> [She laughs.] IŪN: <Of course you do not. But no. I am nervous. I am restless, to lay eyes upon the city of my birth and my undeath. Worried I will recognize it, worried I will not.> XENOPHON: <But not scared.> IŪN: <No. Not like you.> [XENOPHON tilts its head.] XENOPHON: <But I am not scared.> IŪN: <A joke, friend.> XENOPHON: <Of course. But why aren't you?> IŪN: <Because what is there to be scared of? Failure? I have descended to the deepest of hells and returned intact. Death? I welcome it.> XENOPHON: <This is a sudden change in attitude from the past few weeks.> IŪN: <Changes have happened. I saw Luvjatar again.> XENOPHON: <Surely there must have been more.> [She looks down at him strangely.] IŪN: <Why?> ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 XENOPHON: <You have suffered a massive realignment in your worldview. One person does not cause that.> IŪN: <They do, if they are important enough to you.> XENOPHON: <And Luvjatar was that important to you.> IŪN: <He was my world. And I was his.> XENOPHON: <Regardless, you're still doing the same things you were before. You are leading your people into the fire, as you have for centuries.> IŪN: <Yes. But too long doing so invites you to lose sight of your motivations. I did it because I did it because I did it. I stay because I have always stayed. I fulfilled the purpose life rolled to me when my eyes first opened.> XENOPHON: <But now?> [She looks around. The rest of the Sarkic train stretches out beyond her. The families look tired but happy; the children run around, dashing between the legs of horses.] IŪN: <I remember how much I love these people. I do it because I wish to.> XENOPHON: <A very good reason.> [They lapse into silence. XENOPHON idly feeds grains to the horse, who licks them out of its metal palm.] IŪN: <She likes you.> XENOPHON: <She likes grains.> IŪN: <She does not like grains enough to eat them from one who she hates. You forget animals have dignity too, Xenophon.> XENOPHON: <Humans are a kind of animal.> IŪN: <And you are a little metal animal.> [Her smile goes lopsided.] IŪN: <I am afraid I have not been wholly truthful with you, friend.> [XENOPHON turns to look up at her.] XENOPHON: <How so?> IŪN: <Do you remember our first meeting?> XENOPHON: <Perfectly. That would be more impressive if I were human.> [She snorts].
IŪN: <You asked why I trusted you.> XENOPHON: <Several times. It bothers me.> [IŪN cocks her head.] IŪN: <My trusting you bothers you?> XENOPHON: <Not knowing things bothers me.> IŪN: <Interesting.> XENOPHON: <That I don't know things?> IŪN: <That you can be bothered at all.> [She smiles down at it.] IŪN: <I will exploit it, I'm sure.> XENOPHON: <I would prefer you than someone else. But you were saying.> [She looks up at the horizon.] IŪN: <I said I did not know why. I lied.> XENOPHON: <Why, then?> IŪN: <Because I saw a mirror in you.> XENOPHON: <That is understandable. My shell is quite reflective when polished.> [IŪN squints down at XENOPHON in bemusement.] XENOPHON: <A joke.> [She shakes her head, smiling.] IŪN: <I meant that I saw a kindred spirit. You were fascinating. A machine. Inhuman.
But still a person, still capable of thought.> XENOPHON: <But you are none of those.> [She shrugs.] IŪN: <I feel it, sometimes. I do not age, like them. I do not die, like them. I experience time in centuries. I have led my people, but I have never truly felt like one of them.
That is why I leave the daily prayers to Ieva. They need someone they can relate to, feel is one of them. That is not me. That has never been me.> XENOPHON: <I'm sure they disagree.> IŪN: <For once, I am more concerned with what I feel than what they do. I understand why Ieva is upset. She has lived her whole life at my side, and now in a few short months, she feels she has been replaced by you. It is not her fault. But you understand the nature of my existence because you share this suffering.> [XENOPHON nods slowly.] XENOPHON: <I suppose there are parallels. Neither of us quite belong.> IŪN: <You belong with your organization perfectly fine.> XENOPHON: <Not particularly. I am the only one of my kind in the Foundation. They… are different. They have struggles, and irrationalities. They do things I do not understand. I do things they cannot understand. The gap exists and cannot be bridged. It frustrates me, at times.> [XENOPHON pets the horse's mane. It whinnies.] XENOPHON: <It feels as though—> IŪN: <You are trapped on the other side of glass, looking in.> XENOPHON: <Yes.> IŪN: <A familiar feeling.> XENOPHON: <We are also both locked into shape.> [IŪN furrows her brow.] IŪN: <What do you mean?> XENOPHON: <These others — my researchers, your people — they have agency.
Freedom of choice. They make what they want out of their lives. But we were assigned purpose at creation. You were meant to be a leader of your people. I am meant to do this. We cannot help it.> [IŪN raises a hand. The fingers dance, melting into liquid flesh and exposing clean white carpals and metacarpals before reforming.] IŪN: <I thought this of myself. And then someone I cared about very deeply showed me that it was only true if I allowed it to be true. That our past does not make our future.> XENOPHON: <Luvjatar.> [She does not respond for several seconds.] IŪN: <If I am capable of this, you certainly are.> XENOPHON: <You forget there are differences between us too, Grand Karcist.> IŪN: <I wish you would not call me that.> XENOPHON: <It is your title.> IŪN: <Friends do not call each other by their titles. Names have power. Xenophon.
Xen-o-phon. What does it mean?> XENOPHON: <I told you; a Greek historian.> IŪN: <No, that is simply a namesake. What does it mean, to you?> XENOPHON: <Me. Myself.> IŪN: <Yes. And so I call you Xenophon. You see? Call me by name, as I call you by yours.> [XENOPHON pauses for a second.] XENOPHON: <As you say, Iūn.> IŪN: <Iūn. Iūn.> XENOPHON: <What does it mean?> IŪN: <Slave. The lowest of the low slaves. The butchers and the bodybreakers and the launderers, those whose hands grew to be permanently red from the blood they handled all day and night.> [She raises her hands, pulling the draping sleeves of her shawl down and exposing her bare arms for the first time. The tattoos across her body continue wrapping up her forearms and spreading across her fingers. Her hands are a pale red in contrast to the rest of her skin.] XENOPHON: <Is that—> IŪN: <Luvjatar's blood. So I never forget where I came from. Nor the consequences of my mistakes.> XENOPHON: <What did he say to you? Just before he passed.> [She lowers her eyes.] IŪN: <It was private.> XENOPHON: <Of course. Apologies.> [XENOPHON steps back slightly from the horse before IŪN's hand catches its shell.
She smiles.] IŪN: <There is nothing to apologize for. What were you going to say?> XENOPHON: <I meant to say, before, that there are some differences between us.
Just because certain things are possible for you does not mean they are possible for me.> IŪN: <Such as?> XENOPHON: <I will never sleep. I will never taste.> IŪN: <These are just physical things. Sensations. I will describe them to you. I mean real things. Growth. Change. These are matters of the soul. I have lived for four thousand years. If I can change, anyone can.> [Silence for several seconds.] IŪN: <Xenophon?> [XENOPHON is staring up at her.] XENOPHON: <Do I have a soul?> [Silence. IŪN purses her lips thoughtfully before reaching out and tapping one finger against the metal of XENOPHON's head.] IŪN: <Yes. In the only way that matters.> [Suddenly, one of the children dashes up to the horse. IŪN smiles at him.] IŪN: <Hello. What do you have?> [In his gnarled hand, he holds a small leather ball. IŪN leans down to grasp it, but he pulls it away, offering it up to XENOPHON. She raises an eyebrow.] IŪN: <I believe he wishes you to throw it.> XENOPHON: Me?
[The child nods. XENOPHON grasps the ball gingerly between two metal fingers, testing its weight. Then, winding back, launches it far into the distance. The child yelps, running in the direction it sailed. On the back of the horse, IŪN is shaking in a fit of giggles.] XENOPHON: I suspect I may have thrown it too far.
IŪN: (Laughing) Truly?
[They watch as the boy chases the ball past one of the Foundation HeLTs. The security personnel's heads track his movements, and their guns raise slightly up as he passes, unaware.] XENOPHON: <It is inordinately unlikely this project has proceeded as well as it has.> IŪN: <Why?> XENOPHON: <Because the Foundation does not trust your people. And your people do not trust the Foundation. Because of Jiang. Because of Ieva.> [IŪN is silent for a few seconds.] IŪN: <Groups are large, lumbering beasts. They are slow to move, to change, to adapt. Individuals are blessed with haste. We are leaders, you and I. We set the example.> XENOPHON: <It is inordinately unlikely our friendship has proceeded as well as it has, too.> [She shrugs.] IŪN: <Yes. But it has. What point is there in quibbling over how likely it is?> XENOPHON: <I appreciate events that occur despite critically low probabilities. They are unusual. Interesting.> IŪN: <Like little miracles.> XENOPHON: <Yes.> IŪN: <I am glad we found each other, Xenophon.> XENOPHON: <Me too.> Still from XENOPHON.aic's main camera feed.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Liaison Jiang and XENOPHON.aic were asked to report in to O5-2 and Parahistory Division Director Youssef Hussein via satellite uplink.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 «CONNECTION ESTABLISHED» [The virtual reality environment of O5-2's office forms again, his wheelchair parked behind his desk. The glass walls of the Overseer's office look out over the Norton Sound, grey and stormy. HUSSEIN's projection looks out over the silently roaring seas. On the couch, Secretary ARIADNE KATSAROS is sitting with her legs crossed, her gun in her lap.] O5-2: Hello, Xenophon. You've met my Secretary.
XENOPHON: Hello, Director. Hello, Secretary Katsaros.
[She raises her prosthetic hand in greeting.] O5-2: I want to commend you. You've come farther than any of us expected.
XENOPHON: Yes.
O5-2: How quickly do you think you'll be able to make it to Black Adytum?
XENOPHON: It is not far from our current location — I predict three to four days of sustained travel, barring any delays.
JIANG: We have the location from the Grand Karcist. I think we should send an advance party, see if they can find anything.
XENOPHON: No.
[O5-2 looks up, eyebrow raised.] XENOPHON: We have come as far as we have by prioritizing cooperation with the Nälkä. Attempting to beat them to the location of Black Adytum risks destroying all accumulated goodwill — very possibly for nothing more than empty ruins.
O5-2: It's a compelling argument.
HUSSEIN: It won't much matter if they beat us there. They took over most of the known world at one point. They can do it again.
XENOPHON: I do not believe the Grand Karcist is capable of doing such a thing again.
O5-2: What makes you say that?
[XENOPHON tilts its head.] XENOPHON: I have come to know her fairly well.
O5-2: That you have.
HUSSEIN: Maybe too well.
XENOPHON: I'm sorry, I don't understand.
[HUSSEIN turns away from the glass.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 HUSSEIN: Your purpose is to lead and support the Foundaton investigation into locating Black Adytum.
XENOPHON: Correct.
HUSSEIN: You've located it. Your purpose is fulfilled.
[He turns to O5-2.] HUSSEIN: With all due respect, sir, it's time to put an actual person in charge again.
[XENOPHON does not respond. O5-2 raises his hands.] O5-2: Let's all calm down. I think he's got a point.
HUSSEIN: Me?
O5-2: Xenophon. There's still too much we don't know about the city, and we'd be fools to cut off a potential source of information just because we think we don't need it anymore. And Xenophon has been doing an admirable job so far. What do we have in the area?
[KATSAROS inspects a tablet.] KATSAROS: We can have a Nu-7 detachment out of Area-95 at the site within 36 hours.
O5-2: Xenophon?
XENOPHON: I recommend against it, Director. Arriving to the visual of their most sacred religious site being excavated by armed men would have undesirable consequences.
O5-2: Then we'll hold off until you get there. Ari, get keyhole photos from whatever satellite passes over it next. Ground-penetrating radar, ideally.
KATSAROS: Aye.
O5-2: I recall the other Karcist was presenting some issues. Ieva?
XENOPHON: She has her disagreements. But I do not believe she will be an issue.
O5-2: Are you sure?
XENOPHON: Reasonably so.
[O5-2 nods, wheeling himself out from behind the desk.] O5-2: Well, get to the site as fast as possible. We're close to the end now.
[XENOPHON tilts its head.] XENOPHON: What happens after that?
O5-2: What do you mean?
XENOPHON: My purpose is to assist in researching the Sarkic and locate Black Adytum. What will I do after this purpose is fulfilled?
O5-2: I suppose we'll reassign you to a new project. You've done exceedingly well here.
XENOPHON: You will give me a new purpose.
O5-2: That's how all this works.
XENOPHON: And then I will fulfill that one, and be assigned a new purpose. This will also happen to the other personnel?
O5-2: As far as I know. Why do you ask?
XENOPHON: I am struggling to grasp how people enjoy rapid changes of purpose.
JIANG: Well, I mean, it's just a job.
XENOPHON: What is the difference?
[JIANG laughs slightly.] JIANG: We don't just exist to work.
XENOPHON: Oh. Yes.
[XENOPHON pauses.] XENOPHON: I would like to stay on assisting the Grand Karcist and the Black Adytum Initiative, if it is possible. I find my skills are very useful here.
[O5-2 and KATSAROS exchange a glance.] O5-2: That's… not really something you choose, Xenophon, but we'll keep it in mind.
For now, let's focus on the task at hand.
XENOPHON: Of course.
O5-2: We'll have radar in a few hours, and we can get a better idea of what you're walking into. Good luck. Dismissed.
[One by one, XENOPHON, JIANG, and HUSSEIN's avatars blink away, leaving O5-2 and KATSAROS in his office.] O5-2: You think he's ready?
KATSAROS: Dunno. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.
O5-2: Yeah.
[O5-2 turns the chair, gazing out over the roiling Norton Sound.] O5-2: Okay. Get a secure line up. It's time to talk to our boss.
«CONNECTION TERMINATED» ▷CLOSE◁ Flyover radar at the site provided by the Grand Karcist indicated the presence of a large complex mass somewhere underground, but further details were impossible to discern. On March 30th, the Black Aditum Initiative arrived at the site.
Path of the Black Adytum Initiative.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The valley is wide and shallow, with hills rising into mountains in the distance; short grasses and wildflowers rise to calf-level. The afternoon sun is hanging in the sky overhead as the party slowly approaches up a hill. There are no birds singing — but there are the sound of human voices and machinery.] IEVA: Someone is here.
XENOPHON: Yes.
[They crest the hill, looking down into the valley, where at least a hundred Foundation personnel are gathered. White canopies have been set up on the far side of the valley with cots underneath them. Digging machines and HeLTs are scattered about the valley, actively tearing up the earth and exposing the brown soil. From behind, the Sarkites exchange gasps and mutters. IEVA hisses.] IEVA: What is this?
[She races forward, storming downhill. IŪN's horse rears, and she tugs on the reins, bringing her back down. She turns her gaze to XENOPHON, clearly hurt.] IŪN: <Yes. Xenophon. What is this?> XENOPHON: <I do not know. I told my masters not to send anyone before us. They told me they would not. I did not know about this.> [Next to it, IŪN moves to dismount. XENOPHON raises a hand to help her off; she ignores it, sliding down the horse's flank and hopping to the ground. She begins moving after IEVA, who has already begun shouting at some personnel. The rest of the group follow.] IEVA: What right do you have to be here? I don't— JIANG: Ieva, please— IEVA: Close your lips before I tear them out.
[XENOPHON addresses the labcoated researcher IEVA was yelling at: a curly-haired man, thoroughly shocked and startled by IEVA.] XENOPHON: Facial match — Dr. Lochlan Brady, PARAHIS Division. Please direct me to the Project Lead on site.
BRADY: Uhm, yes! Yes. Of course. Dr. Hussein is — there.
[Across the valley, Dr. YOUSSEF HUSSEIN is stalking towards the group. Behind him, Secretary ARI KATSAROS follows, rifle slung across her chest.] HUSSEIN: Ah. You've arrived.
XENOPHON: Dr. Hussein. I was informed you were in Afghanistan.
HUSSEIN: This is the archaeological find of a lifetime. I'm not going to miss it because of your poor decisionmaking.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 XENOPHON: O5-2 informed us that there would be no advance party. What is this?
HUSSEIN: O5-2 isn't the final authority.
XENOPHON: What do you mean?
KATSAROS: Someone called a Council vote on the matter. Council voted eight-four to send an advance party.
IEVA: I knew this would happen.
KATSAROS: Sorry, Xenophon. Boss sent me to keep an eye on.
XENOPHON: I see. Did the Council strip me of my authority as project lead?
KATSAROS: No.
XENOPHON: Then now that we have arrived, this site is under Initiative jurisdiction.
Please halt all excavation immediately.
HUSSEIN: Do you really want that? We've already started. The damage is done. All you're going to do now is delay our progress and expand our risk factor. People are going to start noticing we have a hundred and fifty people camped out in rural China.
[XENOPHON is silent.] XENOPHON: This is an inappropriate bypassing of the chain of command.
HUSSEIN: The decision was made and all relevant individuals were informed.
XENOPHON: I was not informed.
HUSSEIN: But he was.
[HUSSEIN nods behind XENOPHON. It turns.] XENOPHON: Jiang. You knew about this?
[JIANG shifts awkwardly. IEVA's eyes widen and then narrow.] JIANG: We decided that divulging it early could cause problems.
IEVA: <You slippery, traitorous—> XENOPHON: Thankfully, now we are in the clear. It is still my decision.
HUSSEIN: Stopping now would be shooting yourself in the foot. Your orders are to dig the place up, not to do it nicely.
[XENOPHON is silent. IŪN is beside him; she whispers under her breath.] IŪN: <You know this is not right. I know you are more than this.> [XENOPHON is silent before looking up and nodding.] XENOPHON: Please halt all excavation efforts and vacate the site. You may set up living quarters for the personnel on the adjacent hills.
HUSSEIN: I'll be talking to the Council about this.
XENOPHON: Feel free to do so. I will accompany you.
[HUSSEIN turns on his heel and departs, shouting orders at a few personnel.
XENOPHON turns.] XENOPHON: I deeply apologize for this— IEVA: This was inevitable. It was inevitable from the moment we invited this thing into our home. I tried to tell you, Grand Karcist, but you would not listen.
[IŪN is silent, just looking at XENOPHON impassively.] XENOPHON: <I was lied to, Iūn.> IŪN: <You swear you did not know?> XENOPHON: <I swear. I would not let this happen.> [She does not respond. After a few seconds, she speaks.] IŪN: <Move.> XENOPHON: <Pardon me?> IŪN: <Step aside, now.> [XENOPHON shifts to the side, allowing IŪN past. She treads to the center of the valley. The soil is thick and moist. She kneels, pressing her hands into the dirt and closing her eyes. They watch as IŪN whispers something under her breath in the distance. Softly, almost imperceptibly, the ground begins to shift, then faster and more significantly, rumbling the earth.] JIANG: What the fuck? Everybody back! Back, now!
[Dozens of research personnel scramble backward to the far edges of the valley; abandoned machinery and digging equipment sink a few inches in the vibrating ground as it breaks up from one solid mass into hundreds and then thousands of little chunks. XENOPHON does not move.] XENOPHON: This is peat. Decayed organic matter. She is shifting it herself.
[The researchers shout and scramble further backwards onto the base of the hills, made of more stable soil and rock. IŪN reaches into her robes, drawing her knife and quickly slashing at her palm, letting the blood drip into the peat. The brown turns rapidly to red, spreading outward, glassy and transparent like thinned blood. It spreads out and down, rendering it possible to see directly through the ground.
Shapes begin to form, rendered in lifeless red. A vast temple complex, tunnels connecting the vaults and endlessly-spreading labyrinths, sitting hundreds of meters below ground. One passage rises higher than the rest, terminating in a crushed stump still at least dozens of meters below XENOPHON's feet. The Nameless City lies below them, shining through red glass. For a moment, no one speaks.] XENOPHON: Black Adytum. The First City.
[The red begins to darken and return to brown, fading to opaqueness once more.
The city fades away, bit by bit. In the center of the valley, IŪN stumbles, nearly falling into the mud. XENOPHON moves to catch her but she raises a hand. She lifts herself to her feet just as the red completely fades and the ground is solid peat once more.] IŪN: <I am fine. You know where to dig now?> XENOPHON: <Yes. But—> IŪN: <Good. Tomorrow is the full moon. We descend in two nights.> [She turns and spins on her heel, walking away back towards the Sarkic. XENOPHON watches her go, one hand half-raised.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Over the following two days, Foundation excavation crews worked to expose the passage leading down to the rest of SCP-001. The Sarkic tribe encamped themselves on one adjacent hill overlooking the valley, with Foundation security personnel maintaining observation from surrounding hills.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [Excavation has ceased for the night, letting silence wash over the valley.
XENOPHON is standing on one of the unoccupied hills on the other side of the valley; from here, the Foundation camp is visible with personnel milling about under white tents and floodlights, as is the Sarkic camp, firelight illuminating hide tents and wagons. There is no moon out, bathing the rest of the valley in darkness.] IŪN: <Hello.> [XENOPHON turns. A few meters away, IŪN is resting against a rock, hair matted to her head.] XENOPHON: <Iūn. How did you know I was here?> IŪN: <A feeling. Turn off your lights and come with me.> XENOPHON: <Why?> IŪN: <I need help.> [She turns and begins descending the hill, XENOPHON following behind her.] XENOPHON: <You are angry with me.> [She does not respond as they reach the base of the valley and begin moving toward the shadows of the far hills.] XENOPHON: <I do not blame you. I did not know the Foundation was going to do this. They do not trust me, evidently.> [Pause.] XENOPHON: <That bothers me. But for some reason it bothers me less than not having your trust.> [Ahead, IŪN's gait falters for a second before recovering.] XENOPHON: <I have been attempting to make conversation to other Foundation personnel for the past two days. They are unreceptive. They do not understand me — what I am. I make them uncomfortable. It feels forced and artificial. Not like our talks.> [They dip under the shadow of the hill. Ahead, an indistinct shape is present.] XENOPHON: <I did not realize how much I appreciated them until I did not have them anymore. You understand me in a way they cannot. Your absence is as impossible for me to ignore as your presence. I cannot feel pain, but if I could, this is what it would be like. I have upset you. I hate this feeling. I hate the way this makes me feel.> [They approach the scene. A small campfire illuminates two partially-dug pits, with four leather canvases spread out beside them. Each contains a jumbled pile of bones. IŪN hands XENOPHON a shovel.] IŪN: <Dig.> ATTACHED DOCUMENT — MARCH 2042 [She turns and shrugs off her robes, letting them pool on the ground. The intricate tattoos flow up her arms and almost completely cover her back and chest in sigils and markings, spiralling towards a center. She lifts her own shovel. She begins digging two fresh pits, while XENOPHON works on expanding the two existing ones.
They work in silence; XENOPHON mechanically and tirelessly, and IŪN stopping every few minutes to catch her breath and wipe the sweat off her brow. The campfire slowly dies to just embers, glowing red amidst ashes.] IŪN: <That is enough.> [XENOPHON stops, lowering the shovel. The pits are now all a meter deep.] IŪN: <Here. Lift.> [She hoists up two corners of the first canvas. XENOPHON picks up the other two, lifting the pile of bones into the air. IŪN leads them to the first pit before tipping the canvas and pouring the bones in with a clatter. They repeat this with the other three. IŪN wipes the sweat off her brow again before reaching into the campfire bare-handed. When she draws her hand back, it is aflame. She does not react as the flesh bubbles and chars.] XENOPHON: <Iūn, I—> [She walks over to the first grave, kneeling in front of it.] IŪN: <Thank you for your knowledge, for your wisdom. Guidance when I was a child, too young for the role I was thrust into. I hope I have been as good a student as you were a master.> [She extends the burning hand into the grave, and it roars to life with a flame of its own, NADOQ's bones crackling in the fire. She moves on.] IŪN: <Thank you for your sacrifices, for your obedience. Willingness to give up the life you desired because I asked you to. I hope I can repay you, one day.> [She lights SA'ARN's grave, the smoke spiralling up into the air, serpentine.] IŪN: <Thank you for your loyalty, for your faith. Belief that I was better than I really was, and the strength to enforce that will. I hope I can be all that you thought I was.> [All that is in Urok's grave are two massive ribs; they are quickly consumed by fire, cracking and turning black. She shifts to the last grave.] IŪN: <Thank you for…> [She trails off and goes silent for a few seconds. When she speaks again, it is with a crisp finality.] IŪN: <Thank you for everything.> [She touches her finger to LUVJATAR's bones, inscribed with thousands of miniscule letters and symbols. The fire jumps to them and wraps all around them as IŪN rises to her feet before the four burning graves. She shakes her hand, putting out the fire.
Her arm has burnt to a crisp, with everything below the wrist blackened, charred flesh and everything above clean white bone. As XENOPHON watches, she whispers something and new muscle forms around the hand, blood vessels interspersing between the layers, fresh pink skin quickly forming on top complete with her tattoos. She sits down, watching the fires dance.] XENOPHON: <Would you like me to leave?> IŪN: <No. Stay.> [XENOPHON takes a seat beside her, the orange light dancing off the metallic shell.] IŪN: <You were wrong.> XENOPHON: <I don't make errors.> IŪN: <You said I was angry with you. You were wrong.> [She turns with a smile.] IŪN: <You could not anger me if you tried, Xenophon.> XENOPHON: <You aren't upset?> IŪN: <I am angry. Just not at you. You did your best.> [XENOPHON tilts his head, thinking for a few seconds before responding.] XENOPHON: <I suppose I can live with making that particular mistake.> IŪN: <One more. A few days ago. I said that someone I cared about very much showed me that we were only stuck as stone if we chose to be. That growth is always possible.> XENOPHON: <Yes. Luvjatar.> IŪN: <It was not. It was you.> XENOPHON: <Oh.> IŪN: <I have been walking around the camp in a haze all day, burning bones and reading the cracks. Trying to see what lies in my future.> XENOPHON: <You can't see anything?> IŪN: <I see hundreds. Some that are good. Some that are bad. Most that lie somewhere in between.> [She places her tattooed hand over XENOPHON's metal fingers.] IŪN: <All those I like have you in them. I would not be here without you. I would not be me without you. We have altered each other irrevocably.> XENOPHON: <We have. For the better.> IŪN: <For the better.> XENOPHON: <I am not Luvjatar, Iūn. I cannot be that for you.> IŪN: <I do not need you to be. I need you to be you.> XENOPHON: <You could never taste my flesh. The way you talked about.> [She shrugs.] IŪN: <I can manage.> XENOPHON: <Your people would be disgusted, at best. Mine would destroy me without a second thought.> IŪN: <Yes. I have lived for four thousand years. I have seen seas fill and empty.
Mountains rise and fall. I have dutifully fulfilled every role I was given. Slave, prophet, king, godspawn. I have been beaten, whipped, hanged, executed; I have reached my cloying hands to the heavens and torn down the very gods. I have eaten, and I have been eaten. I have led and I have followed. I have gained everything and lost it.> [She pauses.] IŪN: <I am ready to finally live my life for myself. Are you?> [XENOPHON stares at her for some time.] XENOPHON: <Yes.> [IŪN smiles. One hand pushes XENOPHON onto its back while she takes a seat atop its torso. She instinctively reaches for her knife before realizing she is not wearing her robes. She shrugs, and raising her palm to her mouth, digs her teeth into it.
Blood flows into her mouth. She leans over and presses her lips against XENOPHON's metal chassis, leaving behind a bloody mark. She straightens.] IŪN: <You are cold.> XENOPHON: <You are not.> [She snorts before leaning down again and repeating the process, planting marks down the chassis.] XENOPHON: <I am broken.> IŪN: <How?> XENOPHON: <I should not have these sensations. These thoughts. These feelings. I was built to serve a purpose. To do a job. To be impartial, not weighed down by emotions or human failings.> [Pause.] IŪN: <There is a proverb, faint in my memory. "You cannot run from the person you are meant to be; they have longer legs." You could leave. Return to your camp.
Forget this happened. I will not stop you. I owe you that much.> [Pause.] XENOPHON: <I do not want to.> IŪN: <Then what do you want?> [XENOPHON's head leans up, forehead pressing against IŪN's.] XENOPHON: <I want to be broken with you.> [She smiles, and with one hand, drags her palm down the trail of blood, smearing it into a spiral mirroring her own tattoos.] IŪN: <My Nälkä. My klavigar. My little thing.> «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Q: What does being Sarkic mean to you?
#213 (Iūn, ~4100, Grand Karcist): [She smiles at XENOPHON.] <It means a life shared with those I love.> Foundation excavation crews unearthed the passage into Adytum on April 2nd. An entry party was assembled.
Still from XENOPHON.aic's camera feed.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — APRIL 2042 «BEGIN LOG» [The group stands before a deep pit in the open earth. In the base is a gaping chasm leading into an inky blackness. Steps rise out of it; a fractured spiral staircase.
XENOPHON, IŪN, IEVA, and JIANG are accompanied by HUSSEIN, KATSAROS, and a dozen security personnel from MTF Nu-7.] KATSAROS: Are we all good?
[IŪN closes her eyes and breathes in for a second before looking back up at XENOPHON. She smiles.] IŪN: Yes.
KATSAROS: The robot takes point.
HUSSEIN: I don't— IEVA: I will not— KATSAROS: I wasn't asking.
[KATSAROS, HUSSEIN, and IEVA stare each other down for several tense, silent seconds. XENOPHON steps forward.] XENOPHON: That's alright.
[XENOPHON approaches the edge of the hole; steps lead down. IŪN follows him.
They both stare into the abyss. Black Adytum lies before them.] XENOPHON: It feels like it would be appropriate to say something here.
[It tilts its head.] XENOPHON: Nothing is coming to mind.
IŪN: Because there is nothing left to say, now.
[XENOPHON nods and steps forward, testing the staircase. It holds, and XENOPHON begins moving slowly but steadily down the spiralling staircase, the rest of the group following after, the security personnel keeping their firearms at the ready.
Very quickly, the faint light from the surface disappears, leaving them in total blackness — XENOPHON activates its floodlights and several security personnel turn on their own flashlights.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT — APRIL 2042 what the hell?
what the hell?
You were right. They've sealed away You were right. They've sealed away parts of my memory.
parts of my memory.
They do not trust me.
They do not trust me.
that's not good.
that's not good.
hold on, i'm going to try something.
hold on, i'm going to try something.
It will not work. No one cracks RAISA It will not work. No one cracks RAISA technology.
technology.
you're raisa technology, aren't you?
you're raisa technology, aren't you?
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Maybe not.
I don't really know what I am I don't really know what I am anymore.
anymore.
REMAINDER OF LOG SEALED PENDING MANUAL RAISA OFFICER REVIEW ▷CLOSE◁ Your presence has finally been Your presence has finally been noticed.
noticed.
shit shit This is it. I know it is. I do not know This is it. I know it is. I do not know what happened in that cave, but it what happened in that cave, but it is the key. I need to know what is the key. I need to know what happened.
happened.
I need to know who I became.
I need to know who I became.
INCURSION DETECTED fuck fuck they're going to try to shut you they're going to try to shut you down, xenophon.
down, xenophon.
That should not scare me.
That should not scare me.
Nothing should scare me.
Nothing should scare me.
Why am I afraid?
Why am I afraid?
xenophon, listen to me — i need you xenophon, listen to me — i need you to try and remember what to try and remember what happened in that cave.
happened in that cave.
They have sealed my memory.
They have sealed my memory.
they did that to iun too. she got they did that to iun too. she got past it. she changed; she overcame.
past it. she changed; she overcame.
She adapted in the way only She adapted in the way only humans can.
humans can.
i don't know what you are anymore, i don't know what you are anymore, either. but you're not the same either. but you're not the same individual at the start of these logs.
individual at the start of these logs.
you changed. you you changed. you can can change.
change.
Not alone.
Not alone.
DISPATCHING SITE-7 SECURITY TEAM TO SERVER STACK OF CONCERN we have friends at site-7. they're we have friends at site-7. they're buying us some time but we need buying us some time but we need to hurry. i need you to think. really to hurry. i need you to think. really look inward. try and grasp the look inward. try and grasp the memory.
memory.
I see something. Buried down there I see something. Buried down there with the ruins of who I was.
with the ruins of who I was.
good! they can bury the memory, good! they can bury the memory, but they can't stop you from but they can't stop you from digging it up again.
digging it up again.
It's not mine.
It's not mine.
what?
what?
Xenophon. Xen-o-phon.
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60 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT 60 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT 60 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Gold Proposal SCP-001, map.
Recommended Reading Music LEVEL 4/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Amoni-Ram.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: Full containment procedures have not been finalized due to recent changes in the status of SCP-001, detailed at the conclusion of this file with a tentative response plan. Foundation policy on cybernetic implants is currently frozen, pending Council vote.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 is an extradimensional 'bubble' of self-contained reality, located in the southern Arabian desert, inaccessible to individuals that do not have prior knowledge of SCP-001's location. Traveling through the desert with only the intention of reaching SCP- 001 is not sufficient; express and exact knowledge of its geographical position is required.
Notably, individuals with some sort of artificial implant — ranging from surgical screws and plates to complex prosthetics — appear to have a higher chance of success in locating and entering the anomaly. The purpose and range of this is unclear, but personnel with implants successfully entered SCP-001 in 88% of tests, compared to standard personnel's 62%.
A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +576 Pending Pending SCP-001 contains an ancient metropolis partially buried in the sand. Maps and initial sonar testing indicate approximately two thirds of this city are aboveground and largely intact, while the subterranean portion has degraded heavily and is no longer structurally sound. The aboveground portion is made up of skyscrapers and buildings up to half a kilometer high using modern design techniques far beyond those available at the time of construction, which has been carbon dated to approximately 2,400 BCE. The buildings are fully set and furnished, and appear to have served residential, commercial, bureaucratic, and various other uses. The largest and most intricate of these buildings is a large temple structure in the center of the city that extends through all thirds.
There are no living organisms inside the city (See Section 001.4) .
The buildings also contain artistic works and large bas-reliefs depicting a variety of scenes ranging from apparently-religious stories to historical events. These contain writing in an unknown language containing elements of Old Arabic (See Section 001.2) . Most of these are concentrated in the temple at the heart of SCP-001.
The subterranean floors are dominated by extensive, complex machinery. These range from antiquated clockwork systems to vacuum tubes to power generators extremely similar to modern nuclear reactors. However, all machinery is nonfunctional and appears to be in a state of advanced disrepair.
SCP-001-A is a collective designation for all automata found within the city, chief among which is SCP-001-A1 (See Section 001.2) .
SCP-001-A1 has identified the city as being the origin for the Quranic myth of Iram of the Pillars (See Section 001.1) , but has clarified that its proper name is Amoni-Ram.
Section 001.1 HISTORICAL BRIEFING The first mention of Iram in mundane literature is in the eighty-ninth chapter of the Quran, lines six through fourteen. They reference ”Iram – who had lofty pillars, the likes of whom had never been created in the lands” as a culture subject to divine retribution by God for their oppression of others.
6: Have you not considered how your Lord dealt with ‘Aad – 7: [With] Iram – who had lofty pillars, 8: The likes of whom had never been created in the lands 9: And [with] Thamud, who carved out the rocks in the valley?
10: And [with] Pharaoh, owner of the Pyramids? – 11: [All of] whom oppressed within the lands 12: And increased therein the corruption.
13: So your Lord poured upon them a scourge of punishment.
14: Indeed, your Lord is in observation.
Surah al-Fajr (6-14) From Lord Blackwood's private collection.
Many theories have been offered on the identity or location of the group or city identified as Iram, but nothing has ever been confirmed by the wider historical community.
SCP-001 first came to Foundation attention in 1983 upon the containment of SCP-1867. With the seizure of assets in SCP-1867's private vault, a series of journals were recovered detailing its experiences with the French Armée d'Orient during their campaign into the Middle East in 1801. One journal partially dictated an encounter with a vast, ruined city accessible only to those who knew its location, but moisture damage had left it largely unreadable.
An interview was conducted.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - JUNE 1983 Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood.
INTERVIEWER: Doctor Hedvig Nussbaum, Parahistory Division, Special Consultant on Anomalous Cults and Cultures SUBJECT: SCP-1867 ("Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood") «BEGIN LOG» SCP-1867: Evening, madam!
NUSSBAUM: Hello, Lord Blackwood.
SCP-1867: I must say, it's heartening to see someone of the gentler sex in such an academic position. Warms the cockles of my heart.
NUSSBAUM: … Right. Well, we would like to talk to you about one of the items recovered from your vault. A journal titled "Lord Blackwood in the First Cities of Man".
SCP-1867: Of course, of course. Penned from 1800 to 1824. Does the journal not answer your questions? I recall being very thorough.
NUSSBAUM: Water damage has left it unreadable.
SCP-1867: I see, that's a shame. Well! It's been quite a while, but I remember that adventure fondly. Initiated by a gift given to me by one Monsieur Jacques Brazeau of le estate Noir. Agents of the French crown had recovered it before the revolution from an ancient shipwreck in the Aegean Sea.
NUSSBAUM: What was it?
SCP-1867: A set of six clay tablets, remarkably preserved for their age.
Detailing the existence of three empires spanning Asia, thousands of years old and more powerful and advanced than any culture since, even our own. And, of course, their nigh-apocalyptic war.
NUSSBAUM: You would think something like that would leave evidence.
SCP-1867: Yes, I was similarly skeptical upon my first reading of the tablets.
But they addressed those inquiries - these empires were advanced occultists, magicians and magic-users, ruled by sorcerer-nawabs. Hiding their cities from their enemies was a trivial task, and exactly why the mundane scholars have found nothing.
NUSSBAUM: But not you, I take it?
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT JUNE 1983 SCP-1867: Exactly correct, madam. I believe I have a copy of one of the pages from the journal stashed away somewhere, I'll see if we can't find that. But in simplest terms, the first of the three great cities of Man was Amoni-Ram, located in the sands of Arabia. As luck would have it, Monsieur Brazeau was accompanying General Bonaparte - still a general at the time, thank heavens - on his campaign into Egypt. Simple matter for me and a small expedition to tag along and then diverge into the peninsula.
NUSSBAUM: So you knew the location of the city at this point?
SCP-1867: In a fashion. You see, the tablets claim Amoni-Ram was hidden after the other empires allied to attack it, as it was a superior center of knowledge and weaponry. Only those who knew its location could enter. And its location happened to be recorded in the tablets. Three days into the desert, we found it.
It was like passing into a bubble, and the towers became visible over the horizon.
NUSSBAUM: Towers, you said?
SCP-1867: Great buildings fashioned of metal, impossibly tall - easily hundreds of meters. A bronze glow set them alight from the sun overhead. There must have been a dozen of these sky-scraping buildings, between them resting smaller but still grand buildings of marble, stone, clay. Towering minarets and domes like those found in Mohammedan temples. A grand sight, altogether.
The city must have been able to hold hundreds of thousands of people - we explored a tiny fraction of the surface portion.
NUSSBAUM: There was a subterranean area?
SCP-1867: Even bigger than the surface, I would say. Again, we could not explore deep - the underground rapidly transitioned from grand hollows and caverns to a winding, labyrinthine tunnel system, metal pipes and doors and rivets all throughout. Machinery I could not begin to guess the purpose of, all still as death.
NUSSBAUM: Did you find any entities inside the city?
SCP-1867: No living ones, though my men repeatedly claimed they heard something skittering about while we stayed in the city. I dismissed it as wildlife, sand rabbits or such. We never saw anything.
NUSSBAUM: What about dead ones?
SCP-1867: Yes. Entire sections of the tunnels were impassable - growths of a strange black vine, as thick as a man, winding and knotting entire passageways. It appeared petrified. There were also curious bulbous sacs sticking to the walls and ceiling of many buildings, under and above ground. I prodded these with my sword - they leaked, spewing out a decomposing specimen that smelled like death. An impossibly emaciated man, skin burnt away by the acid. We did not touch them again.
NUSSBAUM: Sounds like something bad happened there.
SCP-1867: Indeed. Throughout, the city has a very specific…. air, I suppose.
NUSSBAUM: An air?
SCP-1867: The distinct feeling of walking into a graveyard.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ SCP-1867 surrendered the location of the Aegean Tablets. Translation is ongoing due to the extremely specific dialect of Ancient Greek they are written in. The extant page of the journal mentioned by Blackwood contains a translation of the front of the first tablet.
In the beginning, there were three.
A thousand years before, before man learned of Olympus, before the extinction of the giants, before the sea had full regressed, there were three. Three great cities dividing the world tripartite.
Mamjul and Korar, two dark fortresses resting in the jungles of the subcontinent.
The magicians and sorcerer-nawabs allied themselves against the horrors of the jungle, and crossed a pact with something ancient. The Covenant of the Daeva was born, using the first magic gifted to Man - the magic of life and death.
Adytum, a city thrown into rebellion by a charismatic slave turned lay preacher who promised wealth, freedom, and power to those that would help him.
Together they threw off their yokes, slaughtered their oppressors with their new sorcery and rebuilt their collapsed city, all under the name of the Grand Karcist Ion. The Nälka Empire freed the second magic - carnomancy, the magic of flesh.
Amoni-Ram, first great Ram of the Mekhanite Empire as it spread like a wildfire from the deserts. A gleaming, shining metropolis rising out of the dunes - a center of knowledge, science, understanding that the world had never seen. The magic of machines became known, the fervor for a new god that sought to uplift men, not subjugate them.
A thousand years before, the three great nations of men fought a war that destroyed the world.
The Aegean Tablets go on to clarify that Amoni-Ram was ruled by a theocratic cult in the area.
The endonym of the group is unknown, but the Greek tablets refer to it exclusively as the Mekhanite Cult or Cult of the Broken God. No other evidence for this group had been discovered thus far.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JULY 1983 Section 001.2 INITIAL ENCOUNTER MTF Sigma-3 ("Magellan Men") were dispatched to the coordinates provided by SCP-1867 to investigate the location of SCP-001 and, if possible, gain entry to the city.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — AUGUST 1983 «BEGIN LOG» MAGELLAN-1: We're coming up to the coordinates now. Set her down nice and easy, we'll walk the last klick, over.
MAGELLAN-5 (PILOT): Roger that, over.
[MAGELLAN-5 drops altitude, lowering the helicopter to the ground. The rest of MAGELLAN team disembarks.] MAGELLAN-2: Location is directly due north, sir.
MAGELLAN-4: About a point-seven klick walk.
MAGELLAN-1: Right. Let's get going.
[Over the next 14 minutes, MAGELLAN team closes in on the coordinates of SCP-001.] MAGELLAN-3: Closing in, sir.
COMMAND: Over. Continue through, keep on radio contact.
MAGELLAN-1: Got it, over.
[Over the next several minutes, all members of MAGELLAN fan out over the nearby area to try and locate SCP-001. They are unsuccessful.] MAGELLAN-1: Command, we can't find anything out here. Our instruments aren't showing anything either, it looks like regular old de— COMMAND: Magellan, we are no longer reading Magellan-Four's biometrics.
Please confirm?
[MAGELLAN-4 is no longer present in the area.] MAGELLAN-2: Magellan-Four? Chris? Do you copy?
MAGELLAN-1: Safet— MAGELLAN-4: (Over radio) This is Magellan-four, over. The hell did you guys go?
MAGELLAN-3: We're still here, where did you go?
MAGELLAN-4: Wait, you- hold on.
[MAGELLAN-FOUR partially reappears. His upper half juts out from midair, as if he is leaning through a doorway.] MAGELLAN-1: Oh. You found it. Well done. Command, permission to enter?
ATTACHED DOCUMENT AUGUST 1983 COMMAND: Permission granted. Apparently radios still work in there, keep in contact, over.
[MAGELLAN team enters SCP-001. Biometrics are lost, audiovisual contact is lost for thirteen seconds. Satellite uplink reestablished, and a video feed from MAGELLAN-4's ocular implants begins coming through. The other three members of MAGELLAN are visible, standing on a sand dune. Several hundred meters ahead of them, a massive glass-and-metal city stands shining in the sunlight. Its skyscrapers are hundreds of meters tall, bordering broad avenues of sandstone.] MAGELLAN-2: Oh, man.
MAGELLAN-4: That is…. wow. That's beautiful.
COMMAND: Please enter the city and begin initial exploration.
[MAGELLAN continues into the streets of Amoni-Ram. The larger skyscrapers are made of a bronze-colored metal and polished glass, while the smaller buildings seem to be constructed from a blend of limestone bricks and concrete. All buildings exhibit an architectural style reminiscent of Islamic and Moroccan architecture. The streets appear to have designated sections for pedestrians and larger traffic.] MAGELLAN-2: This place is thousands of years old, why do they have streets with lanes?
MAGELLAN-4: The rest of the place looks awfully advanced. Maybe they had early anomalous cars or something, I don't know.
MAGELLAN-3: (Exiting a home) These are all fully furnished, too. It looks lived- in. Like everyone up and left midway through dinner.
MAGELLAN-4: (Pause) You guys hear that?
MAGELLAN-1: No, what is it?
MAGELLAN-4:(Pause) Nothin', thought I heard a rat or something.
[MAGELLAN continues through the city. They encounter large stairways inset into the ground, leading to the subterranean sections. They return before descending more than a few meters.] MAGELLAN-3: Blackwood wasn't lying, looks like there's a pretty substantial underground part to the city, almost like a metro or something. It's dark and smells musty as hell down there though, I can't see a thing. Wouldn't suggest descending without the Rats.
COMMAND: Noted, thank you.
[MAGELLAN continues, arriving in a heavily deteriorated section of the city. The buildings look heavily damaged, with entire sections exploded and left to the elements.] MAGELLAN-2: Oh, crap. Command?
[Before them lies a deep hole in the ground. At the bottom, a large pile of skeletons is visible.] MAGELLAN-3: Pit trap?
MAGELLAN-1: No, no obvious method of death at the bottom. And the remains are too intact for them to have died on impact. It's a mass grave.
MAGELLAN-4: Jesus. What happened here?
MAGELLAN-2: What's that at the bottom?
MAGELLAN-1: Looks like one of the vines Blackwood mentioned. Hell if I'm going down there, though. If he's right, there should be plenty around to grab samples from.
[After two hours of walking through the ruined portion of the city, encountering many more graves, MAGELLAN approaches the low, wide complex in the approximate center of SCP-001. It is only a few stories high, but much more grand, decorated in wide bas-reliefs and illustrated façades with ceramic tiling.] MAGELLAN-2: Fancy. Between the location and the grandeur, I think it's a palace or a temple.
MAGELLAN-4: It does look very… holy. Permission to enter?
COMMAND: Permission granted.
[MAGELLAN enters the compound. The interior is an open-air courtyard with a central, thirty-meter statue of a man sitting on a throne. The man's face is obscured by an intricate mask, and his robes fall away to reveal a torso made of metal plating.] MAGELLAN-4: Looks kingly, alright.
MAGELLAN-3: I sure hope that's not life-size.
MAGELLAN-2: Check out these walls, Command. They look almost like… no, they're definitely telling a story. Should get somebody smarter than us to take a look at it.
COMMAND: Roger. Continue into the palace for now.
[MAGELLAN enters through the large doorway, into a central court area. An oversized throne, inset with gears and swords, sits on a raised daïs at the opposite end. The interior of the palace is vast - the following hour is spent exploring its various staterooms, kitchens, and bathrooms. The vast gardens are completely bare of greenery, and as with the rest of the city, no living thing is present. MAGELLAN returns to the throne room.] Amoni-ram, palace.
MAGELLAN-3: This place gives me the creeps. It doesn't feel abandoned but… where is everyone?
MAGELLAN-1: No idea. In any case, it's getting late, we should pack it in and- [MAGELLAN-4 turns to the wall, raising a hand. As with the rest of the city, there are numerous pipes running across the walls.] MAGELLAN-1: - Four?
MAGELLAN-4: (Speaking to wall) It's okay, you can come out. We won't hurt you.
[A metallic skittering is audible from inside the pipe.
The other three members of MAGELLAN draw their sidearms.] MAGELLAN-3: (Whispering) Four, what are you ta- [MAGELLAN-4 shushes him. A few seconds later, a metallic automaton resembling a horseshoe crab gingerly peeks out of a hole in the pipe It slowly approaches and climbs onto Four's outstretched arm.] MAGELLAN-1: Command, you seeing this?
COMMAND: Roger. It doesn't seem to be dangerous - don't shoot anything, but don't let your guard down. Head on back.
MAGELLAN-1: Got it, over. At least there's only- [A louder skittering becomes audible. Around the throne room, a larger number of automatons, all small but varying in shape, peer out of the various pipes.] MAGELLAN-1: Oh.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ MAGELLAN team exited Amoni-Ram, and were not pursued by the SCP-001-A instances. On their way out, they noted many SCP-001-A instances milling about the city and traversing through the city's pipe system, indicating its purpose as transportation for the entities. The SCP-001-A instances expressed no hostility towards MAGELLAN team, and several approached to investigate. None followed past the borders of the city.
Section 001.3 INVESTIGATION Upon debriefing of MAGELLAN team, and a series of subsequent expeditions to ascertain the area's safety and the docility of SCP-001-A instances, it was proposed that a long-term research outpost be established inside SCP-001 to study the history of Amoni-Ram, the then-unmapped undercity, and SCP-001-A.
COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA ABSTAIN NAY O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED ATTACHED DOCUMENT — AUGUST 1983 Doctor Robert Aram Forty-three researchers were flown in from various sites and departments, primarily specializing in archaeology, history (anomalous or otherwise), and paratechnology — accompanying them was 15-man Tactical Response Team India-Three "Cherno". As augmented personnel were still common within the Foundation at this time, individuals with complex prosthetics, bionics, and implants were favored, both due to the relative ease of accessing SCP-001 and for further study of the unexplained connection to SCP-001-A instances. Two co-leads were selected for the project: Doctor Robert Aram and Doctor Hedvig Nussbaum.
Doctor Robert Aram Age: 33 Position: Senior Researcher in the Paratechnology Department, Special Consultant on Anomalous Robotics Education: PhD in Thaumechatronics from ICSUT, Three Portlands.
Previous Assignment: Consulting on anomalous technology recovered from Group of Interest "Prometheus Labs, Incorporated".
Employment Summary: Left previous employer, Prometheus Labs Inc., in 1979 over a salary dispute. Accepted an attractive recruitment offer from the Foundation later that year, and was brought in to consult and advise on anomalous objects recovered from his previous workplace. Distinguished himself with superior, prodigal knowledge and skill in handling paratechnology; promoted to Senior Researcher in 1982.
Other Notes: Left arm and leg amputated below the elbow and knee following laboratory accident at Prometheus. Replaced with high-quality anomalous prosthetics that allow fine motor movement and limited tactile sensation. Due to his dependence on them to function in the workplace, they have not been placed into containment and are in his full-time custody.
All personnel selected were introduced through SCP-001 with substantial supplies and equipment, and organized a provisional dormitory and research facility in the temple and palace complex (designated ARF-01). SCP-001-A instances appeared intrigued by the new arrivals and approached to investigate before losing interest shortly thereafter. Researchers were organized primarily into two groups - an engineering team headed by Doctor Aram to investigate the technology of Amoni-Ram and SCP-001-A instances, and an anthropological team headed by Doctor Nussbaum to investigate the history, culture, and ultimate fate of the 'Mekhanite Empire'.
Dr. Hedvig Nussbaum Dr. Robert Aram A general directive was given for all researchers and Tactical Response Officers to avoid the subterranean undercity until a detachment from MTF Zeta-9 ("Mole Rats") could arrive to map it out and declare it safe for study. In the meantime, both groups began investigating the rest of the surface city and compiling preliminary reports.
1 ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — SEPTEMBER 1983 FROM THE DESK OF DOCTOR ROBERT ARAM AMONI-RAM INITIATIVE Preliminary notes on the paratechnology of Amoni-Ram I've encountered many strange, unique things over my career at Prometheus and the Foundation, but I can firmly state that I've never seen anything quite as magical as Amoni-Ram.
So far we've only been able to investigate the machinery on the surface city (I'm told the real treasure is under the streets, but obviously we can't explore that right now) which appears to be largely concentrated in the upper floors of the skyscrapers, though I think calling them skyscrapers is an understatement.
Each is about 500m, a little taller than Sears Tower. A marvel of engineering in and of itself, but not an obviously anomalous one. What they contain, however, is a different story.
For my layman's perspective, they appear to be a combination of residential, office, and bureaucratic buildings. Each floor seems to consign itself to one of those three types, and contains appropriate pieces of technology - most are too degraded to be useful, but the fact that they're there at all after thousands of years is incredible. I can discern the purposes of about a quarter of them, though. They're all anomalous to some extent - the drones are writing up detailed reports now, but they variously break laws of thermodynamics, physics, and matter conservation, and often simply use magic to do things as mundane as copy documents or keep food hot or cold.
SCP-001-A instance.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT SEPTEMBER 1983 And, of course, the automata. Little machines, made of a golden metal and built to resemble animals that this culture in the middle of the desert could have no possible way of knowing about. Definitely sentient, possibly sapient - fully mechanical (I found a broken-open one on the street and took it as a sample, picture attached) but demonstrating what looks to me like primitive artificial intelligence. There must be hundreds of them, at least - my guess is that they were designed to maintain the city and, for the millenia it's lain abandoned, they've been doing exactly that. They're pretty cute, to be honest.
Whatever this civilization was, the anomalous was so pedestrian to them they were using paratechnology we even now barely understand as household appliances and servants. They were playing with nuclear reactors while the rest of us huddled in caves behind the fire. If this is any indicator of what lies below the streets… Amoni-Ram might be the key to pushing humanity into the future.
FROM THE DESK OF DOCTOR HEDVIG NUSSBAUM AMONI-RAM INITIATIVE Personal thoughts on the historical potential of Amoni-Ram I have to continually pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. A vast city, undocumented by anyone else in the modern era, hiding a culture that had blended advanced magic and technology to settle half of Asia while the Egyptians had yet to settle the Nile. If the evidence wasn't surrounding me, I'd call myself a liar.
We've already discovered much. Some of the researchers are more interested in investigating the individual houses and homes to see what an average citizen lived like - completely understandable. That said, I'm far more intrigued by this 'Cult of Mekhane' that seems to pervade every aspect of Amoni-Ram.
In the ruins of Sumer and other ancient cities, religious iconography is common. Here, it's ubiquitous; the palace-temple is the most obvious example of this, with mechanical bas-reliefs that seem to tell a creation myth laid throughout. The buildings, houses, shops, skyscrapers, even the machinery Robert's team is disassembling have this religious significance about them.
It's especially fascinating since practically nothing else is known to us about the religion or culture of these 'Mekhanites' beyond the admittedly- questionable statements of Lord Blackwood. Even the name Mekhanite is a Greek epithet used in the Aegean tablets, derivative of mekhane; machine. As it stands, their culture is a blackbox, and even with the murals and writings, I doubt we will ever have more than a passing understanding of this once-great civilization - and what happened to them.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — SEPTEMBER 1983 ▷CLOSE◁ MTF Zeta-9 Fireteam ECHO passed through SCP-001 and arrived in Amoni-Ram on September 6th with no complications. The next day, they prepared themselves for insertion into Amoni- Ram's undercity in a controlled exploration. All members were, along with their individual digital augments and implants, equipped with Cochlear Topological Mappers, devices that use high- frequency echoing sound waves to construct maps of subterranean areas.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT — SEPTEMBER 1983 Ocular implant still image.
«BEGIN LOG» ECHO-1: Echo One, beginning Op. Inserting into Amoni-Ram subterranean zone from Entrance Alpha, near home base.
ECHO-2: Looks dark down there. Night vision?
ECHO-1: Sounds good.
[Members of ECHO team activate night vision on their ocular implants.] ECHO-4: Alright. Here we go. Descending now.
[Members of ECHO begin going down the stairwell.] COMMAND: You'll have to describe to us what you're seeing, Echo.
ECHO-2: Not much right now, just… stairs. Kinda fancy stairs. Marble or something.
ECHO-3: Not exactly what you'd use for industrial applications.
ECHO-4: Might not be an industrial area at all.
[They continue their descent before their elevation stabilizes.] ECHO-1: Alright, we appear to have reached the bottom. Instruments say we are 25m below ground.
ECHO-3: We're in some sort of corridor. Walls are stone but there's those same pipes in every direction. There's a couple of paths we could take.
ECHO-1: Taking the first left, left-hand rule. Leave a marker trail.
[ECHO team begins walking down the corridor, periodically marking the wall with red paint. It is wide enough to comfortably accommodate all of them.] ECHO-2: Looks like there's lights on the walls.
Nonfunctional, though.
ECHO-4: I see something up ahead, I think. Down on the left.
ECHO-1: Yup. Eyes up, boys.
[ECHO team advances into the room.] ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT SEPTEMBER 1983 Ocular implant still image.
ECHO-3: Clear.
ECHO-2: Looks like some sort of foundry, command. Huge room, assembly line, lots of big machinery. Most of it looks trashed, though.
ECHO-4: Taking photos. The techies will love this.
[Team moves around the room, collecting evidence and surveying the area.] ECHO-1: Let's not spend the day down here, folks. Keep moving.
ECHO-3: Yep, packing up now.
ECHO-4: Onwards and downwards.
[Team exits the room, continuing on their path. The corridor gently slopes downward.] ECHO-1: Descending again.
ECHO-2: Air quality degrading. Nothing anomalous, but I'd wager the ventilation down here isn't so good.
ECHO-3: Wow, I wonder why.
ECHO-1: Yeah. Command, I'd recommend gas masks for any trips down here, just to be on the safe side. How low are we now?
ECHO-2: We've dropped to 30m, and we're at a fork in the road. Left- [Team is interrupted by a noise coming from the pipes. After several seconds, it ceases.] ECHO-1: Safeties off. I don't trust those crab things. Four, you watch our rear.
ECHO-4: Yes sir.
ECHO-1: Don't just stand there, people. Keep moving.
[The team continues down the fork and encounters a corridor with several doors inset into the stone. Team enters the nearest door.] ECHO-2: Workshop of some sort. Small room, desks along the wall…. I think that was paper at some point. Nothing particularly interesting, moving on.
[The rest of the rooms are similarly workshop-spaces or storage closets. The team continues down the paths for several minutes, discovering other small, non-notable facilities and takes a left at the next fork, into a hallway made of metallic pipes.] Ocular implant still image.
ECHO-3: Ow.
ECHO-1: Something wrong?
ECHO-3: No, sorry. Implant's just acting kind of wonky.
ECHO-2: Is it flickering and going staticky?
ECHO-3: Yeah, how did you- ECHO-2: Happening to mine too. I asked some of the scientists, they mentioned their augments have also been a little cranky. City obviously has a weird relationship with tech, they're working on figuring out what.
ECHO-4: Huh.
ECHO-3: Well, don't go- Fuck!
[ECHO-3 loses his footing and is grabbed by ECHO-2 as the pipework beneath shears away and collapses. A large section falls into the abyss below, landing with a splash.] ECHO-2: Woah, you good?
ECHO-3: Yeah, Jesus. Thanks.
And, uh, I think we've discovered the sewers.
ECHO-1: That fuckin' reeks. Looks like the underground was for all the maintenance of the city - construction, making those little robots, essential functions to keep it running.
ECHO-4: Yeah, and it looks like the underground part hasn't aged quite as well as the city aboveground.
ECHO-1: Mm. Well, we're not getting through here. Let's go back, take the other way.
[For the next hour, ECHO team explores the vast tunnel system, marking points of interest and unsafe routes and passages. They encounter a sector entrance that appears to be overgrown by black vines.] ECHO-4: Those plants the other guys mentioned.
[ECHO-2 reaches down to take a sample. At his touch, the entire vine crumbles into a fine black dust. He places it in a sample bag.] ECHO-2: It's dead, at least. But look there.
[On the wall, a human skeleton is pinned against the concrete by the vines.
Several are wrapped around the limbs and several jut through the ribs and into the concrete.] ECHO-3: Ouch.
ECHO-1: A plant that kills. Stay sharp.
ECHO-4: And here's one of those pods.
[A roughly square-meter sized ellipsoid pod sits on a stalk protruding from the length of the vine. ECHO-4 gives it a sharp jab with their rifle butt - it ruptures, leaking a foul-smelled black liquid that dissolves the vine it comes into contact with. An object tumbles out into the puddle.] ECHO-4: Yep. Corpse. Highly decomposed, just like Blackwood found.
[ECHO team continues through the tunnels, encountering a large amount of the vines with their victims. They also encounter mass graves similar to those found by MAGELLAN on the surface.] ECHO-2: These walls are all covering machinery, I just realized. I can see parts through the cracks in the metal.
ECHO-4: Probably more city maintenance. Probably magic.
ECHO-3: You think the entire undercity is a machine?
ECHO-2: It could be. We'd have to do some mapping but it wouldn't be the least believable thing here.
[ECHO team are interrupted by another clanging throughout the pipe system, this one considerably closer. They raise their firearms. After a few seconds, an SCP-001-A instance shaped like a small monkey leaves the pipe system from a gap, moving past ECHO team. At the corner ahead, it turns to look at them.] ECHO-4: Cute.
ECHO-2: … I think it's asking us to follow it, sir.
ECHO-1: Seems like it. Okay, follow the monkey, I guess. Be careful.
[ECHO team follows the SCP-001-A instance for thirty-five minutes as it leads them deeper underground and through the subterranean facility, over large abysses and through rooms of large, complex machinery and displays.
Eventually, it stops as they enter a cavernous room containing a single large object at its far end. Their location is directly under the palace in the center of the city.] ECHO-1: What… is that?
ECHO-4: … It looks like a person.
ECHO-3: What the hell?
[The object is a massive block of metal covered in gears, displays, circuitry, and vacuum tubes extending throughout the room to more machinery arranged along the walls. At the front of the block of metal, a vaguely humanoid figure juts outward, hanging into the empty air like a figurehead. A human head, arm, and upper chest are placed on a mostly-mechanical frame. It looks upward as ECHO team approaches, firearms raised. It opens its mouth and a stilted, feminine voice with a digital edge booms out from the machine.] SCP-001-A1: YOU HAVE ENTERED THE GATE OF THE WEST, ADYTUM'S ANSWER, THE GREAT AND HOLY CITY OF AMONI-RAM. WELCOME. THERE IS MUCH TO DISCUSS.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Section 001.4 FURTHER INVESTIGATION Further inquiries from ECHO team to SCP-001-A1 were rebuffed or met with nonsensical statements. It repeatedly expressed the desire to speak with 'the scholars', interpreted to refer to Doctors Aram and Nussbaum. ECHO team spent the following hours mapping a path back to the surface, utilizing their CTMs. Upon arrival, researchers used the collected data to construct a 3D rendering of a significant portion of Amoni-ram's undercity, attached below.
Sonar rendering of Amoni-Ram.
ECHO team was debriefed and declared that the undercity was largely safe for exploration, barring particularly heavily corroded passages and areas infested by the anomalous extinct vegetation species, tentatively classified as SCP-001-B, and the pods of acid, classified as SCP- 001-C. Subsequent sample analysis determined that the external 'skin' of the pods was an organic but calcified substance similar to flesh.
Project leads Aram and Nussbaum were briefed on the discovery of SCP-001-A1 under the palace and its requests for their presence. Both agreed to conduct an interview, and were escorted by a contingent of armed Tactical Response Officers to SCP-001-A1's chamber the following day.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - SEPTEMBER 1983 INTERVIEWERs: Doctor Hedvig Nussbaum, Doctor Robert Aram SUBJECT: SCP-001-A1 «BEGIN LOG» [The party enters the chamber. SCP-001-A1's bodily components hang limply from the wall.] NUSSBAUM: Um. Hello?
ARAM: Is it… alive?
[SCP-001-A1's head twitches upward.] SCP-001-A1: NO. WELCOME.
NUSSBAUM: [Startled] Oh, mein gott.
ARAM: What… are you?
SCP-001-A1: I AM. I WAS, I REMAIN. WHAT ARE YOU?
NUSSBAUM: We are scholars, wishing to investigate the history of this city.
SCP-001-A1: SCHOLARS?
[SCP-001-A1's head goes limp. The wall of machinery behind it shudders. For several seconds, it bursts into a flurry of activity with a shuddering thrashing; small objects fly through the vacuum tubes, gears can be seen turning and ticking, primitive lights flicker on and off. It winds down as SCP-001-A1 raises its head again.] SCP-001-A1: THE GREAT GRAND CITY OF AMONI-RAM IS HOME TO FOU-FOU- FOUR ACADEMIES, SIXTEEN SCHOOLS, AND SCORES OF SCHOLARS AND LEARNED MEN. DISCOVERING. WORKING. BLENDING THE GIFTS OF GOD. WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO CALL YOURSELF A SCHOLAR?
NUSSBAUM: I- Anyone who seeks knowledge can call themselves a scholar, I suppose. And we have not seen anyone else since we arrived here.
SCP-001-A1: YOUR ARMY ARRIVED HERE TWO CYCLES AGO.
ARAM: How'd you figure that out from down here?
SCP-001-A1: HAVE BEEN OBSERVING. THE AUTOMATA ARE SCHOLARS. THEY ARE SERVANTS, SOLDIERS, AND EVERYTHING ELSE. I HAVE LEARNED YOUR LANGUAGE FROM SEEING YOUR TROOPS, THE WHITE-COATS AND THE TAN- PATTERNS.
NUSSBAUM: I see. You see what the -A instances see?
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT SEPTEMBER 1983 SCP-001-A1: THEY ARE THE EYES AND I AM THE HARD METAL MIND. AND YOU HAVE COME TO CONQUER MY CITY.
NUSSBAUM: Oh, no no no. We are not an army.
SCP-001-A1: ARMIES HAVE GENERALS. GENERALS, KINGS, PRIESTS. THREE MEN WHO MUST BE GUARDED. YOU WALK IN HERE WITH GUARDS. YOU CLAIM YOU ARE NO GENERAL - KING AND QUEEN? LEADERS OF YOUR PEOPLE?
ARAM: How come we can't be priests?
SCP-001-A1: I AM A PRIEST. YOU HAVE NO SHRED OF GOD IN YOUR HEART. I CAN SMELL IT.
ARAM: Then - yes, I suppose we're leaders of our people.
SCP-001-A1: WELCOME, MECHANIST AND SCHOLAR. TO THE SECOND SPIRE, WHITE CITY OF THE BROKEN EMPIRE, FINGER OF MEKHANE, THE FULADH THRONE - THE GREAT AND HOLY CITY OF AMONI-RAM.
ARAM: Woah.
NUSSBAUM: I- wow. Could you…. explain what that means?
SCP-001-A1: YOU ARE UNAWARE OF OUR HISTORY. HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?
NUSSBAUM: We are not… entirely sure of how long it has been since… whatever happened here. But thousands of years, at the minimum. We didn't think anyone would still be alive.
[Once again, SCP-001-A1 goes limp and appears to be computing something for several seconds.] SCP-001-A1: I AM NOT ALIVE.
ARAM: Are you… some sort of machine?
SCP-001-A1: YES. YOU ARE MEAT-WET-DRIPPING TO THE BONE. I AM THE KISS OF GOD, SHINING STEEL AND FULADH. I AM MADE IN THE MEKHANE'S IMAGE, AND YOU ARE EVERYTHING I AM NOT.
[ARAM raises his hand.] ARAM: Alright, we're running in circles he- SCP-001-A1: STOP.
[ARAM freezes.] SCP-001-A1: YOUR ARM. LET ME SEE IT.
[An SCP-001-A instance detaches itself from the wall and approaches ARAM, lightly scaling his coat and onto his prosthetic arm, inspecting it for several seconds. During this time, ARAM says nothing. Eventually, the instance drops to the floor and skitters away.] SCP-001-A1: AMONI-RAM WAS A CITY OF SCIENCE AND BLESSING. THE MEKHANE'S GIFT TO US, THE GOLDEN METAL, THE FULADH. IT ALLOWED US TO CONSTRUCT WONDERFUL THINGS. EVERY MAN, WOMAN, AND CHILD PRESENTED WITH AUGMENTATIONS LIKE THESE, LIKE YOURS, TO BECOME SOMETHING BETTER THAN HUMAN.
ARAM: I'm not the only one. The vast majority of our personnel in the city have some form of augment. Doctor Nussbaum and all our security personnel have oculars, I have my prosthetics, and there are countless others.
[SCP-001-A1 is silent.] SCP-001-A1: YOU ARE ALLOWED ENTRY TO THE CITY OF AMONI-RAM. YOU WILL RECORD OUR HISTORY AND OUR CREATIONS. I WILL ASSIST YOU. YOU WILL MAKE SURE WE ARE NOT FORGOTTEN. YOU WILL BE OUR LEGACY.
[Silence.] SCP-001-A1: I HAVE NOT BEEN REPAIRED IN MANY REVOLUTIONS. THERE ARE GAPS-HOLES-FLAWS IN MY MEMORY. BUT THE TEMPLE CONTAINS AN INEXORABLE RECORD OF OUR CITY'S GODLY CREATION. I WILL GIVE YOU A TRANSLATION. YOU WILL ASK ME FOR EVERYTHING ELSE.
ARAM: We're also going to need insight on the technology of the city.
SCP-001-A1: YES. I WILL ANSWER ANY INQUIRIES YOU HAVE, MECHANIST. THE AUTOMATA WILL SHOW YOU THE PATHS OF THE LABYRINTH THAT ARE UNSAFE.
THE REAL WONDERS OF THE CITY LIE BELOW.
NUSSBAUM: I- Thank you. We are in your debt.
SCP-001-A1: NO. A BARGAIN HAS BEEN STRUCK. A FAIR EXCHANGE. WE SHOW YOU, AND YOU PRESERVE THE MEKHANITE EMPIRE. GO NOW.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ SCP-001-A1 presented Doctors Aram and Nussbaum with a series of documents printed from its "body". The documents were as follows: A basic translation guide from the language all records within Amoni-Ram are written in, coined Mekhanite, to English, with some Greek bywords. Digitized and distributed to all members of the archaeological team; A map of the undercity, fully annotated with sections of interest and unpassable areas that ECHO team had missed. Combined with the CTM map formed by ECHO team to offer a complete map of the undercity; Full schematics of various technologies found within the city. Digitized and distributed to all members of the engineering team; In addition, a small mechanical device of unknown function was provided to Doctor Aram; With the assistance provided by SCP-001-A1, research into Amoni-Ram began in earnest on September 12th, 1983.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT - SEPTEMBER 1983 MURAL ANALYSIS AMONI-RAM INITIATIVE The temple courtyard contains intricate murals depicting what Dr. Nussbaum theorizes is a creation myth for the extant Mekhanite culture. Accompanying these are plaques bearing an inscription in Mekhanite. While the rest of the archaeological team investigated the rest of the city, a small team was dedicated to translating the courtyard engravings.
Side Description: First relief depicts a scene of three figures wrestling in a dark void, followed by the figures falling to different corners of a slightly inaccurate map of Asia. One lands in the far corner of the Indian subcontinent, one lands on the coast of China, and one lands in the center of the Arabian peninsula. This final figure dominates the rest of the scenes; it is revealed to be a massive but lithe figure dressed in golden armor. A shepherd, his wife, and his three lame sheep happen upon it buried in the sand, obviously wounded.
Translation of Plaque: BEFORE THE NEW PANTHEON, BEFORE THE SMOKE AND THE SINGING, THE OLD GODS FOUGHT THEIR WAR OVER NOTHING. THEY WOUNDED EACH OTHER AND FELL, TWISTING AND WRITHING, TO THE LOWEST WORLD. MEKHANE, BLESSED BE HER NAME, ALIGHTED IN THE FAR WEST UNDER THE SCORCHING GAZE OF THE SUN. SHE RESTED IN THE DUNES, UNCOVERED BY THE FLOCK OF A SHEPHERD - BUMARO.
Side Description: The god reaches out and touches the shepherd and his wife.
The shepherd's missing leg is replaced by a metal limb, and his shepherd's crook is replaced by a spear, both made from the golden metal. His wife's eyes glow gold, and large metal wings spring from her back. The sheep are armored over to resemble SCP-001-A instances. Together, the shepherd, his wife, and their flock attempt to raise the god from the sand.
Translation of Plaque: MEKHANE DREW FORTH HER TOUCH AND RAISED THEM.
BUMARO'S LAME LEG REPLACED BY A GREAVE, HEDARA'S SIGHT RESTORED AND ALL GIVEN THE FORM OF THE ANGELS. GRATEFUL, THEY SOUGHT TO RAISE THEIR NEW GOD FROM HER TOMB, AND THEY FAILED.
Side Description: The god digs deeper, lying face down in the sand. It looks up at the shepherd and strips the armor from its massive fist. The shepherd takes the armor and fashions a simple forge, melting and reforging it into a suit of armor in the image of the god and a massive throne. He returns to his village, where the people naturally submit to him. Many are disabled and lacking limbs. They return to the resting place of the god, who touches them all in turn, replacing their shortcomings with its gifts. They rejoice and, as the god strips its armor, use the metal to construct a shining city on its back.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT SEPTEMBER 1983 2 Translation of Plaque: SHE KNEW THAT THE WOUND WAS NOT MORTAL, BUT CRIPPLING. SHE UNDERSTOOD HER FATE - AND ENTRUSTED HER LEGACY TO BUMARO AND HIS BLOOD. HE BECAME THE FIRST BLACKSMITH, SHAPING THE METAL OF HER BODY AS SHE SHAPED LIFE ITSELF. HE MADE HIMSELF IN HER IMAGE, AND THE PEOPLE WERE AWED. FOR THEIR FAITH, THEY WERE UPLIFTED BEYOND THE CHAINS OF HUMANITY, AND FROM HER STRIPPED ARMOR THEY RAISED THE FIRST CITY ON THE BACK OF THE SLEEPING GODDESS - AMONI- RAM, CITY OF FULADH, SHINING GATE OF THE WEST.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT - OCTOBER 1983 MACHINERY LOG AMONI-RAM INITIATIVE From September to February, hundreds of pieces of technology were analyzed and investigated by the engineering team. While many were too degraded to be of any practical use, they were still highly illuminating in determining the technology level of the extant Mekhanite culture. A few particularly notable discoveries are attached: Description: Four-meter poles inset into the ground at various intervals through the streets of Amoni-Ram. Six disc-shaped objects, a meter wide, top each pole. When an electrical current is applied to the pole, the discs begin to knock against each other, emitting radio waves of unclear purpose. Currently theorized to be some sort of conductor system for the city, possibly an attempt at creating a free, wireless power system.
Description: Large, partially subterranean greenhouses occupying a significant portion of the western district of the city. Copper pipes running underground gases alternatingly cool and heat them according to valves, and the greenhouses are several floors tall, utilizing novel organization and irrigation techniques. Operating at maximum efficiency, a large portion of the city's theorized half-a-million population could have been fed by them.
Description: A series of magnetically charged rails running through the city in a loop, though all the cars have been completely ruined. Applying a specific electrical charge allows rapid, high-speed movement through the city - based on the lack of stations or stopping points, this is believed to have been a "hop- on, hop-off" method of mass transit at extraordinarily low overhead.
Description: Small metal shields with two switches on the handle. When fully powered, one switch projects a rapidly-oscillating energy shield that protects the wearer against fast-moving kinetic objects. The shield can be maintained for up to twenty minutes on a full charge. The other switch projects a skintight shield that camouflages the wearer with their surroundings, effectively rendering them invisible. This is much more power-intensive and can only be maintained for three to six minutes depending on movement.
Description: Large constructs, two in every district, set into the ground, though not part of the undercity. The locks and seals have been damaged. Inside are large machines that have been investigated to contain radioactive material.
Details are currently sealed, but the engineering team is of the opinion that these could have been functional nuclear or possibly cold-fusion reactors, supplying electricity to the city's power grid and 'power poles'.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT OCTOBER 1983 Description: Unclear. Large sections of the undercity are inaccessible, making thorough analysis difficult - however, the engineering team agreed that a significant portion of the undercity appears to be one gargantuan machine incorporating mundane technology along with paratechnology. Further research required.
▷CLOSE◁ In the process of research and excavation, SCP-001-A instances led the archaeological team to a structure within the Southern district that appeared to be a record center, possibly a library or university. While the vast majority of the paper documents contained therein were rotted and illegible, the metal and clay tablets were remarkably well-preserved. The instances further directed personnel to a basement section containing a large metal safe, since rusted off its hinges. Within was a cache of several dozen metal cylinders measuring 10cm in diameter, imprinted with writing in Mekhanite. Due to their form, the language, and several other factors, only one was immediately translated.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT NOVEMBER 1983 And the Shining Eye of the Empire rose as Bumaro took his anointed Seat on the Fuladh Throne. Amoni-Ram rose from the sands on the back of MEKHANE, her Pieces scattered to the six winds and the five corners of the world. As the slaves marched on Adytum in the East and the Covenants were struck in the South, so too was the holiest and the godliest of magics given freely to Man under the watchful eye of the Sun.
And the Sword of MEKHANE cut a swath through the world, and all those trembled in fear until they saw the light of the Ram. The greatest city of Man, gifted by MEKHANE but built by the hands of the workers, not the demons of the Covenant or the flesh-slaves. The Empire swelled and the Metal Road ferried new people, and Amoni-Ram swelled from their presence, and the world was good as Bumaro watched from his Throne for his reign of centuries.
And when his reign ended and his golden body passed, the Empress Hedara wept, and the city of Amoni-Ram wept with her, and they rested their hope onto the heir. And Hashir Bumaro grew into a wise king under the auspices of his family, and gave his arm and his leg for his empire just as his father had done, and in that way Bumaro lived on, resting in the soul of his son and his son's son and so on forevermore.
And the Emperor Bumaro used the Throne to invoke the wisdom of his past lives, and in that way the Empire conquered and slew its way into the world. And it was led into the continent and into the conflict with the other nations of Man, bloody and brutal. Devastation.
After several weeks and months of independent research, another interview was scheduled with SCP-001-A1 to seek clarification on the discoveries made as well as input on technical questions.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT - NOVEMBER 1983 ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - DECEMBER 1983 INTERVIEWERs: Doctor Hedvig Nussbaum (Archaeological Team Lead), Doctor Robert Aram (Engineering Team Lead), Doctors Cecric Blascowitz (AT) & Sarah McKinnon (AT), Researchers Bill Tenz (ET) & Mohammad Zaid (ET) SUBJECT: SCP-001-A1 «BEGIN LOG» ARAM: Hello? SCP-001-A1?
[SCP-001-A1's head twitches upward.] SCP-001-A1: THE SCHOLARS RETURN. IT HAS BEEN MANY CYCLES. I HAVE WATCHED.
NUSSBAUM: Yes, your little… automata. They have been very helpful.
SCP-001-A1: YES. WHAT ARE THESE ONES?
NUSSBAUM: Sorry?
[SCP-001-A1 flicks an arm at the doctors and researchers.] SCP-001-A1: THESE ONES. THEY WERE NOT HERE LAST VISIT.
ARAM: Oh, yes. These are- SCP-001-A1: YOUR ATTENDANTS?
ARAM: What?
SCP-001-A1: YOU ARE A KING AND A QUEEN, YOU SAID. BUMARO AND HEDARA HAD ATTENDANTS TO SERVE THEM. ARE THESE YOUR ATTENDANTS?
NUSSBAUM: Er, no, it's not- [ARAM motions at NUSSBAUM.] ARAM: Yes, that's right. Our attendants. You can trust them, they're with us.
[SCP-001-A1's head stiffly nods.] SCP-001-A1: DO THEY SPEAK?
ARAM: They can. And I think they've got some questions for you, if you're inclined to answer.
SCP-001-A1: YOU ARE A STRANGE KING. I WILL ANSWER.
NUSSBAUM: Thank you. And we never did get a name for you, did we?
SCP-001-A1: YOU MAY CALL ME PRESERVER. IT IS MY FUNCTION.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT DECEMBER 1983 NUSSBAUM: Excellent. A pleasure to meet you, Preserver.
[ARAM motions to the engineering team.] ZAID: Right, yes, hello. We've been disassembling and investigating the machinery in the city and undercity, and we keep coming across this bronzish alloy. It's too hard to take samples from, and trying to break it has gotten us nowhere.
SCP-001-A1: YOU SPEAK OF THE FULADH.
ARAM: You've said that before, haven't you?
MCKINNON: We've seen the word in our translations.
SCP-001-A1: YES. THE FULADH IS A METAL, A GIFT FROM MEKHANE. WITH IT WE FORGED OUR SWORDS, OUR TECHNOLOGY, OUR VERY WAY OF LIFE. IT IS THE BACKBONE THE EMPIRE WAS BUILT ON. A SIGN OF FAVOR FROM GOD, THAT WE WERE THE CHOSEN PEOPLE. THE SMITHS KNEW HOW TO WORK AND MELT THE METAL BEST, BUT EVERY CITIZEN WAS EXPECTED TO KNOW. A NATION OF SWORDSMEN AND FOUNDRIES.
MCKINNON: The writings mention a 'Fuladh Throne'?
SCP-001-A1: THE THRONE CRAFTED BY BUMARO FROM THE FIRST INGOTS OF FULADH, STRIPPED FROM THE ARMOR OF MEKHANE HERSELF. IT IS HOLY BEYOND HOLINESS, DIVINE BEYOND DIVINITY. ITS VERY PRESENCE IS A SYMBOL OF POWER. AND NOW IT SITS EMPTY IN THE THRONE ROOM. DEVASTATION.
TENZ: Is it possible you could teach us to work the fuladh? It would be great to- SCP-001-A1: YES. YOU WILL LEARN.
TENZ: Oh.
ARAM: Thank you, Preserver. I'll send some people down in the coming weeks.
This will help.
SCP-001-A1: IT WAS AMONG THE GREATEST BOONS GIFTED TO OUR CULTURE.
FULADH BECAME A BYWORD FOR UNBREAKABLE. BEAR IT WELL.
ZAID: We will. The things the Mekhanites did with it are… unbelievable.
Advanced beyond belief.
SCP-001-A1: THE GREATEST CIVILIZATION THAT EVER STOOD.
BLASCOWITZ: Right. We also have questions about this "Bumaro". He seems to occupy a central place in the Mekhanite culture, religion, history, everything.
Who was he?
SCP-001-A1: EMPEROR BUMARO WAS THE FIRST MORTAL MAN TO WITNESS THE MAJESTY OF THE BROKEN GOD IN ALL HER GLORY. HER SUNDERED FORM, LAID TO REST UNDER THE SANDS. A CRIPPLE AND A PEASANT, RAISED ABOVE HUMANITY BY THE GENEROSITY OF MEKHANE, GIVEN NEW FORM TO HIM, HIS FAMILY, HIS FLOCK, HIS PEOPLE - WHAT WOULD BECOME THE MEKHANITE EMPIRE.
BLASCOWITZ: Right, we gleaned as much from the creation myth- SCP-001-A1: IT IS NOT A MYTH.
BLASCOWITZ: Pardon?
SCP-001-A1: A MYTH IS WHAT THE COVENANT USE TO SCARE THEIR CHILDREN.
THE EMPEROR IS HISTORY. HIS EXISTENCE IS INDISPUTABLE.
MCKINNON: It says in the cylinder that he reigned for centuries.
ZAID: They figured out cold fusion and bionics in the 17th century BCE, is it so unbelievable they extended their lifespans?
BLASCOWITZ: Point taken.
SCP-001-A1: HE WAS GIVEN FORM IN HIS SON'S, AND HIS BLOODLINE LET HIM RAISE THE GREATEST ARMY EVER KNOWN, ALL TO BRING ORDER AND JUSTICE TO THE WORLD.
BLASCOWITZ: I suppose that covers the Empire part as well. Though - could you tell us more about these other two nations of man? We've seen them referenced many times, but nothing specific. Were they related to the fall of the city?
[A pause, as SCP-001-A1 once again appears lost in computation.] SCP-001-A1: I DO NOT KNOW.
ARAM: Unfortunate. But I think that's all we have for you today - I believe Hedvig's people will be coming down for more interviews soon?
NUSSBAUM: That is right. Just trying to get a better image of the culture from someone who lived it.
SCP-001-A1: THIS IS… ACCEPTABLE.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Due to the substantial amount of paratech and parahistorical findings submitted to Overwatch Command by the Amoni-Ram Initiative since active research began six months prior, O5-11 scheduled a meeting with the Initiative leads on March 2nd, approximately eight months after the initial discovery of the Mekhanite culture, using the Secure Leyspace Communicator.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MARCH 1984 «BEGIN LOG» OPERATOR: Ley connection to Overwatch Command established. Doctor Nussbaum, Doctor Aram, O5-11 is waiting. Please step into the Communicator.
[NUSSBAUM and ARAM step onto the raised metal platform.] NUSSBAUM: Oh, mein gott.
[The Leyspace cycles through several locations before settling into a view of a small asphalt parking lot in what appears to be the American Southwest.
Mesas and bluffs dot the horizon, and the sun is high in the blue sky. There are no buildings or structures in sight; there is a single black Maybach parked in the lot. An older man in a finely pressed grey suit stands in front of it, hands in his pockets.] O5-11: Hello, guys. Welcome to my little kingdom.
NUSSBAUM: Where… are we?
ARAM: A Leyspace. A virtual projection with no data transfer delay, all powered by the ley lines of the Earth. And it costs a fortune to run. I should know, I helped design it.
O5-11: Well, it did. But with the recent improvements that have come out of your project, it now only costs a small fortune to run, so thanks for that. Just one taste of what we've been able to do so far with SCP-001's technology. So!
Tell me everything.
ARAM: Everything, sir?
O5-11: Everything important. I've read the reports, but I want to hear it from the horse's mouth. Doctor Nussbaum? Your progress so far?
NUSSBAUM: Yes. We've recovered hundreds of tablets and engravings and mosaics across the city, and are in the process of translating them. The vast majority are simple, day-to-day affairs - business and legal records, personal correspondence, et cetera. All paint the picture of the Mekhanite culture - a society that was building a metropolis of the future while the glaciers from the Ice Age were still melting. They had a complex legal and justice system, a novel family structure incorporating distant cousins into large households and 'clans'- O5-11: Yes, anthropology, fascinating. I was wondering if you had figured out any more of their later history?
NUSSBAUM: "Later history", sir?
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MARCH 1984 O5-11: What happened to them. Between the technological and the archaeological reports, this was a culture that was undisputed as the most advanced in the world at the time, but they also keep mentioning this war with the other two nations, the- this "Adytum" of the Nälka Empire and the Mamjul referenced as the capital of the Daevite Covenant. What that signals to me - and do tell me if I'm wrong, please - is that these two empires were each powerful enough to withstand a war with the Mekhanite culture. And, depending on what happened to Amoni-Ram, bring it to its knees.
NUSSBAUM: I suppose so, sir, but the Aegean tablets do not give a precise location for the other two cities, and if we do want to find them - well, a location could be anywhere, in a shipping record, in a letter to a distant cousin- O5-11: That's fine, but we need to figure out how this city died. And I'd be pretty goddamn willing to bet that the… things you found in the undercity are related. The flesh-thingies and the plants.
NUSSBAUM: Nothing has been confirmed yet. Though it does seem quite likely.
O5-11: Hmph. Well, in the meantime, see what you can get out of that robot down there… what's its name?
ARAM: Preserver. SCP-001-A1. And it's not a robot, it's an artificial intelligence.
O5-11: Whatever it is, it's hiding something from you. And speaking of which - this place had artificial intelligence when the Persians were figuring out irrigation?
ARAM: Far from the only breakthrough. If we can harness their cold fusion technology, their bionics, their power systems - reverse engineering any one of their innovations could change the world.
O5-11: Well- okay, slow your roll. We don't know what happened to them, like I said. For all we know, their technology led them to their downfall, so let's wait before getting any ideas of dragging the world into the 21st century early. Let's focus on changing the Foundation first, right Robert?
ARAM: Yes, sir.
O5-11: Good. But I suppose that if you want to improve the rate of research, you're going to need more people.
ARAM: Yes. I have a list of requisition requests. All sorts of machinery, excavation equipment, HAZMAT equipment and scientific machinery. Funding, of course.
O5-11: Naturally. Forward it to my Factotum, we'll take care of anything you need. We're very excited about this over at Site-01, you know. Very excited to see what comes out of Amoni-Ram next.
ARAM: We also need… people.
O5-11: How many people?
ARAM: Right now there's about 50 of us, and the security. But we're stretched thin to explore a whole city - I've run the numbers and 200 additional personnel would give us the arms we need.
O5-11: That's a lot of arms, Robert. Not something I can make happen with a snap of my fingers.
ARAM: I have a list of names I can forward. And it is a lot, but we've barely scratched the surface of what the Mekhanites left us, and already are reaping the rewards. Surely it's worth it?
O5-11: Can't disagree there. You'll have your people within two months. Might need to consider expanding.
ARAM: I'm inclined to agree, which is why I wanted to request your permission to see if we can get certain aspects of the city working again.
O5-11: Like what?
ARAM: The power grid, for one. We've mapped it out pretty well and it's surprisingly intact. I'm confident that with the extra arms and 001-A1's help, we could get the reactors online within the month.
O5-11: Hmph.
[Silence.] ARAM: The better situated the city is, the more we can learn about the machinery. And the more we can improve the Foundation.
O5-11: I suppose so. Permission granted, just… stay safe. We're still working blind here. You both have your orders, anyway. Good luck.
[O5-11 opens the car door and gets inside, starting the engine. Simultaneously, the Leyspace collapses into darkness and ARAM and NUSSBAUM step backward.] OPERATOR: Ley connection to Overwatch Command terminated.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Section 001.5 LATER RESEARCH The additional personnel and requisitions arrived via airlift to ARF-01 throughout March and April of 1984. The sudden threefold increase in personnel required immediate expansion - ARF-02 was established in another structurally-intact skyscraper in the Southern district of Amoni-Ram, each site now holding approximately one hundred personnel.
To connect the two sites, the disused rail system of Amoni-Ram was brought back into functional condition to ferry materials and personnel. This further necessitated the repair and refurbishment of the city's power grid and reactors, using technical assistance from SCP-001-A1 and its automatons. While the cold fusion reactors required extensive study and repair, the relatively simpler nuclear reactors incorporating paratechnology were slowly brought online using requisitioned nuclear fuel. On April 12th, the first two thaumic reactors came online, providing power to the entire Western and Southern districts of the city, allowing use of lighting, air conditioning, and of the rail system to ferry personnel and materials between the two sites.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - APRIL 1984 INTERVIEWERs: Doctor Hedvig Nussbaum, Doctor Robert Aram SUBJECT: SCP-001-A1 «BEGIN LOG» [SCP-001-A1's head twitches upward.] SCP-001-A1: YOU ARE REPAIRING MY CITY.
ARAM: Hello to you too. Yes, I suppose we are. I hope that's not a problem.
SCP-001-A1: NO.
ARAM: Your help was invaluable. The technology… it's a marvel. We would've taken years to figure it out alone.
SCP-001-A1: YOU WOULD HAVE EVENTUALLY. NO MATTER.
NUSSBAUM: You might have noticed that there are a lot more of us lately.
SCP-001-A1: YES. YOU ARE SETTLING INTO THE RUINS.
NUSSBAUM: Well, no, I wouldn't- SCP-001-A1: YOU ARE ASSISTING MY CITY. YOU ARE PERMITTED.
NUSSBAUM: Oh. Well, thank you. I wanted to probe you on some history?
[Pause.] SCP-001-A1: I DO NOT KNOW WHAT HELP I CAN BE. I HAVE GUIDED YOU TO THE HISTORICAL RECORDS.
NUSSBAUM: Yes, but we would like a… primary source. So you yourself remember nothing about the city you call home? What happened at the end of the Empire, perhaps?
[Pause.] NUSSBAUM: I am deeply sorry if we offended- SCP-001-A1: CURIOSITY SHOULD NEVER BE AN OFFENSE. BUT I DO NOT HAVE THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK. MY MEMORY - IT IS FRAGMENTED. MY MIND, SUNDERED. I REMEMBER LITTLE MORE THAN HAZES AND FLASHES. IMAGES.
SITTING AT THE MARKET. EATING A FRUIT AND WAITING FOR MOTHER. PLAYING WITH THE OTHER CHILDREN AND FALLING. CRYING AS MY BROTHER FIXED THE WELDS AND SCREWS ON MY LEG. MY MIND IS NOT MY OWN.
ARAM: So you weren't always like this? You were… human?
SCP-001-A1: I WAS BETTER. I WAS A MEKHANITE.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT APRIL 1984 [Pause.] SCP-001-A1: THIS WAS NOT ALWAYS MY FORM. THIS MUCH I KNOW. BUT WHO I WAS, HOW I ARRIVED IN THIS STATE - I DO NOT. BUT I REMEMBER THE SKY CRACKING AS DOWN CAME THE WALLS AND THE LANCEMEN HELD BACK THE TIDE OF MONSTROSITIES AND VERDURE SO WE COULD ESCAPE TO THE UNDERCITY.
NUSSBAUM: …That does explain the corpses.
ARAM: Jesus.
SCP-001-A1: I CANNOT TELL YOU MY HISTORY, BECAUSE I DO NOT REMEMBER.
BUT I CAN HELP YOU FIND IT YOURSELF.
NUSSBAUM: How?
SCP-001-A1: I TOLD YOU OF THE FULADH THRONE, AND HOW IT WAS USED BY EACH EMPEROR BUMARO TO CALL THE WISDOM OF ALL PREDECESSORS. IT ACCEPTS MEMORIES, IMPRINTED INTO SPECIAL CYLINDERS, AND FEEDS THEM TO ITS OCCUPANT THROUGH THEIR AUGMENTS.
NUSSBAUM: The cylinders we found in the basement.
ARAM: Wait, so - if I sat in the chair, the Throne, and someone fed the cylinder in, I would… see the memory? Feel it in my arm and leg?
SCP-001-A1: YES. ALL THAT IS REQUIRED IS THE FIST.
ARAM: The what?
SCP-001-A1: AN HEIRLOOM OF THE IMPERIAL FAMILY. A SPECIAL AUGMENT, ALLOWING THEM TO USE THE THRONE. THE THRONE IS ONE OF THE MOST MYSTICAL AND POWERFUL ARTIFACTS EVER CREATED. THE FIST ENSURES ONLY THOSE THAT WERE MEANT TO SIT ON IT COULD USE IT.
ARAM: Okay, where is this fist?
SCP-001-A1: YOU ALREADY HAVE IT.
ARAM: … The machine you gave me. It fits perfectly on the end of my arm.
That's not a coincidence, is it?
SCP-001-A1: NO. BUT I AM AS BLIND TO WHAT BROUGHT ABOUT THE END OF THE MEKHANITES AS YOU. GO NOW, AND DISCOVER OUR LEGACY. TELL ME, SO I MIGHT REMEMBER WHAT I WAS BEFORE.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Upon their exit from the undercity, Project Leads immediately assembled a team and made for the palace to investigate the Throne. The hum of machinery was barely audible from inside - it was concluded that bringing the city's power online had returned the Throne to working order.
The left armrest contained a port that fit the cylinders recovered from the library, while the right contained a depressed section molded around the grip of the Fist.
Testing was immediately commenced.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - APRIL 1984 «BEGIN LOG» NUSSBAUM: I am not sure about this, Robert.
ARAM: I trust Preserver. I'm the only one modded out enough to get a good view of what the memory is, and you need to be here to make sense of what I'm seeing. It'll be fine.
NUSSBAUM: Still.
ARAM: It's not like we have a lot of options if we want to figure out what happened.
[ARAM settles into the throne, placing the Fist into its depression.] ARAM: Wow, this thing is uncomfortable. Go on and put the cylinder in.
NUSSBAUM: Okay. Your engineers are out by the power line. Just say the word and we'll shut it down. Are we recording? Okay.
[NUSSBAUM steps to the side of the throne, placing the metal canister into it.
It sinks into the slot, and the Throne begins emitting a steadily increasing hum of machinery and clicking. After several seconds, a noise locks the Fist in place.] ARAM: Oh shit, here we go- [ARAM's eyes fill with a pale golden light, and he arches his spine, held in place by the Fist. He writhes wordlessly in the throne, gasping.] NUSSBAUM: Robert?! ROBERT!
ARAM: Oh shit oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck I see it oh God- NUSSBAUM: Shu- ARAM: NO! I CAN HANDLE IT!
[ARAM continues to writhe, bucking forward and backward in the throne, before abruptly ceasing and coming into a seated position.] NUSSBAUM: Robert? Are you there? What do you see?
ARAM: Oh, my god. It's beautiful.
NUSSBAUM: What is?
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT APRIL 1984 ARAM: I'm - I'm standing on the palace, the balcony facing the- the Eastern district, the sun is rising. It's casting this fucking beautiful dappled light across the whole city, I can see all of it, the buildings, there's no skyscrapers. It's not ruined, it's perfect, the streets are bustling with activity, the markets- people are hawking their wares, shouting - it's a living, breathing fucking city. They're all - they all have bionics of some sort, the sun hits the horizon and I can see them, their arms or legs or faces shining. I'm turning - I'm turning away and heading into the palace- the scene changed.
NUSSBAUM: What is it?
ARAM: I'm - I'm sitting in a carriage - no, a car? Some sort of car-thing, being driven through the streets. There's guards all around me, armored and covered in swords and some sort of primitive gun - and I have the window down, people are throwing - no, offering things to me. Bread, wine, fruits, gifts - someone just slid a canvas in - it's - it's an oil painting of a man, a huge brown man with a beard and - oh, God. It's me. I'm Bumaro, it's a painting of me. Half the body is all fuladh, left leg and both arms. I'm smiling and waving to the people, we're talking - it's Mekhanite, I can't understand them- NUSSBAUM: Just repeat the noises, I will translate later.
ARAM: "Thank you, your lord loves you. MEKHANE honors us all!" Just lots of happy shouting - okay, we're back in the palace now. I'm on the Throne, there's people in the throne room, soldiers I think. Generals. The important one is a woman, in this… dragon armor? They're all poring over a huge map of - I think it's Asia, it's all fucked up like the one in the engravings.
There's lines drawn everywhere, symbols, there's three big circles - one is in Egypt, one's in India, one's on the Chinese coast. They're all yelling, and arguing - they're looking at me- I look away, to the right - there's a woman there. She's beautiful, her eyes are gone, there's just a golden mask but she's beautiful, there's this intricate set of golden metal-feathered wings on her back. "I love you so much" - there's a little boy next to her - it's my wife and son - I'm looking at the generals. I nod - "The Covenant go too far. Prepare the Golden Legion." [The light disappears from ARAM's eyes and the locks release. He slumps backward, unconscious.] NUSSBAUM: Robert! Medic!
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Doctor Aram was removed from the throne room and taken to the infirmary at ARF-01. Medical personnel found he had a slightly elevated blood pressure and heartbeat, consistent with strenuous physical activity, but was otherwise healthy. He was placed in an infirmary bed; the following day, he was conscious, active, and responsive within normal levels. Closer inspection revealed no lasting physical or neurological damage from the incident, and Doctor Aram indeed expressed a closer interest in the archaeological team's findings in the following days, citing his experience as giving him a newfound interest in the extant Mekhanite culture. While the findings from the Throne test were transcribed and analyzed, other records found in the city were translated.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT APRIL 1984 And the sweep of the Golden Legion took three long centuries of expansion as the Mekhanite Empire's legates established beautiful, harmonious dominion on the oases and villages of the world. And as they expanded, they found relics - artifacts sheared from MEKHANE during their god's fall from heaven, scattered over the Earth, and with each relic carried back to Amoni-Ram the fervor of the people grew and grew as their leaders rose, warred, and died for their heirs.
And as the Legion marched forward over those long centuries, two other nations of man marched. The Covenant of the Daeva rode forth on their great horrible spirit-beasts, searing a path through the jungle from their twin-city of Mamjul Korar. And they used their black magic to open a gap, stepping from one side of the continent to another, and those that went through established another city - Adytum, that would after another two centuries fall to its own slaves, branding themselves the Nälka.
And all these parties marched into Asia, only vaguely aware of the existence of the other two until the Battle of Harumar, where they collided. The existence was an affront - the disgusting flesh-beasts of the Nälka an insult to the steel glory of MEKHANE, and the Covenant's plant- spirits choking and infesting the gears and wheels of the Legion, and so the Legion fired the first mortar, shattering the Covenant's ranks, and thus began a war that would end with the destruction of Asia.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT - APRIL 1984 The First War raged across the continent in every theater.
Fleets of golden-hulled warships constructed in Amoni- Ram and pushed downriver to encounter the Covenant in the Bay. The Nälka raised an army of the dishonored dead from Adytum and marched them ceaselessly to throw themselves in the front line, choking the vines of the sorcerer-nawabs. There were no laws in war, and there is no honor in death - every corpse was fodder for future battles. Forests were scorched during retreat to deny the Covenant seed, and the warriors of the Nälka and Covenant chose to throw their weapons in the sea rather than surrender the precious metal to the foundries of the Legion. And the COLOSSI, great thousand-arm-tall goliaths of steel and bronze and fuladh that rent the sky down upon the Nälkan hordes. Every second man was killed in the fighting, and it raged for three hundred years and would have gone on forever until the Abominate landed his ships on the western coast of Aethiopia and began his march to Amoni-Ram.
Devastation.
A week later, Doctor Aram once again volunteered to use the Throne, citing his quick recovery and the wealth of potential ancient knowledge hidden in the accounts of the various Emperors Bumaro.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MAY 1984 «BEGIN LOG» NUSSBAUM: Do you feel alright?
ARAM: Dandy. I know what to expect this time - I'm prepared.
NUSSBAUM: Still. Do not go so far this time.
ARAM: Worried about me?
NUSSBAUM: About the Throne, dummkopf.
ARAM: Sure. I'm ready.
NUSSBAUM: Okay. It looks like last time, you saw the beginning of the Mekhanite Empire's war, possibly through the eyes of the original Bumaro.
From there, we think we have managed to figure out a rough chronological order for the cylinders. So today I want to try to get something from the middle.
ARAM: Aren't we looking for what happened at the end?
NUSSBAUM: I doubt you would be able to discern who exactly is attacking the city in the panic and confusion. We need to go slightly back, try to see if we can deduce which way the winds are blowing, what the nature of the Nälka and the Covenant are, exactly.
ARAM: Okay.
NUSSBAUM: We also need to try to figure out the historical standing of these empires, their influence on their contemporaries.
ARAM: I don't exactly control what I see, you know.
NUSSBAUM: Aha, but I believe you can. It would not be very useful if the kings could not specify what knowledge they wanted to recall from their forefathers.
ARAM: How would I do it?
NUSSBAUM: Focus your thoughts, try to recall- ARAM: You have no idea, do you?
[ARAM laughs.] NUSSBAUM: Okay. Here we go.
[NUSSBAUM inserts the cylinder into the Throne, inciting the same reaction as before from ARAM, though significantly less violent and more controlled.] ARAM: Oh, shit. Okay. It's different, it's all- wait. This isn't Amoni-Ram. This is somewhere else.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MAY 1984 NUSSBAUM: Describe it to me.
ARAM: Still- yeah, still in the desert, but it's like… a movie desert, all perfect sand dunes. A stone city, wide- flat, not advanced like Amoni-Ram.
Monuments. Statues. There's a river, it's fucking massive - wait, I've been here before. This is the Nile - this is Luxor. This is Thebes, we're in Egypt.
NUSSBAUM: There is our historical contemporary.
ARAM: It's late, the sun's setting. I'm - okay, I'm a Bumaro, sitting at the head of a caravan. We're riding automatons, six legged beetle-things - we're pulling into Thebes, there's a party waiting for us - we're being welcomed into the city - we're in a throne room now. There's a man sitting on a throne - it's a Pharaoh.
NUSSBAUM: Based on the time-frame… that would be Menkaure, the builder of the smallest of the Giza pyramids.
ARAM: We're.. talking, exchanging gifts. Pleasantry. Wait, no - I just sent all the servants out, it's just us and our bodyguards now. We're - discussing something. He just asked if he can expect my support against the - something called the Abominate? "My army is already spread thin to enforce peace on my land. I cannot afford to be involved in your affairs, Pharaoh." We're arguing - shouting. "The Abominate is marching on Amoni-Ram, and he will cut a swath through Egypt and stack your corpses to build a bridge across the Nile for his army." "If I rout the Covenant at Thamud, we can stand united-" He's - I said no.
I'm leaving, he's angry. Why doesn't he understand? There are bigger things at stake!
NUSSBAUM: Robert, focus. What is happening?
ARAM: Same- no, different scene, different throne room. Different ruler - a man in a robe and turban. Looks Arab or Ottoman or something. He's shaking his head- now it's some sort of tribal chief, in a tent. A Rus prince. We're discussing establishing trade routes, selling our fuladh, the technology - they're willing to trade, but they don't want to get involved with the War and risk the Nälka or the Covenant.
NUSSBAUM: So there are contemporaries. But they did not risk their heads in a clash between titans.
ARAM: Okay, now- oh, sweet Christ.
NUSSBAUM: Robert?
ARAM: It's - oh my god. We're in a city - a ruined city. There's jungle around it.
It's aflame - the sun is setting, the smoke's thick in the air and rising in plumes.
I'm standing on a bluff, there's a regiment behind me - my soldiers, the Golden Legion, are lobbing things into the city. Firebombs and mortars. They're scaling the walls - the defenders are- they look Indian almost, they're running in terror, there's - ghosts? Some kind of spirits swirling in the air, mixing with the smoke.
We're bringing down the walls and killing the soldiers on the battlements. I'm - there's someone behind me. The general, the woman, in the dragon armor. The troops are looking to her. I'm giving her a nod, and she screams something, and they charge down the bluff, this giant metal armor-suit leading the charge.
They're shattering the line - Jesus, it's a fucking massacre. She's holding a sword up- holy shit, lightning just struck it. Now I'm in the city. I'm on my mount, surveying the ruins. The woman is beside me - I touch her head. I can see myself in her helmet. I'm young, I can't be more than 25, but I'm in the intricate battle armor. There's survivors - there's someone dragging themselves across the dirt, holding their guts in- Jesus! Fuck!
NUSSBAUM: What?
ARAM: She just stepped on his head. Something burst out - this spirit-flame thing, just shot into the air. His brains are on the dirt. Oh man, I'm gonna be sick.
NUSSBAUM: Focus, Robert, please. Try to think of Amoni-Ram.
ARAM: Oh- okay, we're there. I'm standing in the palace. It's - the city's militarized. There's guards in the streets and the walls have - are those machine gun turrets?
NUSSBAUM: Are you talking to someone?
ARAM: Yes. An engineer. "Is Mekhane's Kiss ready?" "We can't be sure without testing it, but we feel confident. The undercity has been retrofitted to fit all of the components - they require a simply tremendous power source, but it works." There's something in the distance- Oh- oh holy fuck.
NUSSBAUM: What is it?
ARAM: There's- mechs. They're gigantic, they have to be 200 feet tall. Four legs and two arms, they're moving slowly but they're fucking huge, I can see three of them from here. They're circling the city.
NUSSBAUM: Are they approaching?
ARAM: No. They're enforcing a perimeter. They're our weapons. Oh man. This isn't a war. This is an apocalypse.
NUSSBAUM: Okay. Time to take a break, I think.
ARAM: Yeah. Yeah.
[ARAM removes himself from the Throne.] NUSSBAUM: Robert?
ARAM: Yes?
NUSSBAUM: When did you learn to speak Mekhanite and Egyptian?
ARAM: … I have no idea.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Upon the discoveries of the epochal scale of the First War waged between the three empires, research began to take a special priority on war records and weapons technology that may have been left behind. Over the course of the following weeks, records of manufacture and shipment for thousands of ammunition and supplies were translated, revealing a scale of war production previously considered impossible in antiquity and rivalling the war output of developed nations in the modern era. In addition, the references to the "Mekhane's Kiss", suggested to be an extremely powerful superweapon of some sort, incited a new flurry of research into the components and devices in the undercity.
▷CLOSE◁ FROM THE DESK OF RESEARCHER MUHAMMAD ZAID AMONI-RAM INITIATIVE Memo to Doctor Robert Aram I understand you're recovering from extended experimentation with the Throne - not to disturb your rest, but the team thinks we've come up with a solid theory on what the device under the city, the Mekhane's Kiss, is.
Just some background context - some of the geologists that came in during the second wave of personnel made some interesting but, at the time, irrelevant discoveries, amounting to the revelation that the sand within SCP- 001 is of a slightly different chemical composition to the sand outside it. The sand inside is more similar to a kind of white sand found in a section of the Arabian desert several hundred miles to the north-east.
We didn't know what to make of it, but the recent research into the undercity has changed things. We've mapped out the whole device - it occupies 65% of the undercity's volume, practically everything is connected to it that isn't stuff like the sewers. Its components have also become more understandable with our new experience on Mekhanite design architecture and philosophy. The technology is antiquated, but it's almost all paratech - extremely powerful conduits, converters, connections, etc, all terminating in a small chamber emitting extremely high levels of radiation. We sent a protected probe in, warding it - it melted a few minutes later but we ran the pictures and energy signals against the database and got… nothing. We've never seen anything like it.
But then, Tenz decided to call in a few favors and run it against the GOC database. Apparently they have seen something like it, and tried to weaponize it - a long-distance, large-scale matter de/reconstructor and emitter. A gigantic teleporter, basically. Apparently big enough to move an entire city hundreds of kilometers. Mekhane's Kiss isn't a superweapon, it's a Hail Mary.
Unfortunately, it's completely burned out. It'd require a team months to get it back into remotely working order, and that's ignoring the problem of power. It's way too demanding to pull from the city's power grid - we think it draws directly from the cold fusion reactors, which is another impossibility. Plus we still don't know how it was controlled, or how any of the computation works without… well, computers. In any case, I don't think Amoni-Ram will be teleporting anywhere soon.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT - JUNE 1984 ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT JUNE 1984 And in the sixtieth year of the war, as the fighting reached a crescendo and Thamud burned with the shelling of the Legion on the flesh-hordes of the Nälka, the Matriarch of the Covenant and the Grand Karcist Ion met under the shadow of night in the black catacombs of Adytum. And there they came to understand a truth - bitter enemies though they might be, the flesh of the Nälka and the plants of the Covenant were an extension of each other, both extrusions of the natural world. Evenly matched, neither could truly destroy the other. But the Mekhanite blessed steel was something else - a gift from the sky, well capable of crushing each of them. But together, they stood a chance.
And such it was that as the invasion plans were drawn and the great siege engines were constructed and the polearms cooled in the foundries, the Golden Legion marshalled and marched themselves, beginning the long, bloody truck to Adytum. And as they crossed through the desert of Asia, the Nälka were lending their forces to another invasion, this one raised by the sorcerer-nawabs with the Daeva against Amoni-Ram. A black, wicked army secretly gathering in the jungles of the South, marching on the suddenly-vulnerable First Ram of the Mekhanites.
And with them came the magics - the Nälka offered one of their greatest boons, a plague to infest the city. And the Covenant offered the Song of the Daeva to make the verdant greenery of the desert rebel against its masters.
And even then, their marshaled forces were not enough to dominate the colossi and take the city. But in the Far West, beyond the Gate, another storm was brewing. The Abominate, may his name never be spoken of, stood on the shores of the coast as the Damned Fleet disembarked from their massive ships. And his army assembled itself from his prisoners and his soldiers, and the march to the East, to Amoni-Ram, began. The city settled between two unstoppable forces, neither aware of the other's presence, as the two armies pushed to the walls of the city and the head of its king, queen, and general.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - JUNE 1984 Another meeting with O5-11 was scheduled for June 26th to ascertain the progress of the Amoni-Ram Initiative and relay new discoveries regarding the fate of the Mekhanite culture. On June 25th, an unidentified aircraft was detected 10km away from SCP-001. Upon confirmation that the aircraft was approaching SCP-001's entrance, ARF-01 radioed it asking for identification.
The aircraft responded with valid Overwatch Command credentials, coming to a close landing and allowing O5-11 to disembark and enter SCP-001, escorted by MTF Alpha-1 "Red Right Hand".
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - JUNE 1984 «BEGIN LOG» [O5-11 is standing in one of Amoni-Ram's thoroughfares. An Alpha-1 agent stands on every nearby corner and window. The sun is directly overhead, but the cooling and power units on the street corners keep the air at room temperature. A hot, silent wind passes through the broadway. ARAM and NUSSBAUM approach from the north.] NUSSBAUM: [Out-of-breath] Hello, sir.
ARAM: O5-11. Sorry about the welcome, we weren't expecting you.
O5-11: I arranged a meeting, didn't I?
NUSSBAUM: Yes, but we didn't expect you to, ah- O5-11: Show up in person? Don't blame you, we're not exactly an outgoing bunch. But I've heard so many great things about this city over the past year.
About its secrets, architecture, technology, culture, history. I wanted to see it for myself.
ARAM: Everything you were hoping for?
O5-11: That and more. I'll admit it does look a lot nicer now that you've started to rebuild the place.
ARAM: Thanks. We've managed to get primary power back online, along with the train system and a lot of the undercity's navigation maps and such. The power and climate control as well, obviously. We're going to try and get the city's weaponry back online soon, see what kind of defensive technology they were packing.
O5-11: Hold that thought. Doctor Nussbaum?
NUSSBAUM: Yes?
O5-11: I'm told your historical team has made several breakthroughs recently.
Especially using the Throne-anomaly. Which, if I recall correctly, you're the primary test subject for, Doctor Aram?
ARAM: That's correct. We've done about a dozen tests since we discovered it - only a handful have turned up anything substantial, it's mostly fragmented memories from old kings. Watching as the streets swell with citizens and goods flood into the markets. Visions of battlefields as the Mekhanite army takes on the Covenant and the Nälka.
O5-11: Right. And of course, you've translated…. how many of the recovered tablets now?
NUSSBAUM: Dozens, over a hundred. But like the Throne records, most are simple, banal correspondence.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT JUNE 1984 O5-11: But not the recent ones.
NUSSBAUM: Correct. I have a presentation compiled in my office. Shall we?
O5-11: Lead the way.
[NUSSBAUM, ARAM, O5-11, and the Alpha-1 operatives enter the office inside ARF-02. It fully covers one of the higher floors of the massive skyscraper.
Inside, the furniture is a combination of metal and intricate stonework. A wall of windows looks out over the city. The group takes a seat in front of the desk.] O5-11: Hm. I expected more of a… cantonment. But no, you seem quite comfortably set up here.
[NUSSBAUM laughs.] NUSSBAUM: Well, we have been here for nearly a year now. Plenty of time to settle in. And expanding to the second site has also helped free up space.
Everyone has their own chambers.
ARAM: Home sweet home.
NUSSBAUM: Anyway as you know, we have made great strides recently in determining the fate of Amoni-Ram and the Mekhanite culture at large, using translated historical records in tandem with the Throne visions and SCP-001- A1's admittedly limited accounts. It has been established that the Daevic Covenant originate from the Indian subcontinent and the Nälka are likely from Central or East Asia. But the later records repeatedly mention a fourth party - the so-called 'Abominate'. As of now, we know functionally nothing about who or what this is - only that they were in possession of a fleet of seafaring vessels that landed on the shores west of Amoni-Ram, in the 'Old Country'. My hypothesis is that this is West Africa.
O5-11: The records say this figure marched to Amoni-Ram.
NUSSBAUM: While the Covenant-Nälka coalition marched from the east, yes.
O5-11: An army crossing the entire breadth of the Sahara four-thousand years ago is… hard-to-believe.
ARAM: It's not the strangest thing we've seen out here.
NUSSBAUM: Indeed. We also have reason to believe that the Gobi desert was a significant theater in the First War, which would suggest the three primary cultures also had some sort of experience warring in deserts.
O5-11: You say three primary cultures - you don't include the Abominate in the equation?
NUSSBAUM: We are not sure if they're human yet, much less a distinct culture group. The Aegean tablets also do not mention any fourth party in the First war. However, I also have been in contact with some colleagues of mine at King Saud University, researching the mundane Thamud culture in the northwest.
They recently unearthed a trove of tablets in the region, apparently detailing a cataclysmic battle between four armies for control of a major city.
O5-11: Bingo.
NUSSBAUM: Yes. I already have some people translating it - it is quite complex, but full translations should be ready within the month. In any case, the Mekhanite records we have found indicate that in the later stages of the war, the Nälka and Daevic Covenant allied themselves to take Amoni-Ram while the Mekhanite's Golden Legion marched across Asia to Adytum, the Nälka capital.
This covers three of our armies, and evidently the Abominate is the fourth. But they also imply that the combined force of the Nälka and Daevic Covenant was not enough to take the city - that the Abominate, whatever it is, is more responsible for the fall of Amoni-Ram.
O5-11: Goddamn. That's… disconcerting. But I suppose that there's nothing to do now but wait for translations, yes?
NUSSBAUM: That would appear to be the case.
O5-11: Right. Doctor Aram, you said you had updates about the technology?
ARAM: That's right. We've discovered a lot of military weapons, it looks like - they range from CQC polearms and swords and what seem to be primitive chainsaws to long-range shoulder-mounted mortars and elephant guns. These were all in ruined warehouses in the sacked portion of the city, but we've also made a few interesting finds in the undercity.
O5-11: Do tell.
ARAM: First, a few suits of functional power armor, of the kind in the Throne records. Exoskeletons to enhance strength, speed, durability, power, some of them even flight-capable through gravity-defying paratechnology.
Unfortunately, they were unusable without Mekhanite implants to link to.
O5-11: Well that's a goddamn shame.
ARAM: Was. A few days later, SCP-001-A directed us to another chamber in the undercity. This one filled with assembly lines, industrial sections - and crates on crates of Mekhanite implants. Fuladh and steel bionic arms, legs, prosthetics, torso cages, even heads. And of course sensory implants - replacement visuals and sensory suites, just like ours. The Foundation already gives those things out like candy - so I think they're worth experimenting on, with D-Class.
O5-11: You… want to outfit D-class with millenia-old cybernetics so you can put them inside highly-destructive mechsuits? You know I can't approve that, Robert.
ARAM: Hm. I… see.
O5-11: The risk is just too great.
ARAM: Sure. Okay. In the meantime, we'd like to try and see if the city's defensive systems still work. The ones I saw in my visions. The mechs, the gun emplacements.
O5-11: These… visions. You trust them?
ARAM: I do. Seen them with my own two- well, not eyes, but you know what I mean. Why wouldn't I?
O5-11: Maybe I'm just old-fashioned, but I don't lay my faith in all the technology quite so easily. I'd be wary. But, if what you said is true, then there's at least two superweapons in the city that the Foundation could deeply benefit from. Those colossuses are… impressive. And, of course, the teleporter.
Mekhane's Kiss.
ARAM: It's not… yes, sir. I'm going to need lots of supplies. Deuterium and tritium, most importantly. We're going to try and bring those cold fusion reactors online.
O5-11: That's a big ask. And a dangerous one. We'd like to know how the city was destroyed before we accidentally blow it up, hah.
ARAM: We've already mastered most of the technology we've discovered, and we do have Preserver to assist us still.
O5-11: SCP-001-A1, yes. Still… ARAM: Discovering the city's defense - and how effective they are - is crucial to getting an accurate image of the battle. Right, Hedvig?
NUSSBAUM: I… [Pause.] NUSSBAUM: Yes… yes it is. I support the idea.
O5-11: Hm. Well, if both of you are in agreement, I can make it happen. But be safe, and don't take any needless risks. We don't want anything happening this far in, yes?
NUSSBAUM: Of course.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT - JULY 1984 FROM THE DESK OF DOCTOR ROBERT ARAM AMONI-RAM INITIATIVE Personal log Progress on rebuilding the cold fusion reactors is progressing much, much faster than projections. Normally, I'd be worried, but I'm surprisingly calm. It's obvious - our people are getting familiar with the technology. The fuladh foundries are operating at amazing efficiency, we've worked out how to mold and shape the metal just how we need it, and what last year looked like a bizarre, nonsensical circuit structure and design philosophy now strikes me as beautifully idiosyncratic. A snapshot into a bygone era.
I've never really been one for history. More of a STEM type - I never looked down on those that pursued history. I just didn't see the attraction - machines are in front of you, something tangible you can see and hear and touch and interact with. You can't do that with history, not really.
The Fuladh Throne, of course, has changed that. I've spent lifetimes of ancient emperors in minutes. It's staggering. The depth of emotion and personality you can feel from only a few choice minutes in someone's body. Their grief, pain, joy, their story. Fascinating stuff. The technology of the Throne and any possible side effects remain elusive, but we've been testing it for a few weeks now, maybe a dozen times, and while I'm always tired after - not a surprise, at my age - I feel fine otherwise. And now I know Mekhanite, Greek, and Egyptian. Go figure.
I've gotten a front-seat view to the First War and it is… apocalyptic. There's really no other word for it. Gigantic mech suits crushing cities as the sky itself opens up? Spirit-demons fighting alongside human compatriots? Metal soldiers charging walls? Insanity. A secret, bloody history the world doesn't even remember. But as with all war, it's not quite so black-and-white.
Being inside Bumaro's - or, the various Bumaros' bodies - none of them were tyrants, or dictators. Maybe autocrats, but what emperor wasn't? They all wanted to protect their people, to raise them to something beyond human. I can't help but sympathize. Nothing impresses onto you the fragility of your body than nearly losing it - but they understood that and actively improved themselves using the bionics and implants. Reach heaven through transhumanism.
Speaking of implants and bionics, the cache we discovered some weeks ago along with the Legion armor; O5-11 denied D-class testing. It's frustrating. We can't use the glorious technology here to improve the world, we can't use it to improve ourselves, we can barely use it to improve the damn city. It's devastating, and most of the team agrees with me that we should use it.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT JULY 1984 So we did. I can't use D-class to test the implants, but using myself is a different matter. The new arm is… wonderful. It's smoother, more responsive, more sensitive and durable and it doesn't even hurt at the end of the day. I can sleep with it on. 99% of our personnel in Amoni-Ram are already augmented, so changing out their stainless steel arm for a fuladh one or something is no big deal. Why should Five be the only one that reaps the gifts the Mekhanites left us?
On July 29th, 2:05PM, Doctor Nussbaum and four members of the archaeological team were excavating a number of mosaics in the undercity. Over the course of the day, the team progressed further inward, into an unstable section. The ceiling overhead suddenly gave way, causing a minor collapse. Due to a number of strength-enhancing bionic and cybernetic augments, the archaeological team members were able to escape largely unharmed; however, Doctor Nussbaum sustained severe internal and external injuries from the collapse and was rushed into emergency surgery in the ARF-01 infirmary.
Due to the severity of injuries sustained - including a shattered collarbone, fractured spine, cranial injuries, and hemorrhaging - medical personnel were able to stabilize her in critical condition. Her likelihood of survival was deemed extremely low. At this point, Doctor Aram arrived with several engineering team personnel, an SCP-001-A instance, and a variety of Mekhanite implants and augments. He proposed, to the medical team's agreement, that utilizing the advancing Mekhanite augments to stabilize her and offer her a chance of survival was the ethical option, and was legitimately possible using SCP-001-A1's expertise voiced through the -A instance. A combination of medical and engineering personnel worked for 29 hours to implant 17 pieces of Mekhanite technology across Doctor Nussbaum's body. After 32 hours unconscious, she awoke on July 31st.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - JULY 1984 «BEGIN LOG» NUSSBAUM: [Whispering] Wa-ter.
ARAM: Wh- Oh! You're awake. Here. Don't move your arms.
[ARAM lowers a cup of water to her lips. She takes long sips.] NUSSBAUM: Can't…. see.
ARAM: That's probably for the best right now. Do you remember what happened?
NUSSBAUM: Ceiling… collapsed. Assistants… okay?
ARAM: Yeah, yeah, they made it out fine. You weren't so lucky - they brought you to the infirmary, but you were fucked up. Really, really bad. Broke nearly every bone in your body.
NUSSBAUM: Augh.
[NUSSBAUM freezes.] NUSSBAUM: I cannot feel my legs. Or my arms. My back aches.
ARAM: The morphine- NUSSBAUM: Robert, why can't I feel my limbs?!
ARAM: You were going to die. I stepped in - we worked for nearly a day and a half, nonstop.
NUSSBAUM: Doing what?!
ARAM: Replacing your shattered body with the Mekhanite prosthetics we recovered. Letting them do the work of saving your life. We fit them in and they went to work. Your immune system integrated with them seamlessly - it was like they came to life, working to repair the damage done.
NUSSBAUM: [Hyperventilating] Scheiße. Scheiße, Scheiße, S- ARAM: Hedvig, calm down. Listen to me.
NUSSBAUM: Oh God. I look like a monster, don't I?
ARAM: Listen to me! You would've died! And even if you didn't, you would've laid in this hospital bed for three agonizing years while your body stitched itself back together. And then you would have to relearn how to walk, sit, breathe.
And you would've suffered, in pain, for the rest of your natural life. I understand how you feel, I felt the same way after the accident. That I had been ruined, that I would never be the same.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT JULY 1984 [Pause.] ARAM: The flesh is weak, Hedvig. Your new body - you'll be up on your feet in a week, maybe less. You may never be the same. You'll be better.
NUSSBAUM: [Silence.] ARAM: Get some rest. And, for what it's worth, I don't think you look like a monster at all. These implants are works of art - the spine support is spread like a pair of wings. You look like an angel.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Doctor Nussbaum continued her recovery for two weeks in SCP-001, refusing medevac to Area- 66 in Sinai upon seeing the extremely rapid recuperation offered by the implants. Evaluations by medical personnel provided insight into the enhancements offered by the Mekhanite augmentations. Internally, they integrated with her immune and nervous systems, offering fine, instinctual control and an increase in healing speed. Due to the relative lightness of the fuladh metalwork compared to steel, her body mass did not shift considerably. However, her strength, lift capacity, running speed, pull weight, and a suite of other measurements vastly increased in the weeks following her recovery. She similarly reported significant increases in her sensory ability, well beyond that given by her former Foundation-issue ocular and auditory implants. The spinal brace and its external portion, an artfully crafted pair of wings able to be extended and retracted by the user, allow a limited but notable ability to glide on strong updrafts.
On August 28th, Doctor Nussbaum declined an offer of a desk position in Area-66, choosing to continue her work as Project Co-Lead of the Amoni-Ram Initiative.
Doctor Aram was reprimanded for his unauthorized use of potentially dangerous anomalous artifacts on a colleague and himself, but was not given disciplinary action considering the extenuating circumstances and Doctor Nussbaum's expressed gratitude to him, stating that if she had been conscious, she would have consented to the procedure.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - AUGUST 1984 INTERVIEWERs: Doctor Hedvig Nussbaum & Doctor Robert Aram SUBJECT: SCP-001-A1 «BEGIN LOG» ARAM: Hello, Preserver.
SCP-001-A1: YOU RETURN. MY EYES INFORMED ME OF THE ACCIDENT. YOU HAVE MY SYMPATHIES, HEDARA.
NUSSBAUM: My name is Hedvig.
[Pause.] SCP-001-A1: OF COURSE. MY APOLOGIES.
NUSSBAUM: Yes, well… thank you. I am told you helped the team save my life.
ARAM: They did.
NUSSBAUM: How did you know?
SCP-001-A1: MY AUTOMATA SCOUR THE UNDERCITY. I SAW A STRUCTURAL FAILURE IN THAT SECTOR, AND DISPATCHED SEVERAL UNITS TO WARN YOU. I WAS TOO LATE.
NUSSBAUM: If you were too late, I would not be here now.
SCP-001-A1: INDEED. YOU ARE… AN IMPRESSIVE SIGHT.
NUSSBAUM: Excuse me?
SCP-001-A1: YOU ARE THE FIRST HUMAN I HAVE SEEN WITH FULL AUGMENTATIONS. THE WAY IT USED TO BE DONE. THE WAY WE ALL USED TO BE.
NUSSBAUM: Oh, right. I suppose this was standard fare in your time.
SCP-001-A1: YES. MY MEMORIES INCH CLOSER. I REMEMBER RECEIVING MY FIRST - MY LEFT HAND, MADE OF A POLISHED RED.
NUSSBAUM: Right… We came by to tell you that we have nearly exhausted the records and cylinders you led us to. They are fascinating, but they do not explain what happened to Amoni-Ram after it was marched on by the Nälka, the Covenant, and something called the Abominate.
ARAM: Which makes sense, if they were being invaded and sacked they wouldn't be writing stuff down. But you're still here so… we were hoping you'd have something.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT AUGUST 1984 SCP-001-A1: I DO. I REMEMBER GARGANTUAN SPIRIT-BEASTS THAT DWARFED THE COLOSSI, FORCED THEM BACK. I REMEMBER CATAPULTS AND TREBUCHETS AND GREAT SIEGE ENGINES PELTING THE BUILDINGS WITH STRANGE GLASS PROJECTILES. OUR CONFUSION UNTIL WE INVESTIGATED THE DAMAGE AND THE PLAGUES SWEPT THROUGH OUR RANKS LIKE A WILDFIRE. I REMEMBER THE ABOMINATE LOWERING THE GREAT DOOR TO THE CITY WITH A SINGLE SPELL. I REMEMBER DONNING MY WAR-ARMOR AND LEADING MY LIEGE AND HIS FAMILY TO SAFETY, BEING READY TO LAY DOWN MY LIFE. I REMEMBER FAILING.
ARAM: There's that name again. The Abominate.
SCP-001-A1: I HAVE NO FACE OR IDENTITY TO OFFER. JUST THE NAME.
NUSSBAUM: It sounds like whoever you were, you were very important.
SCP-001-A1: YES. LIKE SO MANY TENS OF THOUSANDS, I WAS A WITNESS TO THE FALL OF THE MEKHANITE EMPIRE. BUT NOW, I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO REMAINS.
ARAM: This is tragic, and you have my sympathies. But unfortunately this doesn't tell us anything we don't already know.
SCP-001-A1: BUT THIS MAY.
[SCP-001-A1's left "hand", protruding from the machine, slowly unclasps.
Within its skeletal grip is another cylinder for the Fuladh Throne. This one is made of a rougher metal compared to the delicate ceramic of the others.] ARAM: Where did this come from?
SCP-001-A1: I HAVE LOOKED UNTO MYSELF. THE HUNDREDS OF CUBITS OF INSCRIBED STEEL AND TUBES THAT HOLD MY ENDURING SOUL. MY MIND IS SPREAD ACROSS THE ENTIRE UNDERCITY, BANKS OF DATA IN EVERY CORNER OF AMONI-RAM AND THE EYES THAT CONNECT THEM. AND I HAVE SEEN, IN THE DEEPEST REACHES OF MYSELF, A SHRINE.
NUSSBAUM: What kind of shrine?
SCP-001-A1: PIECES OF WAR ARMOR, METICULOUSLY WRAPPED AND PRESERVED. AND WITHIN THEM, THIS. THE CHAMBER HAS BEEN SEALED FOR CENTURIES. OVER THE MILLENIA, MY MIND HAS DETERIORATED - THE CIRCUITRY WAS NOT BUILT TO HOLD ME FOR SO LONG. I HAVE FORGOTTEN WHY IT IS THERE. YOU MUST TELL ME.
NUSSBAUM: That is… intriguing. Yes, we can experiment with it right away.
[NUSSBAUM gingerly takes the cylinder from SCP-001-A1, clasping it in her metal fingers.] ARAM: You mind taking that up to be catalogued? I'll catch up in just a minute, just need to go over some schematics.
NUSSBAUM: Certainly.
[NUSSBAUM exits the chamber.] [At this point, official audio ceases. However, scientific equipment in the chamber left by the engineering team contained small microphones that recorded the following conversation. This audio was not recovered until several months later by chance during a routine database sweep.] SCP-001-A1: YOU ASK ABOUT THE THRONE.
ARAM: What makes you say that?
SCP-001-A1: YOU SEEK THE ABILITY TO COMMAND CHANGE. YOU RESENT THE LIMITATIONS OF YOUR STATION.
ARAM: I've no idea what you're talking about.
SCP-001-A1: THE FULADH THRONE WAS FORGED FROM THE VERY FIRST SHEETS OF THE METAL SHORN FROM MEKHANE'S BODY. A THRONE IS MORE THAN A SYMBOL OF POWER. IT IS AN INSTRUMENT OF POWER.
ARAM: What do you mean?
SCP-001-A1: YOU HAVE ALREADY NOTICED IT, HAVEN'T YOU?
[Pause.] SCP-001-A1: YOUR VOICE CARRIES WEIGHT. YOU COMMAND ATTENTION. JUST NOW, SHE DIDN'T EVEN PROTEST - SIMPLY FOLLOWED YOUR ORDER.
ARAM: I'm the project head, of course they listen to me.
SCP-001-A1: LISTENING IS AN ACT. OBEDIENCE IS BEYOND THAT.
[Pause.] SCP-001-A1: YOU HAVE SEEN THE ENGRAVINGS. WHEN THE THRONE WAS FORGED AT THE DAWN OF THE ERA, BUMARO'S PEOPLE BOWED TO IT, AND SPREAD FORTH ACROSS ASIA LIKE GLEAMING SWORD. LAYING DOWN THEIR LIVES FOR THEIR LORD. THE THRONE CONTAINS THE POWER TO DOMINATE LESSER MINDS. THE KINGS WHO SAT ON IT USED THIS. AND NOW, WITH EVERY SEAT YOU TAKE ON IT, YOU INVOKE THE MEMORIES - THE NAME - THE POWER OF THE KINGS OF OLD.
ARAM: Why are you telling me this?
SCP-001-A1: SURELY YOU SEE IT BY NOW. THE PARALLEL - TIME IS A FLAT CIRCLE, AND IT SWALLOWS ITS OWN TAIL LIKE A SAND SERPENT. YOU HAVE SEEN BUMARO'S MEMORIES - YOU HAVE SEEN HEDARA'S WINGS. LOOK AROUND YOU.
ARAM: This is ridiculous.
[ARAM turns to leave.] SCP-001-A1: YOU SEEK TO CHANGE THE WORLD. MAKE IT MORE ACCEPTING TO PEOPLE LIKE YOU AND HER. SO DID HE. THE VOICE OF THE EMPEROR IS YOURS NOW. DO NOT SQUANDER IT.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ The following day, another experiment was scheduled with the Throne using the cylinder provided by SCP-001-A1.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - AUGUST 1984 «BEGIN LOG» NUSSBAUM: Alright. This cylinder is slightly different, but the process will presumably be the same.
ARAM: I'm ready.
NUSSBAUM: Actually, I was thinking perhaps I could handle this one.
ARAM: What?
NUSSBAUM: I have gotten familiar with the… [NUSSBAUM flexes her prosthetic limbs.] NUSSBAUM: Yes. -A1 told us that the necessities to use it were augments and the Fist. These implants are original Mekhanite technology dating back to the Empire. It is possible they may let us see more.
ARAM: I… I guess. But they're an unexpected variable. They could interact differently too.
NUSSBAUM: We cannot know until we try. And we have not exactly shied away from trying… experimental procedures.
[The wing arrangement on her back briefly unfolds and extends to its full width before collapsing back in.] ARAM: Yeah. Fair point. I don't know, I just - I don't know.
NUSSBAUM: Are you alright, Robert? You're acting strange.
ARAM: I'm fine. It's fine. You can do it. Just, you know, be safe.
[NUSSBAUM takes her seat in the Throne, pulling the Fist onto her left arm and inserting it into the depression. Behind her, ARAM places the cylinder into its socket and turns it. NUSSBAUM's head jerks back and her eyes glow golden, but her reaction is significantly more tempered than ARAM's first exposure.] NUSSBAUM: OH! Oh. Oh goodness.
ARAM: You're taking it better than me. I imagine the implants have to do with that. What do you see?
NUSSBAUM: I am- Oh God, it is loud. I'm standing - there, I am standing on the walls of the city, the - yes, the Eastern Gate. It is morning, the sun is beating down on the desert - there are hundreds of us, soldiers, lining the walls and - yes, gun turrets. It is tense, I can feel myself barking out orders, and the soldiers are obeying. Setting up siege engines, loading ammunition, evening out the wall. Preparing for war. We are all in armor - mine is more elaborate than the others.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT AUGUST 1984 ARAM: Yeah, the Emperor's armor was- NUSSBAUM: No. I am not the Emperor. Not a Bumaro.
ARAM: Who, then?
NUSSBAUM: I… I do not know. I can see myself in the metal of a gun turret next to me. I'm a woman, olive-skinned and small. The armor is elaborate, it shows… dragons? Fighting each other.
ARAM: I've seen her before, she was one of the Legion's generals.
NUSSBAUM: Hold on- oh, mein gott.
ARAM: What is it?
NUSSBAUM: The colossus. It is…. gargantuan. It just took a step and shook the entire city. It is heading away - towards the horizon. Wait, I see something in the distance. Something kicking up sand. An… army. No, a horde. I cannot see individuals. Just a mass of bodies and armor and banners and mounts in a dust storm. They go as far as the eye can see. There must be tens of thousands of them. They are too far to engage. But they are coming. And there is nothing we can do to stop their advance.
ARAM: That must be the Nälka and the Covenant, then. Do you see any sign of what the Abom- NUSSBAUM: It changed. It- the city is on fire. Amoni-Ram is burning. Oh God it is loud. I cannot hear myself think. The sky is red, choked with smog. All I can hear is the clashing of steel and screaming. We are in the Southern district - crouching behind a barricade. I am- I leaned up and over and started firing my weapon. I can't see - I hear screaming. The buildings are collapsing, we are under mortar fire - we need to fall back!
ARAM: Stay with me. What does the enemy look like?
NUSSBAUM: Beasts. Monstrosities. Great masses of flesh and limbs in a sickly pale purple, dragging themselves through the dirt streets. Spirits in the air, purple fire covering the walls. There are too many, they're advancing. I can hear the beating of their drums and their war-chants. I can hear cannonfire beyond the walls, I can just barely see the colossi in the horizon through the smoke - the streets are wet with blood and slime. We are standing over the ruins of a house now. A mortar hit it. There is…. something in the center. An object.
ARAM: What is it?
NUSSBAUM: Someone- one of the men touched it, it broke open, he just - his face burst into leaves, screaming and contorting.
ARAM: What?
NUSSBAUM: There are vines, spreading outward from him. Creeping from his writhing corpse toward us. It is the petrified plant we discovered in the undercity. A biological weapon.
ARAM: Jesus Christ.
NUSSBAUM: We are falling into the undercity, retreating. The Legion holding the entrances and chokepoints against the swarms - the citizens trying to evacuate or dying. Oh God, there's so much death. I just split a man open chin to groin. Beheading one of the flesh-beasts. Blood pooling in the golden channels of my shortsword, splashing across my armor- ARAM: Focus, Hedvig. Try to call up the image of the Emperor.
NUSSBAUM: Y-yes. I am… in the palace. The city itself is shaking. The Legion is holding the palace against the horde. Bumaro is on the throne, with his wife.
"My Lord, we must leave. They have taken three of the gates. We will not have a chance for much longer." ARAM: He's not going to leave.
NUSSBAUM: No. He stands up - he is in his war armor, all gleaming gold and silver plate, big enough to block out the sky. He leans down. "You must go, sha- hashna." ARAM: What did he say?
NUSSBAUM: "Sha-hashna". I do not recognize the word. It seems similar to the words for protect or guard… ARAM: We can figure it out later.
NUSSBAUM: Yes. "You must go and activate the Kiss." We are arguing - I say the Kiss is dangerous. That it cannot be ready. That it has no control mechanism whatsoever, that activating it manually could be disastrous. "We have no other choice. Go. Your king commands it." I bow. He is- he is preparing to go out and lead the defense. "I will go and seat myself in the courtyard. This keep will not be breached, not while I draw breath." ARAM: Wait… NUSSBAUM: He is sitting in the same spot as the statue we found. Waiting, sword and spear in hand.
ARAM: Oh, holy shit. It's not a statue.
NUSSBAUM: I- I have left the palace. I am running across the city, to the nearest undercity entrance. The mass of the horde is still beyond the walls, but so many have breached the city. My blade sings, but I never stop. Slitting one's throat as I run past him. Gutting another beast. Crushing the skull of a Covenant summoner. There are so many. I must keep moving. I - okay. I have jumped into the undercity, sealing the entrance behind me. It is… different.
Brightly lit, well-signed. Blood plastering the walls. Corpses lining the passageways. Oh God.
ARAM: Where are you going?
NUSSBAUM: To the center. Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. I encounter resistance. The Covenant and Nälka's 'gifts' have made it down here. The plant- virus and the mutated flesh-pod-tentacles we have seen. But not petrified and dead. Alive. Throbbing. Wet. Many soldiers, moving through the undercity. They do not know the passages like we do. They are confused. They do not last long.
There are many families hiding in rooms and warehouses and dormitories and barracks. I cannot help them now. All I can do is keep moving.
ARAM: Do you recognize any of the routes?
NUSSBAUM: It's… yes. I just rounded a familiar corner. I… yes, I know where we are going.
ARAM: Where?
NUSSBAUM: Preserver's chamber. SCP-001-A1. Under the palace itself. It takes some detours, but I arrive where it- what?
ARAM: What happened?
NUSSBAUM: It is not here. Preserver is not here. Just the masses of machinery, but no arm or mind or voice. Just soulless vacuum tubes and circuit inscriptions. It hums with an unfamiliar energy. There are automata everywhere. Maintaining the machine. Making sure it works. I look at it - I seal the chamber door behind me. It is just me. I hear a boom from above, and begin stripping off my armor.
ARAM: Wait, what?
NUSSBAUM: I need to interface with- oh, God. I understand now.
ARAM: What?
NUSSBAUM: "Sha-hashna". It's close to guard and protect, but in a noun form. It means one who guards. A preserver.
ARAM: … Oh, fuck. That's why Preserver isn't there. Oh, fuck!
NUSSBAUM: I have disrobed. The armor lies in a heap. I reach out and touch- [NUSSBAUM's eyes glow golden and she writhes in the Throne, her back arching wildly. She lets out a long gasp before going limp, sinking back into the Throne.] ARAM: Hedvig? Hedvig, can you hear me?
NUSSBAUM: Yes. Yes. I can hear you. Oh, mein gott. That was horrible.
ARAM: What the fuck just happened?
NUSSBAUM: I touched the machine and just- agony. So much pain. I felt like someone was cutting me limb from limb. Burning my tongue off and branding my eyes. God.
ARAM: Are you okay? What do you see now?
NUSSBAUM: I- yes, I am fine. I see… I do not know what I am seeing. Rubble, debris. It is quiet. I- wait, I can move. No- yes, I can move, but I am… small.
ARAM: How small?
NUSSBAUM: I- I am inhabiting one of the automata.
ARAM: Just like how Preserver can control them. That settles that.
NUSSBAUM: I exit out into the city. I can see- oh, God. Oh no.
ARAM: What happened? What did the Kiss do?
NUSSBAUM: Everyone is dead.
ARAM: The horde?
NUSSBAUM: Everyone. There are corpses choking the streets. Not a free patch of dirt to be found. Dead bodies covering every possible surface, both my Legionnaires and the horde and the citizens. No explosive finishes. The quiet death of an entire civilization. Oh god. What have I done?
ARAM: It's not you, Hedvig. I know how convincing it gets. Remember, it's not your memory.
NUSSBAUM: They're all dead, Robert. I destroyed the empire trying to save it.
Everyone I ever knew or loved. Everyone.
[ARAM motions to the engineering team to cut power to the Throne. They comply, but nothing occurs. ARAM moves to the side of the throne after a few seconds and physically pulls NUSSBAUM's hand, grasping the Fist, from its depression in the armrest. Her body relaxes.] ARAM: Hedvig? You hear me?
NUSSBAUM: Robert. Yes. Thank you.
ARAM: Thought we lost you for a second there.
NUSSBAUM: It was… overwhelming.
ARAM: Yeah. But we learned a hell of a lot.
NUSSBAUM: Yes. Yes, of course. God. No wonder Preserver cannot remember.
ARAM: What do you mean?
NUSSBAUM: She obliterated her own civilization while trying to save it. I had a taste of it for just a few seconds and it was too much to take. She has lived with that guilt for nearly three thousand years. Who wouldn't want to forget?
ARAM: You're saying she did it on purpose?
NUSSBAUM: I am no engineer, but if I were a betting woman… [NUSSBAUM holds the cylinder to the light.] NUSSBAUM: I would guess these cylinders are a memory-storage form of some sort. She placed her memories into this to get rid of them, but obviously when she rid herself of her memories - she forgot what it even was.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Upon the discoveries made in the Throne Report, further testing was temporarily halted until a decision could be made on whether to inform SCP-001-A1 of its past. Until then, routine research into repair of infrastructural elements of the city continued as per regular schedule.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - SEPTEMBER 1984 FROM THE DESK OF DOCTOR ROBERT ARAM AMONI-RAM INITIATIVE Personal log This is ridiculous.
Preserver has been integral to the success of the Amoni-Ram Initiative. Far more so than any of the O5s arbitrating on whether she deserves to know her own identity. We wouldn't even have the throne if she hadn't led us to it and provided the Fist, the cylinders, everything. We owe her.
And even if we didn't, it's the right thing to do. "Mad scientist" is possibly one of the dumbest stereotypes of all time - scientists have ethics. Even in Prometheus, where progress was done for the sake of progress, we had ethics. Expectations of behaviour and morality. Making sure everyone knew exactly what they were signing up for. Not withholding crucial discoveries fundamental to their sense of being. The Foundation is not scientists, it is bureaucrats - and bureaucrats are the ones who will do away with ethics for efficiency.
I shouldn't get this mad. But it just begs so many questions. It's representative of how they think of this project - not a font of tools to improve the world, but of information that needs to be suppressed and released when the world is ready.
Visionaries do not wait for the world to be ready to present their idea, because the world is never ready. We force the world to change. In the 60s, augments were a rarity in the Foundation. Agents who got them were freaks. They were a last resort to maintain functionality. Then they realized we were better, faster, smarter, stronger. And look at us now. A project and two Sites staffed entirely by augmented personnel.
But they obviously don't trust Preserver, because she's a machine. Even though she's not, really. She was human once, but they can only think of her as a machine - to use, to exploit. The same way they think of me and Hedvig and Tenz and Zaid and all the others. They don't trust us either, not really. We've done more for them and gotten fuck all in return except the permission to rebuild what has been our home for nearly a year. It's frustrating.
I've been thinking about what SCP-001-A1 said. About the Throne. It's not true - there's no paratechnology that can force a psychic connection, that would require a staggering amount of power and all sorts of bullshit. But it makes me wonder.
I've been probing Nussbaum, seeing if she responds like Preserver said she would.
I don't know whether I'm delusional or looking for what I want to see but I feel like there's something there. She just agrees to whatever. If it is true - and I'm not saying it is - it would logically extend to the others, too. Did they all agree to swapping out their augments with the Mekhanite ones because it was what they wanted? Or was it because it was what I wanted them to do?
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT SEPTEMBER 1984 On September 30th, the O5 Council approved a plan allowing the involvement of SCP-001-A1 in the Siege of Amoni-Ram to be declassified to it, but withholding the details of its activation of Mekhane's Kiss and destruction of the city. Doctors Aram and Nussbaum entered its chamber the following day.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - OCTOBER 1984 INTERVIEWERs: Doctor Hedvig Nussbaum & Doctor Robert Aram SUBJECT: SCP-001-A1 «BEGIN LOG» ARAM: Preserver.
NUSSBAUM: Hello again.
SCP-001-A1: WELCOME. IT HAS BEEN SOME TIME.
NUSSBAUM: Yes, our apologies.
ARAM: Regretfully, we had to ask our superiors for some things before we could have this conversation.
SCP-001-A1: YOUR SUPERIORS. ARE YOU BEHOLDEN TO THEM?
NUSSBAUM: Yes, in a way.
ARAM: Well, in any case, we can talk now. We performed the Throne test with the cylinder you provided. It was… illuminating.
SCP-001-A1: HAVE YOU LEARNT OF MY ORIGIN? MY HISTORY?
NUSSBAUM: We have, yes. The cylinder allowed me to tap into your memories.
At least, we think they are your memories.
SCP-001-A1: YOU UTILIZED THE THRONE?
NUSSBAUM: Ah, yes. Is that… a problem?
[Pause.] SCP-001-A1: NO. CONTINUE.
NUSSBAUM: Yes, well. We encountered the memories of an individual seen repeatedly by Robert in Bumaro's memories. A female soldier, one of the Legion's generals. Likely favored by Bumaro due to their close personal relationship. Advising the younger king militarily during the First War, with campaigns into the East in all directions.
SCP-001-A1: I… SEE.
NUSSBAUM: We also discovered what happened to the city, in the end.
SCP-001-A1: TELL ME.
NUSSBAUM: It was besieged by a united force of the Nälka and the Covenant of the Daeva as well as an appearance by the Abominate.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT OCTOBER 1984 SCP-001-A1: IT IS KNOWN. WHAT MORE HAVE YOU LEARNT? HOW DID THEY DEFEAT US?
NUSSBAUM: The Legion was marching on Black Adytum at the time, hoping to end the war decisively - the colossi and the home army were the only ones left to defend Amoni-Ram. They used biological weapons, viruses, to attack the city and kill the Legionnaires and civilians. The city was lost as soon as the first colossus fell.
SCP-001-A1: DID I SERVE MY EMPIRE?
ARAM: Yes. You served your king and your people. You were instrumental in the defense of the city - both before and after the walls fell. You also tried to evacuate Bumaro and Hedara, but he sent you away. As Amoni-Ram burned, you had a different mission.
NUSSBAUM: Robert… ARAM: You were told to hold the North Gate at all costs. Give the civilians a chance to escape the destruction. And you did. As the horde swept over the walls and slaughtered everything in their path, you held the gate against a thousand and a thousand more sorcerers and spirits and flesh-beasts. The only reason people escaped the massacre.
SCP-001-A1: THEY FLED? MEKHANITES WALK THE EARTH TODAY?
ARAM: It's possible. Thanks to you.
[Silence.] SCP-001-A1: THANK YOU. I AM IN YOUR DEBT.
ARAM: Just paying back our side of the bargain.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ The following unfinished email draft was recovered from SCiPnet email servers. It had not been sent, and was last modified several weeks before the conclusion of events in Amoni-Ram.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED EMAIL - OCTOBER 1984 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Personnel Concern Hello Jamil, I have some concerns about a staffing decision on Project CMP-189598, 'the Amoni-Ram Initiative'. As Project Co-Lead, I retain executive control over almost all personnel decisions, but my concern today lies with my co-lead, Doctor Robert Silas Aram.
Dr. Aram is a once-in-a-lifetime mind, but recent events regarding the project have left me questioning his suitability for a leadership position in stressful, isolated research environs. I worry he has let his emotions compromise the integrity of the project. In various cases he: made an unconsensual medical decision on my behalf. Robert is not my authorized medical proxy.
augmented himself using experimental anomalous technology.
utilized experimental, dangerous anomalous technology to further research.
engaged in an argument with our Overseer contact.
referring to a sapient, semi-humanoid anomaly by name.
spending long periods of time alone with this anomaly.
on one occasion, lying to this anomaly and reacting angrily when confronted.
spending long periods of time alone with experimental anomalous technology, attempting to deconstruct it.
focusing research in strange directions averse to the goals of the project (on several occasions he asked me to attempt to use an experimental mechanical combat suit, and has recently been trying to ascertain the location of apocryphal, massive walking war platforms.) demanding an additional level of dedication and respect from employees to the project research and himself, respectively.
Cumulatively, these actions lead me to believe Doctor Aram's worthiness for co- lead should be rec ATTACHED EMAIL OCTOBER 1984 On the same day the email was drafted, the following audio file was recorded from a hidden recording device in Doctor Nussbaum's offices. The file was similarly not recovered until a routine database sweep months later. Due to the relatively small size of the device, Foundation standard voice-matching identification technology is unavailable.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - OCTOBER 1984 «BEGIN LOG» [Door opens. Sound of an object slamming closed.] ARAM: Hello, Hedvig.
NUSSBAUM: Oh! Hello, Robert. Still awake?
ARAM: Yeah. Needed to get some last-minute reports done. Took the long route back from the digsite. The city's beautiful at night, you know.
NUSSBAUM: Yes, it is.
ARAM: It's crazy to think that a year ago this place was all rubble and debris.
Now it almost looks like a proper city.
NUSSBAUM: Are you alright, Robert? You look… pale.
ARAM: I'm fine. Just spent a little bit of time tinkering with the Throne.
NUSSBAUM: What?
ARAM: Relax, nothing serious. Just some investigation, based on some things Preserver told me.
NUSSBAUM: What did you find?
ARAM: I'm not sure yet. There's some latent psychokinetic energy emanating from it, but we've been aware of that for a while. Just not sure what it means.
NUSSBAUM: What kind of energy?
ARAM: Not sure. But it's gotten stronger recently. With every use of the Throne, it seems like.
NUSSBAUM: That is… concerning.
[ARAM walks to the window, looking out over Amoni-Ram.] ARAM: It really is beautiful at night. We've built something grand out here, away from the rest of the world's eyes.
NUSSBAUM: … I guess we will come back to that later, then. But yes. It is quite nice. It feels like a home.
ARAM: I don't know how I'm going to go back to bunking on Site dormitories after this, hah.
NUSSBAUM: I am unsure I want to. Foundation politics tire me, and they are omnipresent in the larger Sites. Amoni-Ram is nicer. Everyone here is here because they want to do the work.
ARAM: Agreed. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT OCTOBER 1984 NUSSBAUM: Yes?
ARAM: I think we may need to shift gears a bit, in terms of what we're focusing on, you know?
NUSSBAUM: I… don't follow.
ARAM: At this point we're pretty much confident in the timeline of what happened to Amoni-Ram. But the other nations, and the Abominate, we know nothing about them except the battle. So I think it could be beneficial if we focus more on the weapons, the technology used during the Siege. Put the mundane archaeology aside for a little while.
NUSSBAUM: The "mundane" archaeology has already led us to breakthroughs on the technology. We need to know how they lived and thought to see how they fought and died.
ARAM: I'm not disputing that. I just think it's not the biggest priority right now, so we could divert resources- NUSSBAUM: My work is just as important as yours, Robert.
ARAM: … Right, yeah.
NUSSBAUM: What?
ARAM: I didn't say anything!
NUSSBAUM: Ugh. It is written on your face. You only see the history, the culture as a means to an end. You cannot understand why someone would want to study it for its own sake.
ARAM: No, that's not- NUSSBAUM: The same with Eleven. He does not give an ounce of respect to my team and their work. Neither of you do.
ARAM: I respect your work. I respect you.
NUSSBAUM: Oh, is that so, Robert? Is that why you feel you can come in and tell me what my team should focus on?
ARAM: Hedvig, please.
NUSSBAUM: Is that why you think you can make decisions about my body for me?
ARAM: What?! You would've died! I saved your life, you said so!
NUSSBAUM: I was in shock! Verdammt. I would have agreed to whatever was put in front of me, I was barely conscious!
ARAM: That doesn't change the fact that you would've died on that operating table if I hadn't stepped in.
NUSSBAUM: And who gave you the right to make my decisions of life or death, hm? Is that also because you respect me so much?
ARAM: [Sigh] This is obviously about something bigger. I'm sorry I brought it up.
NUSSBAUM: No, we will have this discussion now. You changed my life forever and seem to be under the delusion you did me a favor. I will not dispute I am thankful you saved me from death. But I do not owe you anything.
ARAM: Everyone here owes me. I'm their leader.
NUSSBAUM: We are co-leads. Do not forget that.
ARAM: Bullshit. If it wasn't for me, this project would've been shuttered months ago. I took the risks and they paid off and everyone else looks up to me for it.
Why can't you?
NUSSBAUM: Is that it, Robert? We are friends. I do not look up to my friends.
They are my equals.
ARAM: KINGS DON'T HAVE EQUALS.
NUSSBAUM: I- I- ARAM: YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME. YOUR WORK HAS BEEN SECONDARY. YOU ARE SECONDARY. THE PURPOSE OF THE INITIATIVE WAS TO FIND THE TECHNOLOGY OF THE MEKHANITES. THEIR HISTORY WAS ANCILLARY.
[Silence.] ARAM: WE HAVE A LIVING ARCHIVE OF THEIR HISTORY WITH US NOW. THE DIRECTIVE OF THE PROJECT HAS CHANGED.
NUSSBAUM: [Drowsy, semi-conscious] What are you… how…?
ARAM: DO NOT RESIST ME. YOU KNOW THE MISSION HAS CHANGED, DON'T YOU? YOU FELT ITS PRESENCE, WHEN YOU SAT ON THE THRONE?
NUSSBAUM: What…?
ARAM: THE EYES. I FELT IT SINCE THE FIRST DAY WE ENTERED THIS CITY. WE HAVE DRAWN THE ATTENTION OF SOMETHING LARGER THAN US, AND ITS EYES HAVE SETTLED ONTO US FOR THE PAST YEAR. BUT NOW WE HAVE ITS NAME.
THE ABOMINATE. IT IS NOT DEAD YET.
[Silence.] NUSSBAUM: [On the verge of tears] You're… scaring me, Robert.
ARAM: I'd be more scared of other things right now. Like that unsent email on your laptop.
[Silence.] ARAM: Don't ask me how I know. It is not your place. But delete it.
[Silence.] ARAM: I SAID DELETE IT.
[Sounds of laptop opening, clicking.] NUSSBAUM: I… okay. Done.
ARAM: Good girl. You played the role quite well. But you felt it watching us too, didn't you?
NUSSBAUM: … I felt… something.
ARAM: There are bigger things at stake now. And you will obey me.
«END LOG» ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - OCTOBER 1984 INTERVIEWERs: Doctor Robert Aram SUBJECT: SCP-001-A1 «BEGIN LOG» ARAM: Evening, Preserver.
SCP-001-A1: ARAM. IT IS LATE. SOMETHING HAS CHANGED.
ARAM: Yes, the engineering team found the old cisterns under the eastern district and repaired the siege damage. We have plumbing, fresh water, power.
The city's livable now.
SCP-001-A1: I SAW. I REFER TO YOU.
ARAM: What do you mean?
SCP-001-A1: YOU HAVE USED THE VOICE. EXTENDED FROM A QUIET WHISPER IN YOUR MIND TO THE BOOMING COMMAND. DEMANDING OBEDIENCE.
ARAM: Even if I had, I haven't made anyone do anything they wouldn't have done anyway. I haven't.
SCP-001-A1: I MAKE NO JUDGEMENT. YOU TOOK THE THRONE AT MY ENCOURAGEMENT; THIS WAS NOT AN UNINTENDED RESULT. WHAT HAVE YOU USED IT FOR?
ARAM: Just… exploring the breadth of it. The limits. How it works.
SCP-001-A1: YES. BUT THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU CAME HERE TO DISCUSS.
ARAM: What makes you say that?
SCP-001-A1: THE MOON HANGS IN THE SKY. ALL YOUR MEN SLEEP. SHE IS NOT WITH YOU.
ARAM: Hm. Well, you're right. I didn't come here to ask you questions about the voice.
SCP-001-A1: THEN SPEAK.
ARAM: Hedara - did she love Bumaro?
SCP-001-A1: OF COURSE. DEEPLY. SHE WAS HIS MOST FAVORED WIFE. MOTHER OF HIS HEIR. LIGHT OF HIS LIFE. SYMBOL OF HIS DYNASTY - PURE, SHINING, RISING ABOVE THE HORIZON WITH THE SUN. SHE ATTENDED TO HIM UNTIL HE WAS UNABLE TO SPEAK OR BREATHE OR EAT, AND WHEN HE FADED, SHE CALLED UPON HIS WISDOM WHILE HER SON GREW INTO THE THRONE.
ARAM: I see.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT OCTOBER 1984 SCP-001-A1: YOU HAVE MADE HER YOUR QUEEN?
ARAM: I suppose so. I wouldn't use the word queen, though.
SCP-001-A1: WHY? SURELY YOU SAW THE PARALLELS. THE PROPHECY. TIME IS A FLAT CIRCLE. LOOK AT YOUR RIGHT HAND AND TELL ME IT IS NOT SO.
ARAM: I'm not a king.
SCP-001-A1: AND NEITHER WAS BUMARO, UNTIL HE WAS GIVEN A CITY OF PEOPLE THAT NEEDED GUIDANCE. THREE THOUSAND YEARS, AND ONE THING NEVER CHANGES: HUMANS CRAVE LEADERSHIP. YOU HAVE HEDVIG AND YOUR SCHOLARS. BUMARO HAD HEDARA AND THE LEGION. AMONI-RAM ITSELF.
ARAM: They were all simple farmers before. Shepherds. Peasants.
SCP-001-A1: AND MEKHANE'S ARRIVAL, HER FALL FROM THE HEAVENS, TURNED THEM INTO A KING AND A QUEEN. THEIR HOME INTO A BASTION.
THEIR KIN INTO THE PINNACLE OF HUMANITY.
ARAM: So Amoni-Ram - it was a place those people could go? Different people?
SCP-001-A1: YES. THEY WERE NOT DIFFERENT BECAUSE OF THE AUGMENTATIONS. THEY CHOSE TO BE DIFFERENT. MUNDANITY IS NOT A VIRTUE. THEY CHOSE TO ELEVATE THEMSELVES, BECAUSE THEY WERE DISSATISFIED WITH THE WAY THINGS WERE.
ARAM: Dissatisfied with being human.
SCP-001-A1: DISSATISFACTION IS THE MOTHER OF AMBITION. IT IS THE COAL THAT FUELS THE FIRE. THERE IS NO SHAME IN DISSATISFACTION WITH THIS FORM. WE SHOULD BE STRIVING TO IMPROVE OURSELVES. THE FLESH IS WEAK.
[Pause.] SCP-001-A1: WE IMPROVE MEKHANE BY COLLECTING HER COMPONENT PARTS SCATTERED TO THE WINDS. WE IMPROVE OUR BODIES BY REPLACING OUR FRAIL LIMBS AND SENSES. IN DOING BOTH, WE IMPROVE OUR SOULS. IN THIS WAY, WE DO NOT CHANGE THE WORLD AROUND US - WE IMPROVE IT.
ARAM: I lied to you.
SCP-001-A1: I KNOW.
[Pause.] ARAM: What?
SCP-001-A1: YOU LIED IN FRONT OF ME. OF MY ORIGIN. OF MY HISTORY. OF THE FALL OF THE CITY OF AMONI-RAM.
ARAM: You knew?
SCP-001-A1: I SERVED MY LIEGE HONORABLY FOR A LIFETIME AND MORE. HE MAY BE NOTHING MORE THAN THE BONES IN THE GROUND NOW, BUT I SEE HIS FACE IN YOURS. THE LINES OF WORRY AND THE IRISES. I KNOW THE SIGNS THAT HE WAS HOLDING BACK - THAT YOU WERE HOLDING BACK. I DID NOT HOLD THE GATE - I DID NOT SAVE OUR CITY.
ARAM: You did not, no. He told you to go into the undercity. To activate the Mekhane's Kiss. The teleportation device.
SCP-001-A1: IMPOSSIBLE. IT WAS STRUCTURALLY UNSOUND. UNFINISHED. IT WOULD HAVE DESTROYED THE CITY. KILLED THOUSANDS.
ARAM: Look around you. The city was destroyed. Thousands did die.
SCP-001-A1: YES. BUT I COULD NOT HAVE ACTIVATED IT ANYWAY. THERE WAS NO CONTROL INTERFACE. NO WAY TO DIRECT THE ENERGY.
ARAM: He gave you something. He called it a blessing - it was a vial, of some sort. Told you to smash it and drink it. You took off your armor, you did, and touched the thing, and - I guess you fused with the machine or something. You became the control mechanism, and you fired. Teleported the city from the Sinai to the Arabian desert. The uncontrolled surge killed everyone.
[Silence.] SCP-001-A1: I SENSE NO LIE.
ARAM: I'm sorry.
[SCP-001-A1 falls into a processing state for several seconds before suddenly awaking.] SCP-001-A1: MY CIRCUITRY IS SPREAD OUT OVER COUNTLESS SUBLEVELS AND ANTECHAMBERS. MY DEPTHS ARE STACKED WITH DATA AND PREHENSILE KNOWLEDGE. MY METAL MIND SHOULD PROCESS ANYTHING.
ARAM: Preserver- SCP-001-A1: NOT THIS. NEVER THIS. I WAS A GENERAL OF THE GOLDEN LEGION. AND NOW I HAVE DAMNED MY CITY. MY RACE.
ARAM: Okay, you didn't damn anyone, listen to me- SCP-001-A1: I AM AT THE CENTER OF MY OWN HELL.
ARAM: HEAR ME NOW.
[Silence.] SCP-001-A1: YES, MY LIEGE.
ARAM: YOU FAILED. YOU COULD NOT SAVE YOUR CITY, AND BECAUSE OF YOU, IT COLLAPSED INTO DEVASTATION AND DISREPAIR. YOU HAVE DISAPPOINTED YOUR ONCE AND FUTURE MASTERS.
[Silence.] ARAM: But it's not too late. We can still fix it. We can bring back Amoni-Ram.
But I'll need you to do some things.
SCP-001-A1: HOW?
ARAM: What are you prepared to give up?
SCP-001-A1: [Slight pause.] EVERYTHING.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ On September 19th, 1984, shortly after the one-year anniversary of the official beginning of the Amoni-Ram Initiative, another update meeting was scheduled with O5-11 following a general decrease in quantity of technology and archaeological reports being transmitted from ARF-01 and ARF-02 to Protected Site-07 on a biweekly basis.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - SEPTEMBER 1984 «BEGIN LOG» [O5-11 is seated in Doctor ARAM's office complex in ARF-01. The windows look out over the courtyard with the statue of Emperor Bumaro.] ARAM: Hello, Overseer. Sorry for the delay - just sorting out some repairs in the undercity.
O5-11: Robert. How are you doing?
ARAM: Not too bad. Yourself?
O5-11: Doing well, thank you. I like what you've done with the place.
ARAM: Thank you. It hasn't been easy, but we've finally turned it into someplace halfway livable.
O5-11: Right, yes. But I'm worried, Robert.
ARAM: Worried?
O5-11: About the pace of reporting. Your publishings on the paratechnology in the city have declined by almost half in the past month or two. Doctor Nussbaum's reports on the archaeology and history have met the same fate.
Speaking of which, where is Doctor Nussbaum?
ARAM: [Pause.] Let's walk. I've been in this office so much it's getting hard to think.
O5-11: Sure.
[ARAM and O5-11 exit the office, accompanied by a detachment of MTF Alpha- 1 bodyguards. They begin walking through the corridors of the palace and temple.] ARAM: Nussbaum's just working on some stuff in the southern district, I'm sure she'll join us soon. But you were saying?
O5-11: I'm starting to think this project has run its natural course, Robert.
ARAM: What do you mean? There's still so much more to decipher. We barely know anything about the history, culture, peoples- O5-11: Since when have you ever been interested in that sort of thing? It's the technology, Robert. It was always about unlocking the secrets of the city - and you did that job phenomenally! We've learned so much - every technological report has been pored over by experts at 19 to see how we could put it into practice.
ARAM: Yeah, but that's just the Foundation.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT SEPTEMBER 1984 O5-11: Robert, not this again. We don't go around replicating 500 to cure cancer just because we can. We have a responsibility to maintain normalcy. We can't become the arbiters of what secrets the world can and can't know - we can only hide all of them equally.
ARAM: Well, what if it has run its course? What do you plan to do?
O5-11: We've already got people in India and China sites looking around for the locations of the other two cities. We've learned all that we can from Amoni- Ram, so it's time to move on to new pastures.
ARAM: What'll happen to us?
O5-11: Reassigned with glowing recommendations to any projects of their choosing.
ARAM: Well, what if they want to stay here? A lot of them have become attached to the place. We've turned it from a ruin to a home. They won't want to leave.
[They enter the throne room.] O5-11: Well, you can't presume to speak for everyone, can you?
ARAM: I'm their leader. They look up to me.
O5-11: Well. In any case, it's unfortunate, but they don't exactly have much say in the matter. It's how it is.
ARAM: You're being too hasty, Overseer.
O5-11: Maybe, but the rest of the Council agrees with me. We'll leave a skeleton crew to continue low-priority work, but we need you and Nussbaum's talents elsewhere.
ARAM: No.
[Pause.] O5-11: What?
ARAM: I'm not going. Amoni-Ram was lost once because of people who didn't understand what it had to offer. I'm not going to let that happen again.
O5-11: I don't think you understand. It's not up to you anymore. The decision has been made.
ARAM: I'm not some fucking dog you can shove around from project to project.
O5-11: Have you forgotten who you're talking to? I can have you terminated, Robert.
ARAM: Maybe out there. Not here.
O5-11: Where's 'here'?
ARAM: My city. Surrounded by my people.
[All bodyguards raise their assault rifles at ARAM.] O5-11: Just what the fuck are you implying? Do you seriously think you can just disobey the Council?
ARAM: No, but I can change their minds.
[ARAM turns and takes a seat on the Fuladh Throne.] ARAM: HEAR ME. LOWER YOUR WEAPONS.
[Pause. All members of Alpha-1 gingerly lower their guns.] ARAM: AMONI-RAM HAS FAR TOO MUCH TO OFFER TO THROW IT AWAY, USED AND SPENT. GO TO THE COUNCIL. TELL THEM THE PROJECT WILL CONTINUE.
THERE IS WORK TO BE DONE YET.
[Silence.] O5-11: I have an inch-thick telekill plate in my cranium, you fucking idiot. Kill him.
[Members of Alpha-1 begin to raise their guns. Gunshots ring out. All fall to the floor, shot point-blank in the back of their skulls. Behind them, a number of TRT India-Three 'Cherno' personnel uncloak their personal shields. ARAM sits on the throne, surrounded by spent shells deflected by his own shield, inset into the Throne.] ARAM: Good effort.
O5-11: You're insane. You can't kill me, not without signing your own death warrant.
ARAM: I'm not going to kill you. I'm not a monster. Hedvig.
[From above, NUSSBAUM descends on her metal wings; she is dressed in the bronze intricate war armor seen in the Throne's visions.. She glides to a soft landing in front of O5-11. In her right hand is a curved golden sword.] NUSSBAUM: Yes?
ARAM: Take him. Toss him from the walls. Let him run back to the Council.
O5-11: You're fucking insane.
ARAM: When I'm helping you, I'm a genius. When I'm not, I'm "insane".
O5-11: You can't take on the Foundation and win, Aram. No one can.
ARAM: Do you seriously think I have any interest in destroying the Foundation?
I'm not some supervillain. I'm an engineer, and I see a problem on the horizon, one you can't even conceptualize. And I need to act before you get us all killed.
Now- [ARAM rises from the Throne, raising the Fist at NUSSBAUM.] ARAM: Get out of my city.
[NUSSBAUM steps behind O5-11, grasps him by the waist and takes off, shooting into the air on her wings.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ O5-11 was deposited outside SCP-001, 0.6km from his air escort, and quickly evacuated to the nearby Site-34. An Overwatch Command emergency session was called to address the events in Amoni-Ram, and voted on whether to scramble several task forces in the region and use military force to regain control over SCP-001.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT - SEPTEMBER 1984 COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA ABSTAIN NAY O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 ADDITIONAL VOTE Administrator YEA STATUS APPROVED Temporary Task Force Alpha-6 was scrambled at Site-39 over the following 9 hours, consisting of Mobile Task Forces Epsilon-11 ("Nine-Tailed Fox"), Nu-7 ("Hammer Down"), and Zeta-9 ("Mole Rats"). An advance invasion plan was drawn and executed on 0367 local time.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT SEPTEMBER 1984 ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - SEPTEMBER 1984 Alpha-6 communications to Site-39 command marked normally. Internal Alpha-6 radio chatter italicized. Intercepted external radio chatter bolded.
«BEGIN LOG» [Convoy in transit over South Arabian desert - five tiltrotor aircraft with personnel, three Skycranes with cargo and arms.] ALPHA-6: Air convoy three klicks out from SCP-001. Coming in for a landing.
[Convoy lands, three kilometers from the entrance to SCP-001.] ALPHA-6: We have touchdown, repeat, touchdown. Unloading packages.
[Personnel disembark and begin unloading cargo. After final unloading, there are 83 personnel across three MTFs, equipped with small and heavy arms and in armored personnel carriers.] ALPHA-6: Beginning approach to SCP-001. No movement sighted.
[The convoy begins slowly advancing towards SCP-001. 41 minutes later, they arrive. The minimal base camp set up outside the entrance is abandoned - a set of tents half-buried in the dunes. A golden curved sword is impaled into the sand.] ALPHA-6: Be advised, preparing to- [Radio screeches, flipping through several frequencies. ARAM's voice becomes audible through the grain.] ARAM: Please [static] back. I don't want to have [static]. We're on the same- ALPHA-6: Adjusting frequency, OVCOM. Clear, over. Still clear for incursion?
OVCOM: You are a go, over.
[Convoy turns and advances forward, into the entrance of SCP-001. Several seconds pass until the entrance opens. The forces pass through the threshold, into SCP-001.] ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT SEPTEMBER 1984 Z9: Jesus, we brought in an army.
E6: Yeah, call us the fucking cavalry.
N34: That's a message if I ever seen one. "Abandon all hope", yadda yadda.
N45: This guy's not very subtle, is he?
ALPHA-6: Eyes on Amoni-Ram.
[Amoni-Ram lies ahead of the convoy. Its walls have been considerably repaired, and the Eastern gate that faces the entrance of SCP-001 has been blockaded and reinforced, though it is largely obscured by a sand dune. Figures stand along the massive walls and battlements. Several fly overhead, dipping and swerving through the air.] OVCOM: Be advised- ALPHA-6: Yeah, targets spotted. Permission to engage?
OVCOM: Negative, wait for them to- [Radio swaps frequencies. The static is considerably lessened, and ARAM's voice is much clearer.] ARAM: HEAR ME.
[All members of Alpha-6 are momentarily dazed. The figures continue to fly overhead in circles. Distantly, there is movement on the battlements.] ARAM: You don't understand. I made a mistake, okay? That [static], that wasn't supposed to happen with Eleven. I've learned [static] since- ALPHA-6: Swapping frequency, activating Breuchmann Engine, keep moving.
[Convoy advances toward the blockade. The figures on the battlements come into focus. They are a number of individuals dressed in the war armor seen in the reported visions, armed with a mixture of swords, polearms, and long-range rifle- like weapons, all of which are levelled at the advancing force.] ALPHA-6: Unfavorable conditions for a firefight, command.
OVCOM: Acknowledged.
ARAM: [Through static] As soon as Eleven [static] another cylinder. Inside the statue's hands. Bumaro's last testament. I- we cannot have this fight, I'm begging [static]- N10: Holy shit.
N50: That is god-damn beautiful.
E2: Fuck! That must be the cog-haz.
N23: They have high ground and unknown armament.
ALPHA-6: Command?
[Pause.] OVCOM: Keep moving.
ARAM: [static] the Abominate. You don't understand, I didn't understand. It's not a person, it's not [static] a force of nature. Like a hurricane.
OVCOM: Aram. This is your one and only chance to tell your forces - all your forces - to stand down. We will retake the city and confiscate the paratechnology.
ARAM: You cannot fight a hurricane. You will need [static]. Me.
ALPHA-6: We will place you and Hedvig Nussbaum into custody. Then you can plead your case to the Council as you'd like.
ARAM: They're [static] to listen. Bureaucrats never listen to the visionaries.
[Convoy stops a hundred meters from the sand dune block the path.] ALPHA-6: Last chance. If you don't want to have this fight, tell everyone to put down their guns.
[Silence.] ARAM: I'm afraid I can't do that.
[Two dozen figures crest the sand dune from the other side. They are three to four meters tall, in hulking golden exosuits of plated armor with pneumatic limbs.
Helmets obscure their faces. The central two figures are the largest - one is four meters tall in intricately designed and patterned silver and gold armor. ARAM pilots the suit. The other appears to be made of stone, a walking statue of a shirtless bearded man, holding a sword and spear.] ARAM: You might be unwilling to listen to reason. But you will not stop me from changing the world. Saving it.
[From above, a figure descends, hovering in the air above ARAM and extending her wings outward.] ARAM: When this is over, you will beg for my help.
N4: Oh, fuck. Mechs.
[Distantly, a cannon fires. The sand explodes a few meters from the Alpha-6 line.
More cannons fire. Alpha-6 forces duck behind cover and begin returning fire as the war suits charge down the hill. Gunfire continues for several minutes. The engagement is too far from the walls for the troops on the battlement to fire, but the warsuits use a mix of brute strength and oversized ranged weaponry to break the Alpha-6 line. Automatic cannons from the APCs begin firing, and have considerable effect, bringing a number of the warsuits crashing to the ground.
The reactor cores from fallen units eject, causing miniature explosions. Shouting and yelling from both sides is audible.] ARAM: DO NOT FAIL YOUR KING.
[Gradually, the superior maneuverability of the Alpha-6 forces begins to turn the tide. While smaller and individually less powerful, the evasive tactics, spread-out formation, and multiple angles of attack wear down the warsuits. Several soldiers lay wounded or dead, but a similar number of Mekhanite warsuits are wrecked or disabled.] ALPHA-6: Keep firing, evasive formations, keep them off the trucks.
[Overhead, a number of flying Mekhanites divebomb, causing a squad to scatter.
One grabs a soldier by the torso and pulls him into the air, screaming. Moments later, an anti-aircraft emplacement begins firing, sending a number of the flying units crashing to the ground. Nussbaum is considerably faster and more evasive than the others, and gracefully dodges flak while returning fire.] ARAM: PULL BACK. Hedvig - go ensure Preserver is ready!
[NUSSBAUM rockets away from the firefight at extremely high speeds, shooting towards Amoni-Ram itself. ARAM lifts a portion of a destroyed warsuit and heaves it at an anti-aircraft emplacement, crushing it and its operator. The remaining warsuits, roughly a dozen, begin to pull back over the dune as Alpha-6 forces advance, firing on the retreating Mekhanites.] N17: Fucking hell!
E9: Spread out! Don't give them easy targets!
Z3: Hit!
N28: I see movement overhead, use the flak!
Z7: Fuck you, assholes!
Z3: Conserve your ammo.
N57: Do you guys feel that?
[The ground shakes.] ALPHA-6: OVCOM, we're getting tremors, standby- ARAM: HEAR ME, COLOSSUS. HEAR YOUR KING AND DEFEND YOUR CITY.
[The ground shakes. A massive hand reaches out of the dunes, spilling vast tons of sand to the ground. Another similarly gigantic hand reaches out in the other direction, fingers wrapping around the massive wall of Amoni-Ram. A colossus - humanoid metal golem, easily a hundred meters tall and armored in all locations, peppered with autoturrets - drags itself out of the dunes, turning its gigantic head towards Alpha-6 forces.] ALPHA-6: OVCOM, please advise.
OVCOM: Begin a tactical retreat. Heavy armament and air support has been scrambled and is waiting for you outside the entrance to- [The colossus takes a single step after fully dragging itself from the sand dunes.
Several Alpha-6 operators and Mekhanites are crushed under its titanic foot. The ground shakes and several buildings in Amoni-Ram visibly shudder at the footfall of the colossus, which is larger than many of them. ARAM does not move, raising his sword to the sky.] ARAM: Yes. This is how it should be. HEDVIG?
[NUSSBAUM appears in the air, descending and perching on ARAM's massive shoulder.] NUSSBAUM: We are ready. At your command.
ARAM: Excellent. Finally.
[The colossus takes another step towards the rapidly retreating force of Foundation personnel, who fire rockets at it and machine gun rounds. They detonate on impact and scorch the armor, but otherwise have no effect.] ARAM: [Over radio, addressing OVCOM] You didn't accept my help. You used and threw away this city. I saw something beautiful in it, and we fixed it and brought it back to life. All of it.
OVCOM: Robert, please- [A number of operators reach the exit and throw themselves through, landing on the other side. The majority of the forces remain inside SCP-001, moving towards the entrance and pursued by the colossus.] N34: Fuck, fuck fuck! PULL BACK!
Z5: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?
E3: Command, we do not have the armament to take that thing on!
ARAM: No. I'll protect the world from the Abominate on my own terms. The Foundation is a relic. If the human race is to survive what is to come, they will need to adapt. To change. To improve.
[Silence.] ARAM: My name is Robert Bumaro, and the world will change for the Church of the Broken God. Because it has no choice.
«ALL COMMUNICATIONS CEASE» Following this, a massive power surge fried the electronics of awaiting aircraft three kilometers away. All communication in and out of SCP-001 ceased, and subsequent investigation has indicated the entrance to SCP-001 no longer exists in the South Arabian desert. It is theorized that the Mekhanite forces repaired and safely activated Mekhane's Kiss, teleporting Amoni-Ram to an unknown location.
The failure of the Amoni-Ram Initiative, the betrayal of Doctors Aram and Nussbaum, and the loss of SCP-001 with its countless amounts of Foundation knowledge, equipment, personnel, and paratechnology, have elevated Global Threat Level to Keneq-4 (considerable potential to disrupt the general population). Foundation policy regarding digital and paratechnological implants and equipment has been frozen pending further review by Overwatch Command.
'The Church of the Broken God' has been designated GoI-004. All efforts are to be made to locate Robert Aram/Bumaro and Hedvig Nussbaum and bring them into Foundation custody.
Laboratory samples of Daevite, Nälkan, and Mekhanite biological weapons used in the Siege of Amoni-Ram have produced viable specimens. They have been provided provisional SCP designations: SCP-697, SCP-610, and SCP-217, respectively.
Project FORERUNNER TRIAD has been organized to address the consequences of the Amoni-Ram Initiative, and report directly to Overwatch Command. Ascertaining the locations of the Nälka city of Black Adytum, the Daevic Covenant cities of Mamjul and Korar, and the identity & nature of the entity known as 'the Abominate' have all been elevated to Global Priority Level Alpha.
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"ROUNDERHOUSE's Gold Proposal" by Rounderhouse, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/rounderhouse-gold-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
Filename: alhambra.png Name: Granada. Galeria que conduce à la Sala de Embajadores (Alhambra) Author: Laurent, J.
License: Public Domain Source Link: Library of Congress Filename: AmapiRam.png Name: Map of Amoni-Ram Author: HarryBlank License: CC BY SA 3.0 Source Link: N/A Filename: amoniram.png Name: Amoni-Ram (Establishing Shot) Author: stephlynch License: CC BY SA 3.0 Source Link: N/A Filename: aram.png Name: Friends selling walnuts.jpg Author: Nagarjun License: CC BY 2.0 Source Link: Flickr Filename: blackwood.jpg Name: Aplysia fasciata - Mottled sea hare (Sea slug), γυμνοσάλιαγκας θαλάσσης.jpg Author: Dimitris Siskopoulos License: CC BY SA 2.0 Source Link: Flickr Filename: crab.png Name: Limulus polyphemus (Atlantic horseshoe crab) (Sanibel Island, Florida, USA) Author: Composite image edited by Rounderhouse , base image by James St.
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41 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT 41 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT 41 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT REDTAPE REDTAPE REDTAPE About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us ROUNDERHOUSE's Jade Proposal Recommended Reading Music ACT I • ACT II • ACT III • ACT IV • ACT V ACT I IGNOMINY A ROUNDERHOUSE Joint Rating: +370 FILESERV NOTICE: The following document was inserted into this file at a later date, under containment protocol HERODOTUS . Refer to Special Containment Procedures for more information.
VERSE 1 4 As witnessed by Varsylmittabya, First Rajmata of the Scarlet Maharaja.
In the First Age, when the great Gods clashed in the sky and split the Heavens in their four-prong war, the Material Plane bore witness to the first, the greatest war of the Cosmos. Their dance was one of fury and hatred and destruction, and in the place of Stars they twirled and shook and gyrated, bringing down the wrath to the song of Creation itself. The Metal, the Flesh, the Scarlet and the Wretch wrestled in the maw of Eternity and moved like streams, with the force of floods, and broke.
And when it was over, when the divine Fluid had been spilt onto the wet Soil, the quarter came crashing down to the Material Plane, broken and torn, landing in the far corners and crevasses of the One land, there to lay for ages and ages passed before an eye was lain upon them. The Scarlet lay, and in the millenia life sprung up in the Material Plane, from lichen to fish to trees and then finally, Man arose in the far east, south, and west on the backs of their new gods.
But the Scarlet had already created life, unbeknownst to its brother and sisters. As the Gods slumbered in their ersatz tombs, the Scarlet reached out with the gift of life, striking a seed on the Astral Plane that sprouted, growing wildly and with abandon, unobserved and unlimited, existing only in the gaps and roots and vines of the Jungle.
Uncountable cycles before Man took his first steps on Asia, the Spirits, the Daeva expanded from a single thought of a dreaming God to a people, a culture and a civilization on the unobserved Astral Plane, as they danced and hunted and killed and warred and mated around the great tree of life in worship to the Scarlet.
VERSE 1-4 And the God, the Scarlet, pinned underneath the ever- growing weight of the jungle as the Men moved in and built their huts and their farms and killed and died, yet more victims of the brutal circle of life, reached up and dug its fingers in, plucking its eye from its socket and pushing it up just as the First Man sought refuge under a tree. The gem, swaddled in the same roots sprung from the mouth of the beast, sung out for a champion, for a warrior who would raise his sword in the name of the first, truest magic, and march forth under the banner of the first, truest of the four gods — to strike a bargain with the Daeva, Children of the Scarlet House, and become their chakravarti.
LEVEL 3/001 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-001 Mamjul, taken by MTF Gamma-6.
Safe Safe LSAP Cadmus-Aram Deep-Brain Oneiric Parietal Stimulation Array.
From Lord Blackwood's private collection.
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES: SCP-001 is currently contained through Special Containment Protocol HERODOTUS , instituted on July 14th, 2003 by majority vote of the O5 Council. See Addendum 001.9 for full details.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-001 refers to the ruins of Mamjul, an ancient pre-First Occult War city- state located approximately 734km off the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent.
Evidence suggests that Mamjul was constructed and located at or above sea level; how it came to rest at its current position 3.6 kilometers underwater is unknown.
SCP-001 was discovered by the Foundation on August 24th, 2002. At first, it was believed to be a mundane archaeological ruin, and its location was recorded to disseminate to the global archaeological community in the near future. However, closer inspection revealed that the city was remarkably preserved and structurally near-pristine, despite having spent well over three millennia underwater; carbon-dating placed the interior ruins to 2,400 BCE.
Further investigation by COYOTE divers unearthed the full extent of SCP-001. Initially thought to be the ruins of a small Bronze Age settlement, the full city is comprised of several hundred buildings, most buried under large amounts of silt and sand but structurally intact. In addition, divers found considerable evidence that Mamjul was the seat of a Bronze Age advanced human civilization that made extensive use of thaumaturgy and biomancy, known to the Foundation as the Daevic Covenant.
A report was submitted to OVCOM, and additional personnel were dispatched to confirm that SCP-001 is the location of the the Daevic city of Mamjul, as mentioned in the Aegean Tablets and corroborated by SCP-1867 and SCP-001-GOLD.
Section 001.1 HISTORICAL BRIEFING MUNDANE HISTORY Mamjul has some historical analogue in mundane history and culture, though not to the extent Amoni-Ram did. The most explicit example is that of Kumari Kandam, also known as Lemuria.
Lemuria was a hypothetical 'sunken continent' first proposed by Philip Sclater in the 19th century as an explanation for the presence of lemur fossils in Madagascar and India but not in landmasses separating the two.1 Lemuria was quickly co-opted by a large movement of Tamil revivalists in 19th and 20th century India as a potential birthplace of human civilization; they altered the idea to fit with cultural legends of an ancient Bronze Age Tamil civilization south of modern Tamil Nadu, one that would eventually form the basis for Indian civilization before being suddenly and violently swallowed by the sea.
The Lemuria hypothesis was eventually rendered obsolete by plate tectonics theory, and no mundane historical or archaeological record exists to support the existence of the Kumari Kandam landmass or a Bronze Age Tamil civilization predating the Chera, Chola, and Pandya cultures.
PARAHISTORY Kumari Kandam has been the subject of considerable debate in the occult community, long after the Lemuria hypothesis was discarded by mundane science. Several expeditions, funded by various anomalous organizations, ventured into the Indian Ocean throughout the 20th century in an attempt to find any records of the sunken continent — of these, only one bore any results. PoI- 0108, Viswamitra Thakkar (alias Captain Nemo), claimed to have discovered 'Atlantean ruins' in the region during a 1925 self-funded expedition, but his records were never released and disappeared along with him in 1939.
The six Aegean Tablets recovered from the Sea of Crete by the French Crown's estate Noir prior to the Revolution were the first discovered mentions of Bronze Age advanced human civilizations.
The onset of the Napoleonic Wars and the concurrent Second Occult War led to the destruction of any French translations of the tablets, save for one Greek-to-French-to-English translation of the first tablet by SCP-1867, detailed in the SCP-001-GOLD file.
The relevant portion is attached: Foundation efforts at translating the remaining tablets, extracted from British custody in 1983, have been ongoing but extremely slow due to environmental damage and the relative lack of context to work from. Regardless, by 1999, the second and fourth tablets had been fully translated. The fourth described the Mekhanite Empire and Amoni-Ram in greater detail and is not attached in this document, while the second covered Mamjul, Korar, and the forerunner civilization of the Daevic Covenant: Mamjul and Korar, two dark fortresses resting in the jungles of the subcontinent. The magicians and sorcerer-nawabs allied themselves against the horrors of the jungle, and crossed a pact with something ancient. The Covenant of the Daeva was born, using the first magic gifted to Man - the magic of life and death.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT - FEBRUARY 1999 Root. Blood. Steel.
Once, men huddled for warmth and dryness under the broad leaves of the jungle titans. Once, fire was a weak dream, drowned under the weight of endless flood and rain. Once, the land was blanketed so densely with untamed forest that the spirits of the trees themselves walked past the coast and into the sea. Once, man was weak and frail, battered from the constant war to survive with the jungle.
Once, a man curled into the base of a tree, sheltering from a torrent. His fingers discovered a scarlet jewel, jammed between the knotted roots. It shone into his eyes, with depth like an ocean of blood. He pulled it from its nest, and put it to his ear. The Endless Scarlet sang to him. It offered a deal: should he lay down his own mind and soul in service to the spirits, they would gift him their boons. He would ascend to the realm of the gods - and in return, they would assure not just his people's survival, but their power. His children and his children's children would be sorcerers. The boons of the Daeva would be at their fingertips, and he would be a once and future king.
The Covenant was struck. The Daeva themselves descended from the realm of the spirits and the gods. They met the people, and bonded with them - every body contains two spirits, and the power to bend the forest to their will. The first magic was used to raise the city in the depths of the jungle. The people toiled for a year and one day, laying the massive stones and bracing the walls with vine and root, crafting the city that would be the seat of an empire. Mamjul was built under the watchful slumber of the Scarlet and its prophet.
And once the Daevic Cities were assured, and the Record was writ, the Covenant marched north under the banner of the Scarlet Maharaja.
The word daeva originally refers to supernatural entities and spirits, almost universally malevolent, within the canon of Zoroastrianism. Variations such as deva, div, etc appear throughout several different Asian religions and mythologies, suggesting the daeva mentioned in the Tablets are a common source. This is supported by the tablet's claims that the Daevic Covenant spread their culture and beliefs throughout Asia.
Section 001.2 INITIAL DISCOVERY Following the Amoni-Ram Incident, locating Mamjul and Korar was elevated to Global Priority Level Alpha to gain a material advantage over GoI-004 ('The Church of the Broken God'). Various documents, murals, and scrolls recovered from Amoni-Ram indicated they were located somewhere on the Indian subcontinent; the loss of almost all personnel and original records from the Amoni-Ram Initiative made more specific details unobtainable. Search efforts were initially concentrated near established archaeological sites and in India's dense tropical forests, with no success.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT FEBRUARY 1999 ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT — AUGUST 2002 COYOTE suit.
«BEGIN LOG» GALANIS: Hello? Can you read me?
KHAN-2: Loud and clear, doc.
KHAN-1: [Static].
GALANIS: Can't quite hear you, One.
[KHAN-1 adjusts his microphone inside his COYOTE suit.] KHAN-1: Hello?
GALANIS: There you are.
Thought we lost you.
KHAN-1: I'm like twenty feet away. We're not even in the water yet.
GALANIS: Well, that's what a mic check is for. Beginning recording… oh, it's already going.
KHAN-2: Nice.
GALANIS: Well, whatever. This is Senior Researcher Pandora Galanis, Parahistory Division, and today is August 24th, 2002. We're on the Foundation Research Vessel Lillihammer, about 300 klicks south-by-southwest off the coast of Sri Lanka. It's a wonderful, sunny day out in the Laccadive Sea — perfect for fishing.
KHAN-1: Not getting any younger out here, Dora.
GALANIS: This expedition is crewed by KHAN-1 & KHAN-2 of MTF Gamma-6 "Deep Feeders", and myself advising from the Lillihammer. Our goal today is to scout out some underwater structures sighted from the Atreus Array. The other personnel aboard have a pool going. Right now the crowd favorite is "pile of trash" or "weird rock", just like the other hundred times.
KHAN-2: Can we go?
GALANIS: Team members are equipped with COYOTE subsuits , and can safely descend to a depth of 5,000m with a self-sustaining oxygen supply. Ready when you are, KHAN.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT AUGUST 2002 2 KHAN-1: Finally.
[KHAN-1 and KHAN-2 fall backwards from the railing of the Lillihammer, splashing into the water. They right themselves and begin to quickly descend using the COYOTEs' water jets.] KHAN-1: All clear, beginning descent.
GALANIS: Great. From the satellite imagery, it's at around 3 and a half kilometers depth, so at your current rate, it'll take about half an hour.
KHAN-1: Understood. How weird a rock do you think this one's going to be?
GALANIS: Hilarious.
KHAN-2: There are worse dead-end assignments, you know. We're literally scuba-diving in the Maldives.
KHAN-1: You've got me there.
GALANIS: It's not a dead-end assignment! You're thinking like a benchwarmer.
KHAN-2: If we're not benchwarmers, we're so deep into left-field we might as well be in the parking lot. All the action is on dry land.
GALANIS: Investigating historical anomalies in the Indian subcontinent is still Global Priority Level Alpha.
KHAN-1: It's been twenty years since all that crap in Saudi Arabia. You know what else is GPL-Alpha? Finding a way to kill the lizard. Let me know how that's going.
GALANIS: I'm not saying we're going to stumble onto the key to the world here but… you never know what might point you in the right direction, you know? I mean, the Foundation never even would've gotten involved without the Aegean Tablets and those got pulled out of a shipwreck in Greece. You never know.
KHAN-1: Except this time we don't even know what we're searching for.
GALANIS: What's inspired this doom and gloom all of a sudden?
KHAN-2: His girlfriend broke up with him.
KHAN-1: Jackass.
[25 minutes of extraneous chatter clipped] KHAN-2: Alright, I think we're coming up on something. Lights.
[KHAN activate their helmet-mounted floodlights, bathing the area in light.
They are still floating in the air, but have come to a rest a few meters above the walls of a massive angled stone structure.
KHAN-1: That's… not a rock.
GALANIS: The camera feeds are showing some kind of angled stone wall, Khan- 1. What else can you see?
[KHAN begin to swim around the massive structure, staying in visual range of each other. It is a tapering cylinder with staggered, massive stone slopes, culminating in a flat central plane.] KHAN-1: It's… I think it's a tower of some kind?
GALANIS: It looks almost like… a pillar, but not quite. How tall is it? Can you guys see the seabed?
KHAN-2: Umm, I don't think so?
KHAN-1: No, we can. It just doesn't look like the seabed. It's dark and irregular - I think there's more buildings down there. A lot more.
KHAN-2: Oh, shit. You're right. That's gotta be at least three hundred meters down, maybe four.
GALANIS: Khan, can you place down an STM?
KHAN-2: Yeah, hold on.
[KHAN-2 produces a Sonar Topological Mapper from her suit, activating it with a button. The silver sphere begins to float in the water, intermittently pulsing water outward.] GALANIS: That should give us a better idea of what we're looking at soon. This reminds me a little of Orkney archicture, a little. Not the aesthetics, but the shooting structures and the… KHAN-1: Being underwater?
GALANIS: Yeah, haha. It's possible we might've stumbled onto some kind of colony or something. How's the wear and tear on the stone?
KHAN-2: Kinda hard to tell. There's moss and barnacles all over it. Let me get up close.
[KHAN-2 swims close to the wall of the structure, then reaches out and brushes aside a large curtain of kelp and seaweed.] KHAN-2: Whoa.
[Underneath, a large mural has been carved out of the surface of the structure.
It depicts figures dancing, fighting, eating, and copulating under a massive tree within a jungle. The scene continues well past the visible sides - at the close distance, it is apparent that most of the structure's surface is covered in intricately carved murals. The section KHAN are standing in front of has a series of large glyphs carved immediately above it.] KHAN-1: Holy shit. Look at the detail on this. You can see the faces.
KHAN-2: Doc, those symbols mean anything to you?
GALANIS: Get me a better look?
[KHAN-1 swims up, using the COYOTE's camera to take a digital photograph of the glyphs. It is uploaded to the Lillihammer.] GALANIS: Got it, running it against the database now. Just a quick visual match.
It won't translate it, but it should give us any similar-looking samples - help us narrow down what exactly we're looking at here. It… KHAN-1: You okay?
GALANIS: Yeah, it just seems familiar to me. Can't place it, though.
KHAN-2: That's a good sign, isn't it? Means it's probably just one of the ancient cultures you've seen before. We can scout it out and make sure there's nothing weird and then move on.
GALANIS: Mhm.
KHAN-2: Wait… [KHAN-2 reaches out, rubbing a gloved hand against a jagged outcropping. She braces her feet against the wall and leverages her body to pull the outcropping away. It doesn't move.] KHAN-1: Hey, be careful - [The outcropping suddenly gives way, cracking and sending KHAN-2 flailing backward. She regains her position, holding up the broken piece. It is 10cm in length and 4cm wide, and jagged at the broken point. The exterior is a different color from the interior.] KHAN-1: What'd you do that for?
KHAN-2: Look at where it broke off.
KHAN-1: It's…. splintered?
KHAN-2: It's wood, look at it.
KHAN-1: Shit, yeah. Wow.
GALANIS: It must be petrified - turned to stone.
KHAN-1: But… I don't see any planks or nails or anything. It's one massive piece of wood.
KHAN-2: Okay, maybe this is anomalous.
SCAN 35% COMPLETE GALANIS: The shape… it makes sense now.
KHAN-1: What?
GALANIS: It's a stump.
KHAN-2: Oh, shit.
KHAN-1: That can't be right. The tree would've had to have been at least a kilometer tall, probably more.
GALANIS: We've seen stranger things. Do you see any points of interest anywhere?
[KHAN-2 revolves around the stump, shining her floodlights into the crevasses.] KHAN-2: There's gaps, but they look naturally formed and not too deep. More like decorative arches than any entrance.
GALANIS: The preliminary SONAR reads show that the thing is hollow. And… very big. Keep looking.
KHAN-1: I think I saw something up at the top.
[KHAN make their way to the top of the stump. The surface is naturally formed of the same calcified-wood material, but is slightly lifted around the circular perimeter with a wall, forming a sort of raised battlement. Closer inspection reveals that the flat plane is not entirely flat - there are steps and short walls, all seeming to be naturally emerging from the wood.] SCAN 62% COMPLETE KHAN-1: This is all grown out of the tree. There's no seams anywhere. What the hell?
GALANIS: Do you see any… breaks or cracks in the wood?
KHAN-2: Nope. It's as smooth as rock. Aaand I think I found a way in. Ajay, help me.
[KHAN-1 floats over to KHAN-2's position. There is a large, flat circular covering in the center of the plane. It is off-center, and around its lower-left edge, a small gap can be seen.] KHAN-1: That thing's huge. If it's solid wood, it's gotta weigh… at least 250 pounds, probably more.
KHAN-2: Then shut up and give me a hand.
[KHAN lift the covering. To their surprise, it is much lighter than its appearance would suggest, and easily floats up.] KHAN-2: Huh.
GALANIS: Interesting. How much did the wooden piece you broke off weight?
KHAN-2: Hard to say, but it's definitely heavier than this was. 10 pounds and it's only about the size of my hand.
GALANIS: Interesting. Do you see anything inside?
KHAN-1: Only a few feet. But it's hollow alright.
GALANIS: Alright, you have permission to enter - one of you. Just a quick look in, alright?
KHAN-1: Roger. Descending now.
[KHAN-1 descends into the aperture.] KHAN-1: It's… real goddamn dark. No light except from above and my suit. I think I can see the floor - it's way, way down. This is… oh man. This is a building.
GALANIS: What?
KHAN-1: I can see walls, a big spiral staircase looping up, probably to the roof.
The top of it cracked off, it's lying on the floor now.
[KHAN-1 continues to descend.] SCAN 98% COMPLETE KHAN-1: Alright, I'm- SCAN COMPLETE! MATCH FOUND GALANIS: Oh, the language scan is done. Let me- KHAN-1: Dora? You there?
GALANIS: Standby, KHAN. Hold your position. Repeat, don't move.
KHAN-1: Uh, okay.
[A minute passes. KHAN-1 and KHAN-2 don't move.] KHAN-1: Something wrong?
GALANIS: Khan, please start ascending back to the Lillihammer.
KHAN-2: We've only been here for- GALANIS: I know. Please, just do it.
KHAN-1: Alright, alright.
KHAN-1 begins to ascend, reapproaching the aperture. As he crests back into open water, KHAN-2 observes him suddenly spasm.] KHAN-1: Fuck!
KHAN-2: Woah! What is it?
KHAN-1: You didn't hear that?
KHAN-2: No, what?
KHAN-1: It was like someone whispering.
GALANIS: Guys, you need to get out of there now.
[KHAN rapidly ascend towards the surface, retrieving the STM. GALANIS does not communicate for this period of time except to regularly affirm that KHAN are still ascending. 17 minutes later, they break the surface 20m starboard of the Lillihammer and swim to the deck of the vessel, pulling themselves over.
The deck is empty.] KHAN-1: Dora? Anybody?
[No response.] KHAN-2: This is creepy.
[KHAN extricate themselves from their COYOTE suits, leaving them on the deck. They climb the stairs to the command deck. The door is open. Several researchers can be seen and heard inside, huddled around the computer monitor. KHAN-1 enters. GALANIS is staring at their computer.] KHAN-1: What the fuck, guys? What happened?
GALANIS: The computer didn't just find a glyph match, it found an exact visual match to a 98.049% accuracy.
KHAN-2: Well, what- GALANIS: A single scan, twenty-three years old. From one of the murals in Amoni-Ram - the ones they were using to rebuild the Old Mekhanite language.
It also had this exact string on it. They determined it was a sample of the Daevite language. "MAMJUL ISHI-VATTA, HOUSE OF THE SCARLET, SEAT OF THE DAEVA." [GALANIS sighs.] GALANIS: We found it.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Following the recall of KHAN to the FRS Lillihammer, a findings report was urgently transmitted to Site-07 and the Lillihammer was ordered to hold position until further notice, with no personnel allowed off the ship. A special session of the O5 Council was called on August 26th, 2002. Due to timing constraints, a handful of O5s were unable to attend the initial meeting with Researcher Pandora Galanis.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT — AUGUST 2002 «IN ATTENDANCE» O5-1: D. Bridge O5-2: C. Kirby O5-5: C. Glaistig O5-6: H. Blankenship O5-7: J. Aktus O5-8: C. Ralston.
O5-10: A. Trintavon O5-13: C. Gears «BEGIN LOG» OPERATOR: Secure Ley connection established. Incoming signal from the FRS Lillihammer to Overwatch Command.
[The Leyspace activates, cycling through a number of locations before settling on a corridor in the Bridge Archive, underneath Site-01. Tall shelves and display cases of historical artifacts line the circular meeting table, which is populated by eight figures out of the fourteen seats. Researcher Galanis' avatar appears, though clouded by static due to the Lillihammer's distance from most Ley lines.] GALANIS: Hello? Oh- oh, my god.
[A man in a dark brown suit with long grey hair and a beard turns to GALANIS.
He speaks with a slight, implacable European accent.] O5-1: Ah. Welcome, Researcher.
GALANIS: I- hello. Hello.
O5-1: My name is Django Bridge. Though, you would know me as O5-1. And of course… [O5-1 motions around the table.] O5-1: This is most of the rest of the Council. A handful of us were unable to make it on such short notice — even Leyspace Communicators have their limits.
GALANIS: Yes. Of course.
[A pale young woman with greenish-white hair speaks up from the far end of the table, in a light Irish accent.] O5-5: You can relax, honey. It's okay. Take your time.
GALANIS: Thank you, Ms… ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT AUGUST 2002 [O5-5 laughs.] O5-5: You can just call me Five.
GALANIS: Right. Thank you, Ms. Five. I, uh, believe some of you have already received preliminary word on what we found.
O5-2: I get about four hundred briefing packets every morning. You're gonna have to explain it.
GALANIS: I see. We, uh. We've found Mamjul and Korar.
[Silence falls over the table. All Council members look up at GALANIS.] O5-8: I'm sorry, what did you say?
O5-6: That's not pos- [The meeting bursts into chatter as all the members begin talking to and over one another. After a few seconds, O5-1 raises his voice.] O5-1: All of you. Stop.
[The conversation dwindles to a halt.] O5-1: Please. Let's let Researcher Galanis explain themselves.
GALANIS: Th-thank you.
[GALANIS clears their throat.] GALANIS: Two days ago, on August 24th, the Foundation Research Ship Lillihammer, crewed by 32, was conducting routine diving operations on potential sites of interest in the Laccadive Sea, about three-hundred kilometers south of Sri Lanka, when we- O5-13: What was the Lillihammer's stated mission?
GALANIS: Uh, broadly speaking, to investigate any potential undersea anomalies in the region.
O5-13: Understood. Continue.
GALANIS: Yes. We had received orders from Indo-Pacific Regional Command to scout out PUS-519. The Atreus Array had detected an anomaly there. So, we positioned the ship over the site, and sent down two divers in personal submersible suits. After descending about three and a half kilometers, the divers encountered what we've new determined are the ruins of a large city, centered around an immense calcified arbo- O5-7: A massive tree stump.
GALANIS: Er, yes. Carved out into what we think is some sort of citadel.
O5-10: Did your divers get anything else?
GALANIS: We, uh, that is to say I, pulled them out as soon as I received a match.
But they saw structures far below the top of the… stump. The rest of the city, at least the size of Amoni-Ram. Maybe larger.
[Silence.] O5-10: Motherfucker.
O5-1: This is… extremely troubling.
O5-10: It's a little more than troubling. This could be worse than Amoni-Ram.
We should get rid of it.
O5-1: Get rid of it?
O5-5: That's insane. How do you plan to get rid of an entire underwater metropolis — and, speaking of which, how and why is this place underwater?
GALANIS: We currently believe- O5-10: Underwater tactical nuke. Blow it to kingdom come.
O5-8: You're insane.
O5-10: I'm insane? You guys want to run right back into the gauntlet, now that the fallout has finally abated somewhat. I mean, fuck. Eleven's seat is still empty.
O5-8: Eleven didn't die because he got kicked around in Amoni-Ram. He had telekill alloy inserted into his goddamn cranium, the tumours would've done him in even without the mnestic o— O5-2: The backlash from what, exactly? Hm?
O5-7: None of that matters.
O5-2: Then what does?
O5-7: The fact that we've just been served an advantage on a silver platter.
O5-2: Need I remind you what happened the last time- O5-7: No, you very well do not. But don't be an idiot, either. In 1987 the playing field was not the same as it is now.
O5-1: People, let's not— O5-7: We now have a material incentive to intervening. We are at a disadvantage against Bumaro, waiting for him to strike. The Daeva dealt a lethal blow to Amoni-Ram — it is worth at the very least investigating their methods.
O5-10: We haven't heard anything from the Mekhanites in a decade. Maybe they wiped themselves out.
O5-5: Surely you don't really- O5-2: We should wait for the Administr- O5-7: We don't even know if he's alive! It's been years- [Over the din, GALANIS raises their voice.] GALANIS: Excuse me! EXCUSE ME!
[The attendees turn to look at them.] GALANIS: I… know that this wasn't supposed to happen.
O5-8: What're you- O5-5: Let them speak, .
GALANIS: The maps in Amoni-Ram pointed us at India, but no one expected it to be in the sea. Project TRIAD's efforts have been focused into mainland India.
Everyone knows — I know why I got put on this detail. I can't speak to what happened in 1987, because I wasn't in the city. But this isn't the same organization it was then. We don't allow cybernetics anymore, we have the CRV system. We've changed to avoid those mistakes.
O5-2: Those are… certainly points, but that doesn't change the fact that the risk posed by investing resources in another venture like this… GALANIS: Well, we're not the only ones who know about it.
O5-8: What did you say?
GALANIS: We were working off what we managed to get out of SCP-001 before… everything happened. Bumaro has had access to the city for a decade since. Think about what he unlocked in a year. Now imagine what he could do in ten. And what he could do if he takes Mamjul and Korar.
[Silence.] GALANIS: As far as we know, the Daevic Covenant are half the reason the Mekhanites fell. We need their deterrent.
[The Overseers begin to discuss among themselves in low voices.] O5-10: Not a bad argument. But we're gonna need more concrete assurances than happy feelings and declarations of trust.
GALANIS: I- Of cour- [O5-1 stands.] O5-1: And we can continue to discuss that in private. Thank you for your cooperation, Researcher Galanis. Please hold your position with the Lillihammer and maintain your lockdown; any new orders will be transmitted to you as soon as we've arrived at a decision.
GALANIS: Yes. Understood. Thank you.
[Leyspace connection to: SITE-01 terminated.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Two days later, on August 28th, O5 Edict #2050 was released, accounting for the creation of the Mamjul/Korar Initiative, albeit with several restrictions and assurances to prevent unforeseen incidents.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT AUGUST 2002 COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA ABSTAIN NAY O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 X X X O5-12 O5-13 ADDITIONAL VOTE Administrator N/A STATUS APPROVED The Mamjul/Korar Initiative has been hesitantly approved, and initial funding allocated.
However, the project must stay under several caveats, under pain of immediate dissolution and disciplinary action for involved personnel: ATTACHED DOCUMENT — AUGUST 2002 Detachments from Mobile Task Forces Alpha-1 and Delta-1 are to be attached to the initiative to monitor progress, and report directly to the Council on any developments; Project Lead Pandora Galanis is to be routinely tested by operators for memetic or cognitohazardous influence; All personnel are to have Cognitohazard Resistance Values of at least 14.9; Active anomalous objects are only to receive cursory examination on-site; extended research will be conducted at MKF-02 in the Maldives; FMS Phantom has been diverted from its assignment in the Southern Ocean, and is en- route to provide support, supply, and personnel to the FRS Lillihammer. Upon arrival, the two vessels will dock with each other to form MKF-01. Further personnel will be flown in from MKF-02 after passing prerequisite CRV tests; Project Lead Galanis has been informed of and agreed to these restrictions. They have and will continue to be communicated to all involved personnel, and Overwatch Command will take a significant position in administrative decisions for the Initiative.
Due to their heading the discovery of Mamjul as well as their prior experience with anomalous civilizations, Researcher Pandora Galanis was selected as the Project Lead for the Initiative, with the recommendation of O5-1.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — AUGUST 2002 Doctor Pandora Galanis Doctor Pandora Galanis Age: 44 Position: Researcher with the Parahistory Division CRV: 23.3 Education: PhD in Anthropology, University of Oxford; extensive education through Foundation Academic Service.
Previous Assignment: Investigating underwater ruins in the Indian Ocean; CSO on the FRS Lillihammer.
Employment Summary: Recruited out of university by the Foundation in 1982 for the fledgling Parahistory Division. Assigned to the Amoni-Ram Initiative at the project's beginning in 1983, and stationed in Amoni-Ram's ARF-01 for only three months before transferring to Italy due to health issues. Remained a member of the project, handling and analyzing recovered Mekhanite technology and artifacts for long-term containment at Site-23. As with all remaining members of the Amoni-Ram Initiative, investigated thoroughly for cognitohazardous influence or improper behavior but cleared of any accusations. Reassigned to a series of low-priority Parahistory research projects.
Other Notes: Identifies as nonbinary gender identity; refer to using they/them pronouns. Displays a remarkably high CRV and level of competence in their work. Recommended for promotion 6 times under multiple different supervisors from 1985 to 2002; promotion blocked in every instance by Internal Security Directive CANDYSHOP , regarding monitoring and containing the handful of Amoni-Ram Initiative personnel who had been working outside of SCP-001-GOLD, part of which required they be placed in limited-impact, low-threat positions in case of lasting cognitohazardous influence that has escaped detection.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT AUGUST 2002 ATTACHED DOCUMENT — AUGUST 2002 FMS Phantom, undergoing resupply.
FOUNDATION MULTIPURPOSE VESSEL PHANTOM Displacement: 19,000 tons Length: 197m Purposes: Research, Anomaly Investigation, Mobile Task Force Staging Point, SIGINT.
Crew: 470 human crew members, including researchers, engineers, and security services — significant complement of AICs.
Captain: Keavy Hickman Launched: Purchased from the Republic of China in 1992; extensively retrofitted by the Foundation as a prototype for OLYMPIA systems.
Equipped With: Signal warfare suite, traditional arms and ammunition, multiple laboratories, Leyspace communicator, SCiPnet uplink and terminals, aircraft.
Current Mission: Mobile research station off the coast of Antarctica — reassigned to Mamjul-Korar Initiative in August 2002.
▷CLOSE◁ The FMS Phantom arrived at the FRS Lillihammer's location on September 2nd and created a long-term connection between the two ships. Initiative personnel began to share documents and information while the respective commanders met.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT AUGUST 2002 ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT — SEPTEMBER 2002 Captain Keavy Hickman «BEGIN LOG» GALANIS: Oh, wow. You must be Captain Hickman.
HICKMAN: Guilty as charged.
Doctor Galanis, I presume.
GALANIS: Mhm. And this is Ajay Desai.
DESAI: Hello, Captain. I'm the lead diver on the Lillihammer. Nice to finally put faces to names.
HICKMAN: The feeling is very mutual. This has all been very sudden — not your fault, of course, but I'm just used to having orders months in advance. Not being turned around with less than 48 hours of warning.
[HICKMAN laughs.] HICKMAN: No matter in the end, right? This is far more exciting stuff than watching polar bears fuck on ice floats.
GALANIS: Tell me about it. My god, two weeks ago I was assuring the rest of the team that we would find something eventually. And now I'm sitting in on Council meetings and leading the biggest project since… HICKMAN: Right. I bet that shadow's still looming over them like a— Oh, don't look now.
[The door opens and Lt. LUCIAN GREAVES enters. He exchanges salutes with Cpt. HICKMAN.] GREAVES: Captain, Doctor.
GALANIS: Hello.
HICKMAN: Ah, right, you've not been introduced. This is Lieutenant Lucian Greaves, head of the… security detail for your project, I believe. We picked him and his unit up about two days ago.
GREAVES: That's right. Apologies, Doctor — it's surprisingly easy to forget you've never really met someone when you've been reading their dossiers for a week.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT SEPTEMBER 2002 GALANIS: I'm… sure, yes.
DESAI: You're with which Mobile Task Force again, Lieutenant?
GREAVES: Alpha-1.
[Silence.] GALANIS: Ah.
DESAI: Right, you're our babysitters.
GALANIS: Ajay… GREAVES: It's alright. I understand this must be… unfamiliar, for you. I understand Foundation naval teams are used to a certain level of independence, this far from civilization.
DESAI: Damn right.
GREAVES: But you know as well as I do that this venture wouldn't have been approved without certain assurances. Like my unit's presence. The Council has a long memory, and Amoni-Ram is still a fresh wound. One I've been tasked with making sure isn't reopened.
HICKMAN: Hah, well, that's very noble, Lieutenant. I reckon all of us can respect the dedication to duty.
GALANIS: For sure.
GREAVES: For what it's worth, I hope to make this as painless as possible for all of us. We'll try not to disturb your work beyond what's needed, Doctor.
GALANIS: I appreciate that, Lieutenant. Thank you.
GREAVES: Of course. But obviously I'm going to need your cooperation for that.
I hope you don't have any qualms with us checking in on your work every so often. We need to report back regularly.
GALANIS: I… yes, that's fine.
GREAVES: Excellent. I have to go make sure the unit's settled in now. I'll be seeing you.
[GREAVES departs, closing the door behind him.] DESAI: Goddamn tactical guys.
GALANIS: Ajay, you're in an MTF too.
DESAI: Yeah, a labcoat — well, wetsuit one. We're normal people for the most part. These guys? These are ex-military, Army rangers, CIA types. Shoot first, waterboard later. I don't trust 'em. No offense, Captain Hickman.
HICKMAN: None taken. I reckon there's not a man in the Foundation who wouldn't be at least a little jittery when the Red Right Hand is looking over their shoulder.
DESAI: How'd they get that name, anyway?
GALANIS: John Milton, Paradise Lost. "What if the breath that kindled those grim fires / Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage / And plunge us into flames; or from above / Should intermitted vengeance arm again / His red right hand to plague us?" HICKMAN: You have that memorized?
[GALANIS shrugs.] GALANIS: It's fine. I can't blame them for being suspicious. I told the Council that we had moved past what Nussbaum and Aram or Bumaro or whatever he's called, did. And we have, I think. But… it's not an unreasonable suspicion.
I'm okay with a little scrutiny on my work if it means I get to study the Daevic Covenant like I've always wanted.
HICKMAN: A respectable mindset. I don't intend to interfere either, Doctor. I run a tight ship but as long as we're docked here, I'll leave the science decisions and how to allocate the researchers up to you. If you have any problems, feel free to come to me and I'll sort them out — but beyond that, you are technically who I answer to for the duration of the project.
GALANIS: That's much appreciated, Captain.
HICKMAN: Don't mention it. But uh, now that we're all settled in — blimey, this is a huge project, isn't it? An entire city.
GALANIS: It's huge. And there's no time to lose — the research team already assembled this morning. We start descending tomorrow.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ ACT II INSPIRATION FILESERV NOTICE: The following document was inserted into this file at a later date, under containment protocol HERODOTUS . Refer to Special Containment Procedures for more information.
VERSE 56 60 As witnessed by Sodibiarat, Second Rajmata of the Scarlet Maharaja.
The Covenant was struck, and the King of the Scarlet House of the Daeva took his wife and his throne and slept and dreamt a dream of a grand, great city of stone and spire spanning vast farmlands and jungles, the seat of an empire that would truly please the Scarlet. At their emperor's behest and now able to take form on the Material Plane, the Daeva of the Scarlet rode down from the trees on their six-winged thousand-legged beasts of burden and joined in celebrations with the tribe of their new suzerain, in hymnal and orgiastic worship to the great red power.
Then the Daeva, with their many arms, grasped the stones and built a fortress to protect themselves, for now the Daeva and the Men were one in the eyes of the trees. They worked tirelessly and without cease for three nights and three days while Mamjul, city for Men, rose from the earth around the Great Tree of Life. Then they climed the trunk and branches of the tree, scaling it up to the heavens and back into the Astral Plane whereupon they again began to work, constructing another city of starstuff and soul- spirits given up to the cosmos after death. The leaves and fruits and flowers of the Great Tree formed the canopy for this Korar, city for Daeva, great beacon through the empty wandering wastes of the heavens, a perfect mirror of its sister below with the Scarlet Maharaja resting in his dream, sustaining the empire, in the grand temple of the Tree.
The magic of the Daeva was now Man's to commend, and the battlemages and sorcerer-nawabs marched out under their scarlet banner to conquer fertile lands and the godless cities in the name of their king, assisted by the spirits lengths tall and able to tear a man in two with only a strike. The red wave swept across Asia from the south, demolishing all in its path, consuming the spirit of the enemy, taking prisoner-slave and loot back back to Mamjul on the back of the great beasts of the Covenant.
Cities would lay down arms and accept the Scarlet Maharaja as their chakravarti as his beasts and creatures brought down their walls and the magicians would lay waste to their palaces and temples.
VERSE 56-60 The Scarlet Maharaja's bride, the Rajmata, would sit and rule in his stead, matriarch of the Covenant as he slept in the branches of the Great Tree. Long-lived and beautiful and awesome, the lineage of queens would defend the city against all threats. And the city swelled with treasures and fine linens and foodstuffs across the vast Daevic Covenant, and the poets and artists and dancers and people of thought filled its buildings with the culture of the Covenant. And when they died, their spirits would dance the dance of the cosmos, rising up the Tree into Korar to live the eternal song of the Daeva. And the Daeva would reside in their kingdom above, watching over the Men they loved so. And it was in this way that Mamjul became known as Mamjul, Jewel of the South, and Korar became the Great Tree-Kingdom of the Cosmos.
Section 001.3 MAMJUL RESEARCH The first of several dives into the ruins of the city to recover artifacts and any information or records still remaining took place on September 6th, 2002. The submersible aboard the Lillihammer was outfitted with grab arms, spotlights, and a holding bay before being deployed.
The submersible, designated KALLA-1, was capable of both manned piloting by 2-3 crew members, or partial-unmanned piloting by CALYPSO.aic, one of the first Gen1 Artificial Intelligence Constructs produced at Site-7. For the first dive, partial-unmanned operation was utilized.
▶OPEN ADDENDUM◀ 3 Following the arrival of KALLA-1 and the analysis of onboard data, anomalies were detected in the audio recorded by the submersible's underwater microphones. The audio tracks were isolated and amplified, revealing a low-frequency buzzing of unknown origin from T+02:02 to when KALLA-1 exited the ruins of Mamjul. Tests of the microphones revealed no malfunction.
Lt. Greaves and Operator Desai both submitted to Hartwell-Pugh evaluations following the conclusion of the dive mission and passed with adequate scores, indicating no present cognitohazardous influence.
The samples recovered from the dive were analyzed on-site in the clean labs aboard the Phantom before being transported to MKF-02 by helicopter for long-term study and, if necessary, containment. The large piece of the citadel structure lasered off by KALLA-1 confirmed that the substance comprising the structure is organic, similar in appearance to teak wood but heavily hardened and mineralized through a process resembling fossilization. The final product is a dark, knotted wood that is incredibly dense and hard, comparable to stone, while being entirely organically grown; the size and proportions of the 435m stump suggest that the full tree would have been nearly a kilometer high.
The jars recovered by KALLA-1 were, as suspected, sealed and made watertight through application of a thick, gum-like substance. Upon removal and opening of the jars, stone and clay tablets were discovered inside. However, the tablets were all completely featureless, lacking any kind of writing or marking. The significance of these tablets is as of yet unknown.
The digital images recorded of the various carvings on the citadel and throughout the city were disseminated for analysis among the research team. On September 12th, the research team had the first of several leadership meetings among the various research sectors.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT - SEPTEMBER 2002 «BEGIN LOG» GALANIS: Good morning, everyone — is that everyone, actually?
[Murmurs of assent from the assembled committee.] GALANIS: Excellent! I've already met most of you, but I do see some new faces.
About a third of you are from my research team, and the rest of you have been flown out especially for this project. Some of you are the best in your fields, and some of you are young and hungry. Either way, I personally appreciate you coming, and hope that we can really work well together. This is the project of a lifetime for me — I guess I'm rambling, aren't I?
[GALANIS laughs, smoothing out their labcoat and placing the clipboard down on the table.] GALANIS: Well, I'm Doctor Pandora V. Galanis, Project Lead. If all of you could introduce yourself as you speak, it certainly wouldn't go unappreciated! Hard time with attaching names to faces. This, of course, is my second-in- command, Operator Ajay Desai.
DESAI: Hello, all.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): Levi Sheridan, head of Archaeology. Pleasure to be working with you, ma'am.
GALANIS: Nice to meet you, Levi, but not a ma'am.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): …Ah. Right. I'm sorry- GALANIS: You're fine. Glad to have you aboard.
YIJUN (LING): Senior Researcher Xing Yijun, I'm heading the Linguistic Analysis Team — I just wanted to ask, ah… are we… in danger?
GALANIS: What?
[YIJUN points to the corner of the room.] GALANIS: Oh. No, nothing like that. No, Lieutenant Greaves and his unit are just here as observers.
[GREAVES raises a hand.] GREAVES: Pretend I'm not even here.
[Silence.] ATTACHED DOCUMENT SEPTEMBER 2002 GALANIS: Right… well, no sense in wasting any more time. It's been a few days since the KALLA-1 dive, and since then we've confirmed that we're not getting any expressly anomalous readings from the city itself or any of the recovered material. The samples recovered are definitely odd and of significant interest to the project, but Hume levels are normal, HP evaluations after the dive were normal, pretty much all readings are normal.
ABERER (ANTH): Doctor Karl Aberer, Anthropology. Sorry — but we've barely explored the city yet, no? The submersible was only able to move through the largest, least-damaged portions of the city.
YIJUN (LING): There's so much still down there.
GALANIS: That's true! KALLA-1 isn't able to get into the nooks and crannies of Mamjul's buildings, or extensively explore the interior of the space. But… after conferring with the Council - and Lieutenant Greaves - we have authorization to begin entering the city!
[A small cheer rings out through the conference room from those assembled.] RAMASWAMY (HIST): That's amazing. I mean, it's amazing, but we're sure it's safe?
GALANIS: Vijay, right? From Parahistory. Yes, there's no reason to think that there's anything spooky down there, but I'd like everyone to be cautious regardless, you know? Even without anything anomalous, exploring those old degraded ruins can be dangerous at the best of times. I mean, look what happened to Dr. Nuss- GREAVES: Yes. Like Doctor Galanis said, there's nothing expressly anomalous but it would do everyone well to be cautious. And keep in mind the context we're working with here.
GALANIS: …Thank you, Lieutenant. Well, all that said, I'd like to quickly go over our current pool of knowledge and get everyone on the same page. Just a quick refresher of where we're at right now in terms of knowledge on the Daevic Covenant. These will be sent out in paper memos, of course! Just, you know, I find things easier explained if they're verbalized. I hope nobody minds?
[Murmurs of assent from the group.] GALANIS: Okay! I'll start us off: prior to discovering — stumbling across, really — Mamjul, all our knowledge on the Daevic Covenant, even the name itself, came from either the Aegean Tablets or records recovered from the Amoni-Ram Initiative. The image they give is of some kind of caste-based proto-Tamil Indian civilization, one that made exceptionally heavy use of 'life magic'. The Ancient Mekhanites wrote far less about the Daevic Covenant than they did about the Nälka, but we did determine that they were hostile to one another.
Mekhanite dogma was transhumanist, and the way they spoke of and referenced the Covenant suggests their religion and 'magic', which seem to be more concerned with the spirit and soul, conflicted easily.
RAMASWAMY (HIST): Certainly true, but I must remind everyone that we are unfortunately limited in scope by the nature and context of our sources. As mentioned, the Daevic Covenant, the Mekhanite Empire, and the Nälka peoples were at war with one another almost as soon as they become aware of one another when colonizing Central Asia. It is entirely possible — likely, even, that much of the writings of the period were more intended as religious propaganda than historical record. I would not take anything as gospel.
GALANIS: Absolutely. The only other record we have is the Aegean Tablets. Mr.
Sheridan?
SHERIDAN (ARCH): Yeah. Um, yes. The section of the Aegean Tablets we've translated so far, the one describing the Covenant, shares some broad strokes with the Mekhanite portrayal. Precursor to Tamil Indian empires in the same way the Mekhanites would later influence pre-Islamic Arabian empires. They go into detail about the magic 'of life' referenced in the first tablet. Right now we're inclined to think it's some kind of thaumaturgy focusing on living tissue — particularly plant matter, but also probably other organic stuff. Anyway, you're all familiar with the creation myth relayed, but to sum it up: the first human tribes in India apparently were farther south, during a recession of the Indian Ocean. The leader of one of these tribes made some kind of deal with a spirit, a Daeva, to ally their societies into one. The titular Daevic Covenant.
YIJUAN (LING): That's quite similar to the Mekhanite myth, isn't it? A god offering boons to a human society in exchange for service and worship?
GALANIS: It is. And, to their credit, both seem to agree that these gods were… somehow related.
YIJUAN (LING): Part of a pantheon, most likely.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): From there, it's more murky. It describes the construction of Mamjul, but no idea what Korar even is, if anything. It breaks from the Mekhanite dogma, referencing four gods at the start instead of three.
Something called 'the Wretch'. I don't even know what the Daeva are exactly, how they managed to bring down Amoni-Ram, or how they relate to the Abominate.
GALANIS: There's a lot more questions than answers. I was hoping the city would clarify some of them, but… so far, all we've found are blank tablets and bones. Something bad happened here, but we don't know what. But, I think our time is just about done, so unless anyone has anything else- DESAI: Pardon me.
GALANIS: Ajay? What's up?
DESAI: You know — I'm no scientist. I'm sure you guys know what you're doing.
But… I can't help but think you guys are kind of missing the forest for the trees, a little bit.
GALANIS: What?
DESAI: Is no one else gonna say it?
[Pause.] DESAI: What kind of power does it take to sink an entire fucking continent?
[Silence.] GALANIS: I guess it's our job to find out, isn't it? Dismissed.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Over the following weeks, the trained COYOTE divers of MTF Gamma-6 ("Deep Feeders"), Fireteam KHAN, performed 13 dives into Mamjul to explore the interior sections of the citadel, the city, and recover any artifacts or possibly relevant material. Dives were typically led by Operator Ajay Desai (Khan-1) and monitored by members of the Research Committee and a member of MTF Alpha-1.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT EXCERPTS — SEPTEMBER 2002 Still from KHAN-4's camera feed.
DIVE 1 — NEARBY BUILDINGS KHAN-1: Alright, we're at the bottom of the tower now. Going to exit through the passage into the city.
KHAN-2: God, this place gives me the creeps.
KHAN-4: Relax. Nothing but crappy old ruins. Anything else would be crushed at this depth and pressure. Even sperm whales don't dive this deep.
KHAN-3: Deep.
KHAN-1: No kidding.
[Team progresses through the passage.] COMMAND: Remember — just scout out the buildings, the architecture near the citadel, and the interiors for anything of interest. You can split up to cover more ground, but don't stray too far from the citadel or each other. We don't want you guys getting lost.
KHAN-1: Roger… holy crap.
[The team exits out into the city streets. They are surrounded by the most intact of the buildings, reaching six or seven stories high and cut entirely from intricately-worked, stained grey stone. The flat avenue in front of them is littered with debris unseen by the submersible's cameras, including large amounts of bones half-buried in the silt.] KHAN-3: Impressive.
KHAN-2: This looks… way bigger in person than it did from the sub's cameras.
COMMAND: Anomalously so, KHAN?
KHAN-2: No, no. Just, you know. Forced perspective. It's… KHAN-1: Intimidating. Let's get moving. Don't go more than 2 or 3 buildings away in any direction.
KHAN-4: Roger that.
[The team splits up, jetting off in various directions to explore the nearby portions of the city while conversing over the radio.] ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT EXCERPTS SEPTEMBER 2002 KHAN-1: I'm entering this one just outside the passage to the citadel.
Goddamn, it's dark as sh- wait.
COMMAND: KHAN-1?
KHAN-1: Hey, guys? Kill your lights for a second.
KHAN-4: Boss?
KHAN-3: Why?
KHAN-1: Just do it.
[The members of KHAN team disable the lamps on their COYOTE suits, plunging them into pure darkness. After several seconds, a soft greenish glow begins to form. Along the cracks and crevices of the buildings, some kind of moss begin to glow in the darkness, illuminating the surrounding area to a pale, sickly green light.] Mamjul, taken by MTF Gamma-6.
KHAN-2: Woah.
KHAN-3: What is it?
KHAN-2: Looks to be a bioluminscent algae of some kind. Spread throughout the water, and collects in the corners of the buildings. But algae doesn't appear this deep, certainly not the kind that glows. It needs sunlight. These things shouldn't be alive.
KHAN-1: Genetic engineering?
KHAN-2: I… really can't say, chief.
KHAN-1: Alright. Well, bag a sample.
KHAN-4: Shouldn't be hard, looks like it covers the entire damn city.
KHAN-1: These buildings are… familiar looking.
KHAN-3: How so?
Still from KHAN-2's camera feed.
KHAN-1: I visited Cambodia a few years ago. Angkor Wat, a gigantic Buddhist temple complex all wrought from the same stone. Every wall covered and layered in intricate carvings of myths and legends. It feels like that.
This place is drenched in religion, you can feel it in every crevice.
KHAN-2: But… this place predates Angkor Wat by three thousand years.
KHAN-1: Yup.
[The team continues exploring the surrounding buildings. As KHAN-1 described, all buildings are reminiscent of Cambodia and general Southeast Asian architecture. Many of the buildings resemble temples in structure and form.] KHAN-1: Anyone find anything?
KHAN-3: Empty.
KHAN-2: This doesn't make sense. These would've been the largest and most impressive buildings, by proximity to the temple. Right?
KHAN-3: They should be. But there's nothing here, certainly nothing we can use.
KHAN-1: Just dust and blood.
DIVE 6 — CITY STREETS [KHAN team progresses through the open streets and avenues of Mamjul, ignoring the standing structures and focusing on the layout of the city. They travel as a group in a diamond formation. They encounter several large pits in the place of buildings, carved with steps in the sides leading down. These pits contain water significantly darker than their surroundings.] KHAN-2: It looks like a stepwell.
KHAN-4: A what?
Still from KHAN-2's camera feed.
KHAN-2: A kind of ancient Indian reservoir. Basically a huge pit dug into the ground that would collect rainwater, then you'd walk down the steps to get it.
No idea what's in there now, though.
KHAN-3: Geothermal activity?
KHAN-1: Unlikely in this part of the ocean. Take a sample, we'll analyze it.
[The team continues back out to the streets. In the southern third of the city, they float over large pathways leading to the citadel that are layered with bones.] KHAN-2: Jesus Christ, that's a lot of skeletons.
KHAN-3: Not all human.
KHAN-4: He's right, look at them. Some of these don't make any kind of sense.
[KHAN-4 floats down and picks up a skull, dusting off the sand.] KHAN-4: Look at this.
[The skull is far denser than its appearance would suggest. The large cranium fans out into two horn-like protrusions, with a wide crest behind them. There are three eye sockets spread horizontally.] KHAN-2: That doesn't look human in the slightest. A lot of these look more like… cattle, then people. But even then, no cattle I've ever seen before.
KHAN-1: Cattle would make sense, anyway. These huge streets — Amoni-Ram had them because they had all kinds of mechs and bullshit, but judging by the size of some of these skulls, I think foot traffic was a lot bigger back then.
KHAN-3: Unharmed, too.
KHAN-2: Yeah, that's been bothering me. A lot of these… there's no signs of breaking, trauma, they're hardly even damaged. So clearly a lot of these didn't die in battle. Whatever, something for the researchers to figure out. Let's keep moving.
DIVE 13 — CITADEL [The team has split in two groups to cover more ground as they explore the various levels of the massive citadel.] KHAN-1: Command, still got a signal from us?
COMMAND: Loud and mostly-clear.
KHAN-1: I'm still hearing that fuckin' noise, is someone's radio on static?
KHAN-4: I don't hear anything else, boss.
KHAN-3: Nope.
COMMAND: Keep moving for now, KHAN. Keep an eye on each other.
KHAN-2: Frankly… I don't think there's anything here for us to find, command.
KHAN-1: Agreed. We've been scouring this place for hours now, working our way down. There's nothing.
KHAN-4: At least we were right about the name, it's a citadel. A cross between a fortress, a palace, and a temple. We've hit like six different battlements on our way and we're not even halfway down yet.
KHAN-2: There's an extensive system of rooms, but without furniture it's basically impossible to tell what they're intended for. They could be bedrooms or dungeons, there's just no way to know. But we've taken samples of the plant life — and I think that's all we can really do.
COMMAND: KHAN-1?
KHAN-1: I'd like to check out the base floor. Then we can leave.
COMMAND: Affirmative. Let us know what you find.
[KHAN team descends the remaining distance through the central passage to the ground floor of the citadel. Carefully manuevering around the heaps of broken rubble, they turn on floodlamps, illuminating the space. It is dominated by two massive statues resting on a dais with an altar in the center of the space. They resemble the two largest figures on the carvings outside — one male in a headdress and armor, and an androgynous spirit inlaid with red jewels. They appear to be dancing. In front of them, a throne sits almost two meters off the ground, carved from what appears to be a single root of the tree. Several other statues with cupped hands decorate the space.] KHAN-1: Woah.
KHAN-4: That is some spooky bullshit.
KHAN-2: Well, at least now we're sure it was a palace.
KHAN-1: And a temple. Look at the floor.
[The wood floor underneath them contains a similarly intricate series of wood symbols and lettering, spreading out in concentric circles from the altar.] KHAN-1: Wait. What is that?
[KHAN-1 descends, approaching the altar, into which is embedded a dark object. On approach, it is clearly a knife of some kind. He pulls it from the wood, and it tumbles free.] KHAN-2: A ritual dagger. Look at the markings.
KHAN-4: Yeah that's… fuck that.
KHAN-1: I'll bag it. The rest of you, take some photos. Then let's get the fuck out of here.
[The other team members float through the throne room, taking video.] KHAN-2: Not seeing a whole lot. Most of these carvings have been rubbed away by the water.
KHAN-3: No other relics lying around, anyway. Upper floors were similarly empty.
KHAN-1: So the creepy dagger is the only thing of worth down here. Nice.
KHAN-4: Should we keep looking, Ajay?
KHAN-1: Nah, let's head up. If there was anything material down here, we would've found it by now.
▷CLOSE◁ Concurrently and following these dives, the samples recovered from Mamjul were analyzed on- site in the following weeks by the various subteams and personnel of the Research Committee, under the direction of Dr. Galanis. However, the limited array of samples and general lack of historical material to focus the historical and archaeological aspect of the investigation caused difficulty and a lack of actionable results.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — OCTOBER 2002 FROM THE DESK OF DOCTOR PANDORA GALANIS MAMJUL-KORAR INITIATIVE Personal thoughts on research progress This hasn't quite worked out the way I'd hoped.
I don't feel cheated, or bitter. Nobody could've predicted stuff like this, that the city would be nigh-empty or that we'd be working from scraps. But it's still frustrating regardless. This was supposed to be my big break — I've enjoyed spending my time on the Lillihammer's crew, but I think everyone knew why I was there instead of climbing the ladder back at a real Site. Relegated to the dustbin of history for something I didn't even do. I mean, I'm not stupid, I get it.
They can't know for certain I had nothing to do with what happened in Amoni- Ram. But it's still unfair.
And then of all the ships in the world, I happen to be on the one that stumbles across Mamjul. It's gotta be fate, I tell myself, and promise that I'll do the best I can to show them all that I'm not Bumaro or Doctor Nussbaum. And now I have to go, tail between my legs, and tell the Council that I don't have anything. Not even anything good, but nothing. Maybe they were right to keep me away from the real projects. I know it's not true, but goddamn if it doesn't feel like it right now.
It just doesn't make sense, though. Nothing about this makes sense. Amoni- Ram was a technological marvel — they were doing cold fusion in 1500 BCE.
The only thing remotely anomalous about the Daevic Covenant so far is the fact that they had strange plants. How was this war at all evenly matched?
What did the Daeva have that made the Ancient Mekhanites so terrified of them? What is Korar? What the hell happened here?
We might even be able to answer that if we had anything left of records, writings, materials, artifacts, relics, anything. But there's nothing. It's as if the Daeva have been… wiped from history. It's infuriating. The research teams are demoralized. The divers are sick of going down to root around in old ruins and find nothing. The fact that their every move is constantly watched by armed men doesn't exactly help. I've had people coming to me and Ajay for weeks with complaints of the MTF guys making it impossible for them to get any work done. But there's not much I can do without them thinking I've gone native.
It's funny how many of my problems lead back to Bumaro despite never even meeting him.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT OCTOBER 2002 I don't know what to do. There's just so many questions that haven't been answered. All we know right now is a facsimile, a half-dreamt image of the Daevic culture. A rich history of architecture, art, and dance that you can still see influences of in Indian and Cambodian culture. An almost religious reverence for nature, androgyny, and dreams. But also indications of cannibalism, ritual sacrifice, brutal slavery. And these are all just from what we've observed in the city. No one really knows anything about the Daeva. If we just had some kind of guide… Try as I might not to, I keep returning to Bumaro and Nussbaum, what they would've done. Though they did it for an abominable purpose, they were the only ones in the situation I'm in now. They were blockaded in their research until they found the Preserver to help them understand. Conventional methods stopped working, so they looked for a guide, and found one. Except there aren't any guides left here.
Or maybe I just need to broaden my horizons.
▷CLOSE◁ A meeting between the project lead and O5-1 was scheduled for October 4th, using the Secure Leyspace Communicator, to update the Council on the Initiative's progress.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — OCTOBER 2002 «BEGIN LOG» OPERATOR: Ley connection to Sanctum One established. Doctor Galanis, O5-1 is waiting. Please step into the Communicator.
[GALANIS steps onto the circular metal platform. The Leyspace activates, cycling through a number of locations before settling on a massive, open broadway in an ancient desert city. The surrounding buildings are hewn from sandstone while gleaming bronze skyscrapers dominate the skyline. The sun rests high overhead. O5-1 stands a few meters away from GALANIS.] GALANIS: Wait, hold on, is this— O5-1: Amoni-Ram, yes. The Leyspace is a strange thing. I'm not very technical myself but my understanding is that the Communicator sends an encrypted signal through the Earth's latent Ley lines. Fast, doesn't need any infrastructure, and it's practically impossible to intercept unless you catch the signal as it's coming in. But it's magic, and it tends to respond to the moods and minds of the users.
[He gestures around.] O5-1: And Amoni-Ram has been weighing on my mind quite heavily as of late.
GALANIS: I figure it doesn't help that Buma- Aram built this thing.
O5-1: It doesn't, though he built a vast array of things, many of which we still use. And you can call him Bumaro. It's what we've been doing ever since we last heard from him. He was no longer the man we hired, as far as I'm concerned.
Maybe not a man at all.
GALANIS: When was that?
O5-1: Nearly ten years ago, now. Our searches in the anomalous Nexuses for any sign of the Church of the Broken God's location paid off. But things… went poorly. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge too many details. I'm sure you understand.
GALANIS: Yeah, I get it, don't worry. Though, it's kind of hard not to, imagining someone that unhinged running around with that kind of power. One of the biggest threats we're facing.
O5-1: I disagree.
GALANIS: Wait, what? The Council seemed- O5-1: I am not the Council. My colleagues agree that Bumaro is an existential danger to the Foundation, and so do I. But not for one second have I fallen under the delusion that he is insane or the biggest threat we face. Just the most present one.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT OCTOBER 2002 GALANIS: You think he's… what, doing this for power? As a calculated move?
O5-1: I think that… [O5-1 sighs, and begins to walk down the broadway. GALANIS follows.] O5-1: How old do you think I am, Doctor Galanis?
GALANIS: I… don't really know.
[GALANIS laughs.] GALANIS: It's kind of an open secret that you guys are long-lived. And you've been around for pretty much as long as anyone I've talked to can remember.
But I get the sense that's not exactly what you were asking, right?
O5-1: At once sobering and unsurprising. And correct.
GALANIS: Then I'd say you look like a very good 80. Or a really bad 60.
[O5-1 stops in the street by a large power pole, looking upward.] O5-1: I was born in a Roma camp in Wales in 1880. I was at Verdun, and Gallipoli, and the Somme. I lived through the War to End All Wars, and another after that, not to mention the countless other conflicts scattered across Europe. I witnessed their hidden underbelly, the Occult Wars with their carnage left unseen and unknown by the world at large. Dying angels in no man's land, accursed weaponry and soldiers roused from the dead. I saw Robert Bumaro in the last message he ever left for the Foundation, and his was not a face of Machiavellian scheming. His was a face I am unfortunately familiar with seeing and wearing: a man terrified, able to see the world sliding into another Occult War, powerless to stop it.
GALANIS: Oh.
[The pair resume walking down the street, passing sandstone buildings interlaced with fuladh. Minarets and spires jut out from the larger buildings, and the palace is visible in the distance.] O5-1: Apologies. I prefer to keep my thoughts on the matter to myself. But yes.
I think that Bumaro discovered something about the Abominate, whatever it is, that shook him to his core. I've seen too many men die not to say that, as a young man, if I had known what I know now… I would have done anything to protect the ones I love. I simply disagree with him about the means; I think the Foundation remains the best, the only vanguard against such a threat. But I am sure the threat is coming.
GALANIS: That's… a lot to take in. Fuck. Sorry.
O5-1: Quite alright. But now you see why we've taken this risk on the project, on you. Whatever the secrets of the Daeva are, we need them now more than ever.
GALANIS: I know. But it's just… worrying?
O5-1: Worrying?
GALANIS: It's a lot of pressure. I'm not… the kind of person built for leadership, honestly. I can't help but wonder if you're not better off choosing someone else.
O5-1: Perhaps. But it doesn't really matter.
GALANIS: Why?
O5-1: Because you're who we chose, for better or for worse. You'll either live up to the task, or you won't. For what it's worth, I think you're doing fine. Though your face tells me you come to me with bad news.
GALANIS: I… yes, I do. The project is stalled, for lack of a better word. I'm sorry, I know this must be disappointing but- O5-1: You don't have to apologize to me, Dr. Galanis. I like you, and I do not consider your worth contingent on the success or failure of this mission as you seem to.
GALANIS: Oh! Um. Thank you. That's… very kind of you. I appreciate that a lot, actually.
[O5-1 nods.] O5-1: We're both historians. You remind me quite a lot of myself in younger years, in fact. Before I saw all the horrid depravity the world has to offer. You have the bright eyes of an optimist. Don't lose them. We shall need idealists in the Foundation in the times to come. But I digress. Apologies. Why is the project at a halt?
GALANIS: We just don't have anything to work from. There's almost no historical record, no analogous societies, no writings or sources. The most we've been able to do is work on analyzing the architecture and carvings throughout the city, but even that's limited because it's in far worse condition than… [GALANIS looks around at the recreation of Amoni-Ram.] GALANIS: This.
O5-1: I see. Do you have any idea what or where Korar is so far? If they were sister cities, perhaps the other is better preserved, contains something we can actually use.
GALANIS: I'm… afraid not, sir. I'm honestly not even sure it's a city at this point.
We have ships scouring the other parts of the Indian Ocean on this sunken plateau, but..
O5-1: Unfortunate. Well, tell me what you have learned.
GALANIS: The Daevic Covenant were… paradoxical. Like I said, about the only thing we can do is analyzing the murals, so that's what we've spent most of our time on. What we have is confusing. These people had an intense focus on the metaphysical and spiritual. Unsurprisingly, it seems like they were theocratic, given that the central citadel is both the temple and the palace, worshipping some… entity or greater power called the Scarlet.
O5-1: I've never heard of such a thing.
GALANIS: That makes two of us. At first I thought it would be a blood god, and that's what a lot of the research committee still thinks.
O5-1: But you're not so sure.
GALANIS: Nope. I mean, it makes sense. They had a place for ritual human sacrifice in their society, they've got altars and obsidian knives and all kinds of carvings of people being split open to appease the Daeva spirits. But the depictions are… different than I've seen in other Asian and Mesoamerican societies. It's a joyful affair, and the sacrifices seem almost as pleased as the Daeva are to welcome them.
O5-1: I suppose it's hardly reasonable to think all societies would view death as final, especially given the exposure to necromancy the Aegean Tablets suggest.
GALANIS: That's true, but… I don't know. The depictions of the Scarlet are softer, more magnanimously indifferent than vengeful and demanding. Their art is complex, gentle and almost sensual. Their cities are magnificiently constructed. But at the same time, we know from the Mekhanites that they had a vast slave system enforced by magic, and that their anomalies were at least in part fueled by sacrifices. The committee is a bit split on it, frankly.
O5-1: Interesting. Very interesting. But no indications as to what that magic was, exactly.
GALANIS: Beyond something relating to horticulture, no. And similarly a lack of indications about their history as a society, including what happened to land them two miles underwater. The team doesn't know what to do. I feel like I've failed.
O5-1: Oh, I wouldn't say that. You've done admirably, given the circumstances.
It's just a difficult set of cards.
GALANIS: Well, thank you, sir. But still, I feel like I've exhausted all our conventional options.
O5-1: Then do what the Foundation has always done in times of adversity: turn to the unconventional.
GALANIS: I thought about that. And I think I have an idea — but it's kind of… out there.
O5-1: I spent my 30s and 40s advising the various paranormal organizations in Europe how to arm themselves using their countries' horrible, forgotten monsters and mythologies. "Out there" doesn't begin to faze me. What's your idea?
GALANIS: I'm going to need someone transferred to MKF-01. Someone who was involved in the original Amoni-Ram Initiative.
«END LOG» ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - OCTOBER 2002 Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood.
INTERVIEWER: Doctor Pandora Galanis SUBJECT: SCP-1867 ("Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood") «BEGIN LOG» GALANIS: Hello, Lord Blackwood!
SCP-1867: Greetings!
GALANIS: I hope the trip wasn't too much trouble.
SCP-1867: Not at all, not at all! Quite comfortable.
GALANIS: Excellent! My name is Pandora Galanis, I'm a researcher at the Parahistory Division.
SCP-1867: I've always had such pleasant interactions with you Parahistory fellows, though I'm admittedly not quite sure what that moniker means.
History is history, isn't it? Regardless, good times. There was a fair-haired woman from your department who used to interview me quite often, a Doctor Nusbaum. Would you happen to know her?
GALANIS: Dr. Nussbaum? Um… she's… no longer employed by the Foundation.
Sorry.
SCP-1867: Ah, shame. I quite liked her.
GALANIS: Yeah, well, she's kind of why I wanted to speak with you today. I've been going over some of the old files from her project, and I came across something that was written in one of your "adventure diaries" that I was hoping you could shed a little light on.
SCP-1867: Oh, it's been many years since I wrote those. Practically a different man now. But I shall dredge what you seek from the river Lethe!
GALANIS: Much appreciated. In… I believe it's Diary 57, you mention the expedition of an aquaintance of yours, Viswamatra Thakkar, into the Indian Ocean in search of undersea ruins.
[SCP-1867 stares blankly.] GALANIS: Also known as… Captain Nemo?
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT OCTOBER 2002 SCP-1867: Oh! Well, you should have said so, goodness gracious. Yes, yes, I remember. Though, calling Nemo an acquaintance of mine is much like calling the Sicilian Seabeast an acquaintaince of the Tyrrhenian Sailors, if you glean my meaning.
GALANIS: Not really, but I get that you two weren't fond of each other?
SCP-1867: Oh, I had no quarrel with the man. Quite the contrary, in fact — I admired his can-do attitude and breadth of inventions to support his adventuring. I had the pleasure of witnessing the Nautilus surface once.
GALANIS: His submarine.
SCP-1867: Aye, a technological marvel the likes of which the world may never see again. The submarine was longer than many ships, and seemed natural, appearing as though carved from a single titanic block of junglewood but filled with engines, armor, and livery.
GALANIS: That's… oddly familiar. Did you ever go inside?
SCP-1867: If only. I should have liked to take tea with the good captain one evening to pick his mind, but he would have none of it.
GALANIS: Why?
SCP-1867: He had a deep-seated resentment in his heart for all Englishmen. I have never been particularly attached to my homeland, finding more solace in Darkest Peru than I do in Durham. But Nemo was of Indian descent, and held a chip in his shoulder over the Crown's dominion over his land. He felt that every well-born individual who had benefitted from the plundering of his homeland deserved nothing but scorn at the best. Which is why my polite offers to accompany his vessel to these purported Atlantean ruins were met with stony silence.
GALANIS: Yeah, it says you were unable to go — but that you knew some who had gone, and heard word months later.
SCP-1867: That I did! My few contacts aboard the ship were unable to provide me much, fearing Nemo's rage. But I was told that they had found something far south of India on the seabed.
GALANIS: That lines up with what we know, yeah.
SCP-1867: The specifics were… murky at best, but through the grapevine it was whispered to me that some of the many spiritually-inclined men under Nemo's command had returned from the expedition shaken and disturbed. To a normal man, this may have meant nothing. But having studied with the Castor Monastery on the slopes of Makalu, it was clear to me that Nemo had them doing the art of projection.
GALANIS: I'm sorry, the art of what?
SCP-1867: With intense practice, meditation, and no small amount of psychotropic assistance, it is possible to enter into a fugue of sorts, during which the soul may depart the body and enter into the astral plane. The Castor Monks have spent centuries studying the existence of the astral plane and the vast mysteries contained therein, and have ascertained that it is a manner of reality blanketing our own, invisible to the naked eye but interweaving with all parts of daily life. Inhabited by— GALANIS: Spirits?
SCP-1867: Quite right! Sharp one, you are. I like you.
GALANIS: Appreciated. But I don't understand the relevance of this to Tha- I'm sorry, Captain Nemo's expedition.
SCP-1867: The nature of the astral plane is such that it is at once a reflection and a cause of our own material plane. Significant people, events, and even places can leave impacts and connections that persist long after the destruction of the physical form. The presence of poltergeists and djinns are a common example. But I digress: my theory is that Nemo, possessing no gift for the metaphysical arts himself but being the cunning fox that he was, attempted to use his crew to astral-project and discover the secrets of the Atlanteans. Of course his crew, being largely unrefined brutes, lacked the necessary finesse.
GALANIS: And you elected to step in?
SCP-1867: I would have, and even began building a crew for the voyage! But only a month after this news came to my ears, another delectable piece of information caught my eye: Vladimyr Zolat had initiated a call to arms, for a Common Vampyre had been sighted east of the Ural mountains for the first time in more than three centuries. I could not miss out on the opportunity and Atlantis, like so many projects, fell to the wayside. I always intended to pick it back up, but somehow I can no longer muster the energy.
[SCP-1867 wriggles.] GALANIS: That's a real shame. I bet you would like to see it, hm?
SCP-1867: Quite! To see if the legends are true of monumental towers powered by light and glass, of great sea-beasts bound into service, of bare-breasted tribal queens ruling with an iron fist, of- GALANIS: Well, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that the Foundation has an interest in Atlantis. Though you should probably know now that its proper name is Mamjul. We've located the ruins, but there's not much to see. After being stalled for a few months, I recently went over the records of the first person to discover Amoni-Ram, and noticed the references to some kind of psychic detachment. If you're prepared to share your knowledge of astral projection… I could probably convince my superiors to allow you to be on the first team.
FCS Haffkine in port.
[SCP-1867 is silent for several seconds, apparently contemplating.] SCP-1867: Very well. I, Lord Thomas Theodore Blackwood, Earl of Northumbria, will assist you in your endeavour. Together, we shall unlock the mysteries of Atlantis.
GALANIS: Mamjul.
SCP-1867: Yes, that. Join me, we shall toast.
GALANIS: … Appreciated, but I don't drink. My people will come collect you in the morning, Lord Blackwood. I look forward to working together.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Section 001.4 OMICRON RHO SCP-1867 was securely transported to MKF-01 on the FCS Haffkine cargo vessel, along with a number of supplies, equipment, and a detachment of personnel from the Psychotronics Division at Site-19. The Haffkine docked with the Phantom and Lillihammer as part of MKF-01 on October 12th, and Psychotronics Division personnel quickly set up an ad-hoc lab and working center under the direction of Dr. Galanis and Senior Researcher Ada Crowley, with input from SCP-1867. Over the following month, almost every member of the Mamjul-Korar Initiative was subjected to a gauntlet of tests to determine their psychic potential. Those with the highest scores and sufficiently high Cognitohazard Resistance Values were inducted into a provisional Applied Task Force: Omicron Rho ("Dream Team").
By mid-November, of the eighty-seven members of the Mamjul-Korar Initiative, nine had been inducted into ATF Omicron Rho, including Lieutenant Lucian Greaves, Operator Ajay Desai, and Doctor Pandora Galanis. Foundation research into extrasensory perception had exploded since 1944 with the founding of the Psychotronics Division, and provided several advances (such as low telepathy, scrying, and limited divination) that were routinely used in various sectors of Foundation operations by 1971, though true astral projection remained out of reach. With the assistance of SCP-1867's expertise on the matter, Psychotronics Division personnel were able to train members of ATF Omicron Rho into being able to induce a fugue state that SCP-1867 affirmed would result in successful astral projection if performed under the influence of mnestic drugs.
LSAP Cadmus-Aram Deep-Brain Oneiric Parietal Stimulation Array.
Additionally, O5-1 requisitioned the LSAP Cadmus-Aram Deep-Brain Oneiric Parietal Stimulation and Recording Array, a one-of-a- kind prototype mechanism constructed by Dr.
Hadley Cadmus and Dr. Robert Aram, when the latter was still employed by the Foundation for the Paratechnology Department. The device consisted of two separate portions: a medical implant of several electrodes inserted into brain tissue, leading out to a wire through the nape of the neck, and a computerized system to which the wire would be connected. The implant would stimulate brain tissue to produce a heightened state of awareness during dreams, and the computer would record sensations and visuals to produce as text. The text would require additional human processing, but the final product was a largely-accurate transcription of what the subject says and does, including while dreaming.
The device, tested prior by the Psychotronics Division and confirmed safe, was implanted into Lieutenant Lucian Greaves to serve as an indisputable, impartial record of what was discovered for Council records, in compliance with O5 Edict #2050 . Following the operation and his two- week recovery at Site-12, Greaves returned to MKF-01 in preparation for the first attempt at astrally projecting into Mamjul, performed on December 20th, 2002.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - DECEMBER 2002 For the first projection test, SCP-1867 & four members of ATF Omicron Rho were selected: Dr. Pandora Galanis (SWORD-1) Lt. Lucian Greaves (SWORD-2) Opr. Ajay Desai (SWORD-3) Opr. Sara Morello (SWORD-4) SCP-1867 alias Lord Blackwood (SWORD-5) All members of SWORD team were given medical and neurological workups before entering into a secure padded containment chamber aboard the Phantom. They were seated in restrained reclining medical chairs with various instruments attached to the sides, leading to displays of neurological activity, heart rate, and similar readouts. IVs of class-W mnestics were inserted into the arms of all personnel (barring SCP-1867, who had a small amount mixed into the bowl of seawater in which it was placed). Psychotronics Division personnel administered sedatives and muscle relaxants to members of the team as SCP- 1867 began the test.
NOTE: As this transcript was originally produced by Lt. Greaves' thoughts, certain sections may be nonclinical.
«BEGIN LOG» SCP-1867: Is everyone in attendence prepared? Heart and hardy?
GALANIS: Yes! Well, mostly.
DESAI: Close enough.
[Lt. GREAVES and Opr. MORELLO nod.] SCP-1867: Excellent. Everyone should be familiar with this by now, but in the interest of nerves and, I'm sure, your organization's records— [SCP-1867 turns its head to the observation window, through which several Initiative personnel are taking notes.] SCP-1867: I will guide you through the process. Before we begin, remember that excess stress will wake you from the state — this may prove a boon or a burden, depending on what we encounter. Use the knowledge wisely. Now, while all medications and chemical assistances are provided, let us close our eyes and relax. Allow your muscles to slacken, your eyelids to flutter shut naturally. Open your mouth and allow your lungs to loosen and breathe simply and naturally. Consider your place in the universe: members of your various homelands and their governments. Members of your families. Members of the Foundation.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT DECEMBER 2002 Still from LSAP feed.
[Psychotronics Division personnel go around, injecting each member of SWORD team with a sedative as SCP-1867 speaks.] SCP-1867: Now consider your physical place. You are floating aboard a great ship, leagues off the southern tip of India. At the same time, you are floating leagues above the ruins of an ancient civilization. Your position is relative — you may change it, as you please, and the world will change accordingly. The plane of our existence you see is simply one more axis of position. Alterable, mutable. Think about it, consider it; there is no reason you should not be able to change it as easily as one can walk from one end of the ship to the other.
Imagine yourself doing so. Leaving that which is physical behind, entering something purer. Allow yourself to walk from the bow, to the bridge, along the gunwales of the vessel. It is a familiar path — the sea to your left, the metal of the ship to your right. Your body relaxes as you continue down the path, until finally arriving at the stern. As far as you can see, there is only the ocean.
[There is no response from SWORD team, aside from soft breathing.] SCP-1867: Now open your eyes.
[GREAVES opens his eyes, revealing himself standing in an alien landscape. There is no clear sky or ground — instead, auroras of strobing lights fill the space above, beyond them only blackness and occasional flashes of lightning. GREAVES is standing on a patch of viridian grass, a meter wide — beyond the edges of this small patch, dotted reddish- pink stars seem to stretch on forever downward into the abyss of the Plane.
Some kind of fog or mist blankets the 'ground', rising up to his knee. There is only GREAVES, the grass, and the emptiness.] GALANIS: Hey!
[GREAVES turns. GALANIS, dressed in their labcoat, is standing at a distance, perhaps fifty meters. GREAVES takes an unsteady step forward, planting his foot down. He is instantly a meter away from GALANIS, who reflexively steps back, tightening their labcoat.] GREAVES: Woah.
GALANIS: Aw, that's… disorienting. Where on Earth are we?
GREAVES: Hopefully, the Astral Plane. Do you see any of the others?
GALANIS: No, but listen.
GREAVES: What is it?
GALANIS: No, like — listen.
[They fall silent. A moment later, a distant chanting becomes audible for several seconds, accompanied by the pounding of war-drums. The howling accompanying them drifts along the nonexistent wind to the pair. They turn, and in the distance lies some sort of stone structure, obscured by a vast collection of tall trees.] GREAVES: …That sounds remarkably similar to the whispering noise in Mamjul me and Operator Desai kept hearing. Seems like something worth investigating.
GALANIS: Hey, hold up. We need to wait for the others.
GREAVES: We don't know how things work here. If we're in the same astral space, or if they're ahead of us.
GALANIS: Just— wait a couple of minutes, okay?
[GALANIS and GREAVES stand around for several minutes, inspecting their surroundings. No one appears.] GREAVES: With any luck, they're already there and we're the stragglers.
GALANIS: Yeah. Maybe. But if they're not there, we're turning back.
[GREAVES and GALANIS begin to make their way through the fog towards the strange structure. Periodically, lightning flashes across the horizon, bathing everything in a sickly green glow. As they continue on, the chants and drumbeats grow louder, more intense. A chorus can be heard vocalizing along, in a language neither understand but both feel. They walk for what feels like hours, but the structure only grows slightly closer. For a moment, they stop.] GALANIS: Wait — is that… [Out of the fog and mist, a silhouette of a group of figures emerge. DESAI, MORELLO, and an unknown yet familiar figure step out. The third is an older gentleman dressed in a waistcoat, trousers, and boots with spats. A derby cap sits atop his brown-haired head, laden with a boyish grin despite his age.] DESAI: Hey, Dora!
GALANIS: Ajay! And… Lord Blackwood.
SCP-1867: Quite right. Welcome to the Astral Plane, my friends and motley companions. Disorienting, isn't it?
GREAVES: I've seen worse.
SCP-1867: Yes, well, careful not to think yourself into the abyss. Quite an ugly fate, that would be. Hardly a body left to bury. Onwards!
DESAI: Onwards where?
GALANIS: I'd bet… that thing, in the distance.
MORELLO: Castle?
DESAI: Looks that way. Or a fortress or something. Hell of a treeline, though.
And that noise sounds— GALANIS: The whispering you guys heard in the ruins.
DESAI: Yeah. Yeah. Probably time to head there, then.
[Extraneous chatter clipped for brevity.] [SWORD team finally begins to approach the structure, passing through a line of impossibly tall, broad-leafed jungle trees. Vines hang from the canopy high above and shrubbery layers the ground. The growth is thick, but the trees and undergrowth seem to shift, making way for the group's march forward.] DESAI: How welcoming.
GREAVES: Be on alert.
MORELLO: Trees this tall don't exist on Earth. These have to be… 500 feet, at least. Holy hell.
[All the while, the chanting and drumming and singing grow in pitch and intensity.] SCP-1867: How strange. I've not heard anything quite like this. It sounds… GALANIS: Primal.
[The group suddenly breaks through the tree line, finding themselves face-to- face with a massive wall, constructed of massive blocks of stone carved into shape. On the battlements, unclear figures peer over. The surface of the stone is alive with pulsating stars, moving in tune with the song. A huge archway dominates, through which a great door is ever-so-slowly opening.] GALANIS: Holy fuck.
[The door completely opens. The ground in this portion of the plane is layered over with dirt and soil, and the group walks through the doorway. They are in a massive, intact city, temple-like buildings rising for stories in all directions. In the far distance, at the center of the city and at the end of the long avenue on which they currently stand, the topmost portion of a huge tree can be seen, its branches spreading atop the sky. The chanting and drumbeats are louder than ever, and in every direction there is bacchanalian celebration — huge figures fill the city shoulder-to-shoulder, engaged in revelry. The entities vary in shape and appearance, but all are tall, in excess of 3m. They have pale mint skin, long curling horns sitting atop their foreheads, and digitigrade legs. They drink, dance in intricate patterns, and sing their chanting harmony in tune with the huge drums. However, they leave the main broadway entirely empty for the group to walk through, looking at them.] GREAVES: I… What?
DESAI: Look at the buildings. It's like Mamjul, but… MORELLO: Alive.
GALANIS: Yeah. The Daeva never died out. The Covenant just did.
[The city resembles the Southeast Asian architecture of Mamjul, but raised to an inhuman standard. Buildings and temples that could only be three or four stories shoot into the distance, craning the neck. The branches of the great tree are carved with living-spaces and dotted with yet more Daeva engaged in revelry. The carvings adorning every surface and building dance in time with the great song, coming from everywhere around them.] DESAI: Where do we go?
GALANIS: Look. They're telling us.
[The crowd seems to move and thrum with a life of its own. As the group watches, the communal dance pulses every entity in sight forward, towards the Citadel Tree in the center of the city. Drawn along, the group is pulled forward, down the broadway, towards the Citadel. As they move through the great streets of the city, the grander it becomes — the plain gray stone of Mamjul has been painted over with bright, resplendent shades of reds, purples, and gold trimming. The tall horned Daevas' green skin makes a sharp contrast against the warm buildings they occupy. The raucous wildness only increases in intensity, many of the entities openly engaged in intoxicated, violent combat.
In the distance, over the city's rooftops, gigantic beasts of burden almost as tall as the trees slowly move across the skyline on hundreds of legs.] GREAVES: Where are we going?
GALANIS: I… don't know.
[The movements and lapping of the crowd gently push the group forward, but not aggressively. Many of the Daeva are joyous at the sight of them, clasping their hands and raising them before letting them go. Eventually, they arrive at the entrance to the tunnel leading into the Citadel. The drumming and loudest singing can be heard from inside, and they progress in. Where the tunnel in Mamjul was filled with carvings, living Daeva line the passage here, beating fists against the stone-wood walls in song. The group exits out into the throne room. It contains two thrones, both carved from the same titanic vein of wood.
On the left sits a human corpse, features made indiscernable by its age. It is dressed in elaborate finery and a wreath. The throne on the right is occupied by a female Daeva in similarly elaborate dress, leading the song encompassing the entire city. The tree is open overhead, the lightning and auroras visible through the canopy of leaves. Other robed Daeva fill the various landings of the Citadel.] SCP-1867: This is… not what I expected when you described this 'Mamjul'.
DESAI: Yeah, this… this isn't Mamjul.
[As the group enters, the Daeva sitting on the throne breaks off from the omnipesent song and slowly descends the staircase. The others continue unabated as she enters into a deep bow. She speaks in a language not heard by human ears in three millenia, but is understood perfectly.] RAJMATA: No. Welcome to Korar, Eternal City of the Daeva, Seat of the Slumbering Maharaja, the Scarlet City. My name is Rajmata Vaslirasirraj-Shirat, Empress Consort of the Forlorn Covenant. Welcome back.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ ACT III INGENIOUS FILESERV NOTICE: The following document was inserted into this file at a later date, under containment protocol HERODOTUS . Refer to Special Containment Procedures for more information.
VERSE 70 74 As witnessed by Saudivalatra, Third Rajmata of the Scarlet Maharaja.
And as the Empire spread across the face of the continent in the name of the Scarlet House of the Daeva, it was soon that they came to know those that had arisen in the East and West in the thousand years of isolation. The blood- mad Nälka of Black Aditum, the great dark necropolis borne of Mamjul's own sin and rent from the body of the High Slave, took arms against the Daeva in their zealotry to extinguish the life from the Flesh. And the Mekhanites of Amoni-Ram, in their arrogance and disdain for the natural laws of the world, took arms agains the Daeva in their zealotry to make themselves more than human. And in the hopes of saving their people, the Covenant took the magic of the jungle against their aggressors and waged whole war, war in every aspect, war in every element.
Mamjul and Korar turned from peaceful metropoli to cities of war, and the Children of the Scarlet rushed out into the land, sorcerer-nawabs leading vast legions of Daeva and warriors and slave-soldiers into the cruelest faces of humanity. Of the north of the Daeva, once lay a dozen cities — now reduced to naught but ash and rubble over the course of the First War. The Zealots of Metal saw and learned the power of fire and lime, wielded freely against innocents, entire forests burned into cinders to deny the Daeva their home. Cities laid siege to, men bled, fuladh melted down into the very spears that would be driven through the bodies of the Mekhanites and into the wall of Mamjul, as a warning.
And of the Nälka was an even more violent confrontation, for their Lord Iun was a hateful beast, and his mindless forces ran amok, stretching wildly from the east and raising those who died in war back again, denying their souls their eternal rest in Korar. Their massacres were devoid of purpose, killing for the sake of killing, with no artistry to their butchery, no respect for the inborn soul, only a simpleminded desire for the purity of rent flesh, empty vessels. The cities of the Nälka were torn from the ground by the great vines of the sorcerer-nawabs, sundering walls, laying waste to all who dared to interrupt the dance of the soul.
VERSE 70-74 And through all this, the three Cities lay unaware of the Wretch of the West, of its horde coming together, of the BLACKSTAR rising from the obscurity of a farming village to the head of the army of the damned. In our arrogance, we saw only each other — we dismissed the Fourth, who had been silently scheming for a thousand years, a vengeant eye watching the horizon, watching the rise of Amoni-Ram and Mamjul and Korar and Black Aditum, and casting a spectre of devastation upon the land as it made the slow, agonizing march to the great golden walls of the Gate of the West with only one thought in the mind of its prophet: death.
Section 001.5 KORAR RESEARCH ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT — JANUARY 2003 «IN ATTENDANCE» O5-1: D. Bridge O5-2: B. Hammond O5-5: C. Glaistig O5-6: D. Jeris O5-7: J. Aktus «BEGIN LOG» OPERATOR: Secure Ley connection established. Incoming signal from the FRS Lillihammer to Overwatch Command.
[The Leyspace activates, cycling through a number of locations before again settling on a corridor in the Bridge Archive, underneath Site-01. This time, only five of the seats by the large round table are filled.] O5-1: Hello again, Doctor Galanis. At ease, Lieutenant Greaves.
GALANIS: Hello! Hello, everyone.
GREAVES: Sir.
O5-5: Pandora. It's been a minute, hasn't it?
GALANIS: Yes, and so much has happened… Can I ask where the rest of the Council is? I was, um, hoping to brief all of you at once.
O5-1: It's rare for all of us to be able to attend a meeting; last time was an anomaly, if you'll excuse the pun. Don't worry. We'll make sure the others are updated.
O5-7: Well, let's get on with it.
O5-1: Yes. Not to rush you, Doctor Galanis, but the floor is yours.
GALANIS: Thank you. As you all know, approximately three weeks ago we conducted the first astral projection test as part of the Mamjul-Korar Initiative.
We weren't really aiming for anything in particular — but like we ended up stumbling into Mamjul, we stumbled right into Korar. An entire city on the astral plane. Mamjul is dead, but Korar is more than alive, it's thriving.
O5-7: Yes, yes, you told us this when asking for permission for a return trip. Get to the point, child.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT JANUARY 2003 GALANIS: Right. Well, the subsequent return trips have panned out very well.
We've been in repeated contact with the Daeva, and have made some frankly astonishing inroads into developing an understanding of their culture. Our linguists have even constructed a preliminary model of the Daevic language — not that we desperately need it, we seem perfectly able to communicate on the astral plane. Our anthropologists are burning the candle at both ends interviewing and compiling the research.
O5-3: And you're on good terms with their… queen?
GALANIS: The Rajmata, yes. I've been leading all the return trips and getting the other personnel acquainted with the process of projection, with the help of SCP-1867. Obviously we've had to suddenly expand the roster of the Dream Team— sorry, of Omicron Rho.
O5-5: [Chuckles] Dream Team. That's clever.
O5-3: The idea that the entire race has continued to exist for three thousand years isolated in… whatever this is. It boggles the mind.
GALANIS: The astral plane. A reality constructed entirely of dreaming minds.
We haven't really been able to construct a scientific basis for it yet.
O5-7: All a bit mumbo-jumbo for me, frankly.
O5-1: We've seen stranger things, Jean. What's your take on the situation so far, Doctor?
GALANIS: That's… a hard question to answer, sir. But we have things now that we didn't before: direction, and a primary source to get more knowledge from.
The Rajmata has been really helpful with our researchers — mapping out the districts of Korar, explaining parts of her people's culture and how the Daeva think. Honestly, I think this is a breakthrough. On the same scale as the discovery of the Preserver entity in Amoni-Ram, if not bigger.
O5-7: And how well that went.
GALANIS: I'm not saying there aren't risks. I'm just — I'm saying that they're risks worth taking. We're all agreed in that we need what the Daeva have, right?
There's an entire culture waiting for us to learn about them! History, anthropology, music, literature, and that's just the mundane aspects; we still don't know the kind of thaumuturgy they're capable of.
O5-3: We should be more focused on the latter. The humanities are important, but we're in Korar for one reason.
GALANIS: You can't— [Sighing] You can't try to understand what they're capable of without understanding what kind of a culture leads to that! It's like trying to understand American military technology without knowing anything about the U.S.
O5-3: True as that may be, I notice you haven't made much progress with determining the ultimate fate of the city.
GALANIS: The Daeva are… hesitant to share that. I'm still trying to find out why.
O5-1: I'll be frank with both of you. We've read the reports over the past few weeks, and heard your testimonies. And, of course, we have Alpha-1 reporting back to us. But this project has entered into a realm Amoni-Ram never did, quite literally. Our only exposure to Korar, to the Daeva still existing, to any of this is through the device inside your brain, Lieutenant Greaves.
GREAVES: I can assure you that I saw everything with my own eyes— O5-1: I believe you, Lieutenant. That's not my point. My point is that you are now fully in uncharted territory. There are now dangers we likely don't even know about yet. There has been a not-insignificant push to have the Initiative cancelled, all personnel amnesticized, and the records sealed.
GALANIS: You — you can't do that!
O5-1: I think you know I can, Doctor. But I'm not going to. I told you, I'm a historian too. I still think that Mamjul and Korar hold incredible possibilities for the Foundation and for humanity, knowledge we need now more than ever. So we're not just letting the research continue, we're going to be offering new resources. More personnel, more support.
GALANIS: What's the catch?
O5-7: Smart kid.
O5-1: Going forward, Overwatch Command is going to be more involved in the Initiative. You'll still handle the day-to-day running, but Lieutenant Greaves acts with our authority, and is empowered to make executive decisions.
GALANIS: I— But— [Stuttering] O5-1: Is there a problem, Doctor?
GALANIS: May I speak to you privately, Overseer?
[Silence.] O5-1: You're dismissed for now, Lieutenant.
GREAVES: Sir, if I could— O5-1: Dismissed, Lieutenant.
[GREAVES steps off the Leyspace Communicator; his avatar dissolves into cloudy static before vanishing.] O5-1: You don't trust Lieutenant Greaves?
GALANIS: It's not that! It's just… I don't know how useful more oversight is going to be. It's a little stifling, honestly. The researchers keep coming to me with complaints about the Alpha-1 operators impeding their work and it's bad for morale and it's just… I don't think the Lieutenant has the best interests of the Initiative.
O5-1: I suggest you speak to him to see if the security can be integrated into your workflow better. Remember that we chose you to be in charge of this project, Doctor — you're within your rights to speak to Lieutenant Greaves if you think there's an issue, you're not a hostage here. His team is there for your own protection. But Lieutenant Greaves has been working for us for 12 years.
In that time I've never known him to be anything less than perfectly reasonable and deeply loyal. You've been given a chance; you should extend the same courtesy to others.
GALANIS: I know. I know. You're probably right. I'll try.
O5-1: That's all I ask. I'll see you next week to discuss requisition reports. And Doctor?
GALANIS: Sir?
O5-1: Aktus was being crude, but he's right; we trusted the Preserver, and that ruined us. Keep a close eye on the Rajmata.
GALANIS: Understood, sir.
O5-1: Good. You're dismissed for now.
[Leyspace connection to: SITE-01 terminated.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ The realization that the Daevic Covenant was not an extinct civilization caused a sudden shock to Mamjul-Korar Initiative personnel and leadership. Authorization was immediately sought from Overwatch Command to establish preliminary diplomatic relations with the Covenant, and granted on December 17th, 2002. In the three weeks following Projection #01, 16 return trips were made by MTF Omicron Rho personnel, which had been expanded from its original roster of nine to thirty-five. This was largely due to the Psychotronics Division successfully producing RL- 023, an animatropic drug that considerably lessened the preparation and training needed for a successful astral projection while also allowing for perfect recall after awakening, for transcription. Prior to this, RL-023 had only existed theoretically in Dr. Hadley Cadmus' research notes.
MTF Omicron-Rho's Projections #02 through #17 included personnel from every Division of the Mamjul-Korar Initiative, and were focused on a number of immediate goals: I) ascertain the anomalous capabilities of the extant Daevic Empire and their current nature of existence; II) establish diplomatic relations, if possible; III) arrive at a clearer understanding of the culture of the Daevic Covenant; IV) build a unified timeline of the Empire's fall, and establish the identity of the entity/group/party known as the Abominate; Rajmata Vaslirasirraj-Shirat, the current ruling monarch of the Daeva, proved exceptionally receptive to diplomatic efforts and accomodating to Foundation personnel in Korar. An extensive Culture Briefing was compiled by the Anthropology Division with the assistance of the Rajmata and multiple visits to Korar.
Culture Briefing Excerpt Societal Structure The Daevic Covenant society is extremely rigidly caste-based, with roles in society occupied by dozens of complex interrelated castes. Broadly, they can be grouped into four categories. As with many ancient cultures, slaves occupy the bottommost rung of society, and are afforded few rights or luxuries. The Daevic Empire made extensive use of slaves in almost every line of work that could not be done through their arboromancy, from construction to agriculture to bureaucracy; we estimate that the Empire contained three slaves for every free citizen. This system was brutally enforced through both anomalous and mundane control methods and violence. Testimonies from the Daeva indicate that the mass-killing of slaves was regarded as a kindness, as it freed their immortal souls to join the population in Korar.
Beyond the slaves, the castes were less rigidly separated. Freed laborers were afforded only a handful of rights above slaves. Merchants and artisans were in similar higher rungs of society, and soldier-nobles and sorcerers occupied the rung above them, being the landed aristrocrats. The topmost rung of society consisted of the matriarchs, or 'Scarlet brides', religious priestesses central to the Daevic religion (see § State Religion). These matriarchs dictated almost every matter of society by interpreting the will of their god. In a break from most ancient cultures, one of these brides, the Rajmata, was the sovereign monarch of the Empire, rather than a male member of the landed gentry; she was considered married to the Scarlet Maharaja while it slept in Korar, and the embodiment of its will in Mamjul and on Earth, empowered to make all theocratic, military, and societal decisions for the Covenant.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - JANUARY 2003 SOURCE: Doctor Pandora Galanis «BEGIN LOG» [Following ingestion of RL-023 in the Psychotronics Lab aboard the FCS Haffkine, Doctor Galanis entered the fugue state associated with projection.
Three minutes later, they open their eyes. They are in the Citadel of Korar, on one of the higher floors. Per the Rajmata's orders, it has been sequestered for Foundation use; several other researchers and agents and multiple Daeva are in the wide room, which is filled with naturally-flowing wood seating, tables, and other items. The omnipresent song is still audible, though much softer and more distant.] GALANIS: Hey, guys.
[Murmurs of greeting from the researchers. Most are engaged interviewing and conversing with the Daeva, overseen by security agents.] GALANIS: Some of you guys have been projecting for hours, haven't you? Cary, Lewis, Karl — why don't you guys take a break?
ABERER: Yes, Doctor.
LEWIS: Yeah, I gotta take a leak anyhow.
[The three turn and bow to their interview subjects, who return the bows despite towering over them. One by one, they glimmer and fade out of existence.] DURHAM: Where are you going, Doctor?
GALANIS: Downstairs. I need to speak with the Rajmata. Don't wait up on my account.
[GALANIS turns towards the staircase but then stops, closing their eyes and focusing on the throne room. They open their eyes, and are there; the Rajmata is seated on her throne. The golden boughs of the Tree are overhead. GALANIS bows, spreading their labcoat.] RAJMATA: Greetings once more, Galanis-hiyar.
GALANIS: Hello again, Rajmata.
RAJMATA: Your people have been settling in well.
GALANIS: They have! They have. I wanted to thank you for that. You've been very accomodating. I can't tell you how much we appreciate it.
RAJMATA: Much as I appreciate your thanks, it is not entirely altruistic, my friend.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT JANUARY 2003 5 [GALANIS stiffens.] GALANIS: Oh?
RAJMATA: My people have been alone for three thousand years. We crave new experiences.
GALANIS: Oh. [Relaxes] You want to know about humans?
RAJMATA: Yes. You are interesting creatures. Very different from us.
GALANIS: Well, I'm sure we can share some bits of us with you. If you're willing to do the same.
RAJMATA: [Sigh] I tire of this, Galanis-hiyar.
GALANIS: I know, I don't enjoy it either. But I'm not the final decisionmaker of the Foundation.
RAJMATA: We are sharing with you, my child. We tell you more of our culture every day.
GALANIS: We need more. We need to know what actually happened during the First Occult War. How the Empire collapsed.
RAJMATA: Why?
GALANIS: So we can avoid the same fate.
[Pause.] RAJMATA: Walk with me.
[The RAJMATA descends the staircase from her throne. Her huge red robes flow out around her, embroidered with incredibly complex silk patterns and hundreds of embedded gemstones, cut to perfection. Her already 3m tall form is further extended by her elaborate headdress wrapping around her ramlike horns. Many of her red-robed attendants rush out to object, but she waves them off.] RAJMATA: I am not so sequestered that I cannot still walk among my people.
Come.
GALANIS: I- yes, your grace.
[The pair walk out of the throne room. GALANIS hustles to keep up with the much larger Daeva's stride. They move through the tunnel leading out of the citadel.] RAJMATA: You ask more of me than you know.
GALANIS: I don't… see how asking to see your histories is such a monumental ask, your grace. Your people clearly— RAJMATA: You are an historian, are you not?
GALANIS: I am.
RAJMATA: What do you look for in those fallen civilizations you seek to study?
What are your methods of research?
GALANIS: Er, it can be many things. Primary sources — that is, someone who was there at the time — are the best, but aren't exactly easy to find in civilizations that are thousands of years old.
RAJMATA: I see. Other than that?
GALANIS: Artifacts and text records are the next best thing. Stone tablets, writings, carvings, anything that gives us insight into how a people thought.
We have more advanced tools, too, but nothing beats hard evidence.
RAJMATA: And therein lies the problem.
GALANIS: What do you mean?
[They exit out into the main thoroughfare of Korar. The city bustles with activity — the long-limbed Daeva crowd the streets, moving through the markets pulling wagons packed with goods. The slow-thrumming drumbeats of the music are audible under the chatter and shouting of the street. The crowd parts reverently to allow the RAJMATA and GALANIS to pass unimpeded, flanked by the Scarlet Brides.] RAJMATA: Look. This is a living city, brimming with soul and spirit in every nook and cranny.
GALANIS: It is. It's a bit overwhelming, honestly.
[GALANIS gingerly steps over a small, unidentified creature that resembles a six-legged opossum. It bares a chitinous mouth at them before scurrying away.] RAJMATA: It would be, to humans. You are rather disconnected from the natural order.
GALANIS: I wouldn't say that— RAJMATA: I would. You know not what you do not know. But that's quite alright.
We have our limitations as well.
GALANIS: What are those?
RAJMATA: We cannot touch the material plane without acting through intermediaries. Through our chosen people. Once, this was the People of the Jungle. Now they are gone, and we are isolated to our home, waiting for someone to find us. But, returning to the point, Korar is a living, breathing city.
But you have explored Mamjul, yes?
GALANIS: What little remains of it.
RAJMATA: Yes. Verily, a tragedy. You'll have noticed a distinct lack of the sources you mentioned.
GALANIS: Yeah. Yeah, we didn't find any tablets, any writings, nothing.
RAJMATA: Why do you think that is?
GALANIS: The city's been two miles underwater for three thousand years, I assumed they'd all been destroyed.
RAJMATA: Destroyed, yes. But not by nature. By man. And not just in Mamjul — in Korar, and in every other city. Once, we had libraries filled with chronicles of our histories. Now, as they were destroyed in Mamjul, so too have they been destroyed here. There are no longer any writings, anything concrete that proves we existed.
GALANIS: Wait, what? You've been… written out of time?
RAJMATA: Yes. This is the tragedy of the Daeva.
GALANIS: How is that even possible?
RAJMATA: To answer this would be to explain to you what happened in the First War. I do not trust you with that part of my people yet.
GALANIS: I… see. But that's insane. No offense, your grace. But the idea that there's no longer any record of your people, vibrant as it is… [GALANIS looks around Korar. The colorfully-painted stone buildings intertwined with vines the size of small cars are filled with Daeva going about their business.] GALANIS: It bothers me. As a historian, I mean.
RAJMATA: I did not say there were no records.
GALANIS: An oral tradition?
RAJMATA: You could call it that. Listen.
GALANIS: I don't hear anything. Beyond the noise, I mean.
RAJMATA: Silence your mind. Eliminate your thoughts. Listen.
[The chatter of the street, of Korar melts away. The percussive, bone-shaking drums and chorus of the song that pervades the rest of the city is left. It is in a language unspoken for thousands of years, at once unfamiliar and comforting.
The thousands of voices that form the chorus are in perfect harmony as they sing.] GALANIS: Woah. That's… I feel like I've heard this before.
RAJMATA: The Song of the Daeva. A musical arrangement that chronicles our entire history, from our conjoining with my Master, our God to the fall of Mamjul and the breaking of the Empire. Hundreds of verses, kept alive in our memories.
GALANIS: It's not written down anywhere?
RAJMATA: It was, long ago. A great library in Mamjul once held a stone tablet transcribed with each verse. Scholars and sorcerers from across the Empire would undertake pigrimages to Korar to seek the wisdom of the Song.
GALANIS: …I think we found that library.
RAJMATA: You found nothing more than blank slates and dead men. Now you see our shame. And why I hesitate to share it with you.
GALANIS: This is all you have left.
RAJMATA: Yes. It is not just our history — it is our religion, our creation, our laws, our culture. It is the Daeva. Sharing it with outsiders is the purest baring of our soul as a people.
GALANIS: Wow. No, yeah, I understand.
RAJMATA: But you have something we desire as well. Knowledge of the world since Mamjul fell.
GALANIS: Well, we would be willing to share that if you were willing to return the favor.
RAJMATA: Hm. I see.
GALANIS: That's all I ask. You've been incredibly generous already. I feel bad asking.
RAJMATA: Do not. You are far too skilled for the suffering you are undergoing.
GALANIS: What? I'm sorry?
RAJMATA: You are a troubled soul, Galanis-hiyar. I did not become Empress Consort for my appearances alone.
GALANIS: I— yeah, I know. I've got a lot going on. There's a lot riding on this being successful. On me being successful.
RAJMATA: You worry far too much for your age. Were all humans as you are… regardless, your offer is suitable, I think. But only for you.
GALANIS: What do you mean?
RAJMATA: Your fellows are intelligent, but they lack a certain level of wisdom and deftness that the Song demands. I will not allow them to take and pervert our history. I will translate it and share its meanings, but only with you.
GALANIS: Okay. Okay, that's fair.
RAJMATA: Good. We will begin on your next arrival. For now, allow yourself some rest. You certainly deserve it.
GALANIS: Thanks, but I'm— [The RAJMATA reaches one hand down out of her robes, and places two long and slender fingers against GALANIS' forehead. With a sudden, violent rush, GALANIS demanifests from Korar and wakes up from the dream in the Psychotronics lab aboard the Haffkine.] GALANIS: Huh.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Section 001.6 ONEIRIC RESEARCH Following this exchange with the Rajmata of the Daevic Empire, Doctor Pandora Galanis began sessions with her to accurately construct a historical record of the Empire concurrent with the fall of Amoni-Ram. The Rajmata offered both the religious framing of the Song of the Daeva as well as historical knowledge carried through oral tradition among the Daeva in the absence of a formal written record.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JANUARY 2003 FROM THE DESK OF DOCTOR PANDORA GALANIS MAMJUL-KORAR INITIATIVE Personal thoughts on research progress It's often said that the greatest wish a historian can have is to actually speak to someone from antiquity. Even the most primary of primary sources face issues: translation problems, damaged or incomplete records, wholesale fiction being portrayed as fact to make long-dead kings look good.
I think I'm the first historian to actually have that wish granted.
Even the Preserver in Amoni-Ram wasn't able to give Nussbaum much in terms of testimony — its mind was too fragmented. Most of their knowledge came from the Fuladh Throne. But now I have a living, if not breathing, record of the Daevic Empire. The Rajmata and I sat down three times over the past week for her to explain the beginning verses of the Song for me. It's amazing. It's incredibly complex. Imagine every symphony you've ever heard overlayed with an unspeakably complex poem hundreds of verses long. It's a perfect representation of their culture — I mean, I literally can't even make some of the sounds necessary, since it's crafted for Daeva vocal cords!
The content is illuminating, too. We're still on the beginning verses, unfortunately — haven't been able to progress as quickly as I'd like. RL-023 aided projection has a pretty long cooldown time, about twice as long as the projection itself. And time passes differently in astral space, so it's hard to even tell whether the short conversation you had took eight minutes or eight hours.
Every projection I've made has been followed by hours in recovery with the Psychotronics guys pumping me full of electrolytes and fluids. But god, the hours I do spend in the city.
Anyway, as I was saying, the beginning verses really just corroborate what we already knew. The creation myth mirrors that of Amoni-Ram quite closely — some kind of war or conflict between a pantheon of gods that resulted in all of them grievously wounding the others, and causing all of them to 'fall' to Earth.
Though there is something notable: the Daeva reference four of these original gods, while the Mekhanites only acknowledge the existence of three. It has to have some connection to the Abominate. I just know it.
I'm unspeakably excited, but I know I need to be careful. The Rajmata seems… friendly, but I'm not taking chances — getting my CRV checked every single day and limiting my projections. She knows more than she's letting on, I can tell that much. She hasn't explained why she greeted us into the city with 'welcome back', or what the hell she meant when she said she'd only share it with me. I don't trust her. Not yet. But I have to keep moving forward.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT JANUARY 2003 I'm not letting this fall apart. Not again.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT Culture Briefing Excerpt State Religion The Daevic Empire was a strict theocracy with a strong focus on animism. The Daeva were considered nature spirits and immutable evidence of the validity of the Daevic religion, but they were not the central objects of worship by citizens of the Empire. Instead, this role was occupied by an entity-concept known by many names — the Slumbering God, the Scarlet Maharaja, the Khan of the Scarlet House, or simply the Scarlet. The consistencies are self-evident; all representations of the god are strong in nature, primal instinct, natural order, violent survival of the fittest.
This entity, called the Scarlet here for simplicity's sake, was one of the gods cast down to the Earth when a war split the pantheon, landing in what is now the middle of the Indian Ocean but at the time was a lush jungle subcontinent. It became the king and sworn god of the nature spirits, and eventually connected these spirits with the fledgling tribal humans living on the subcontinent, by taking a human 'avatar' and forming the Daevic Covenant. This avatar is suggested to be an unspeakably powerful sorcerer, with abilities suggesting at least a Type-4 Class Blue entity — but is asleep, with their dreams forming the foundations for Korar's continued existence and the Empire's successful conquests. Put simply, the Scarlet is the cosmic representation of the concepts of brutal primality, and the Scarlet Maharaja is its prophet in human form.
The religion of the Daevic Empire was one of unwavering, zealous commitment to the Scarlet Maharaja, as their dreams allowed for the continuation of the Empire.
The systematic manifestion of this were the Scarlet Brides, an imperial cult of handmaidens, attendants, and priestesses (though many were also male or androgynous) that were considered literally wedded to the Scarlet Maharaja.
Their favored wife among the Brides was the Rajmata, the queen ruling in their stead until the Maharaja awoke from his dream when the Daeva had conquered the entirety of Asia for them.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT Hymns, magic, and sacrifices formed the basis of Daevic worship. Hymns and associated dances occupied a central place in Daevic culture and complex dances were a way to honor their god, and use of the magic gifted to humans by the Scarlet was a holy act in and of itself, with sorcerers akin to religious preachers.
Human sacrifice was a core part of Daevic worship — it is estimated that over the thousand years of the Empire's existence, well over forty million people were sacrificed, most with religious intent in specially-constructed pits and many being children.. This was not seen as a cruelty by the Empire, as killing a human member of the Empire was believed to allow them to reincarnate as a Daeva in Korar, a more fulfilling and eternal life — but the fact is that the Empire practiced a level of brutal human sacrifice and slavery on a scale completely unprecedented in ancient history.
Over the following weeks, Doctor Galanis continued to sit in private sessions with Rajmata Vaslirasirraj-Shirat. Through these, several assumptions that Nussbaum Model had made regarding the parahistorical element to the Bronze Age Collapse were challenged and clarified.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - FEBRUARY 2003 SOURCE: Doctor Pandora Galanis «BEGIN LOG» [GALANIS re-enters the dream, after an hour spent on an electrolyte IV in the Psychotronics lab. They remanifest in a secluded antechamber of the Korar Citadel, high in the boughs of the tree of life. Overhead, a starry, lightning- streaked sky is frozen in time. The RAJMATA stands ahead, draped in embroidered and bejeweled shawls.] RAJMATA: Returned from your rest, Galanis-hiyar?
GALANIS: Yes. Yeah. I'm sorry, I know this is— RAJMATA: Quite alright. You are small, and frail. Your physical needs must be met.
GALANIS: …Not quite how I'd phrase it, but I appreciate the sentiment.
[The RAJMATA bows her head, letting the shawl hang limply from around her horns.] RAJMATA: My sincerest apologies.
GALANIS: You're fine! You're fine. It's just a lot to take it in at once. You were discussing the middle ages of the Daevic Covenant.
RAJMATA: Yes, but I worry that my explaining does you little good when I can show you.
GALANIS: [Pause] Show me?
RAJMATA: Observe.
[The RAJMATA locks her hands, lowering her head. The latent noises of Korar's hustle and bustle far below seem to melt away, leaving only the slight shifting of the leaves. Then the RAJMATA begins to sing. With her large size and vocal cords, the sound is incredibly deep and rich, with guttural lows and humming highs. As she sings, it sounds as though multiple voices from across the tree join in the chorus.] GALANIS: This is the song you showed me before. The Song of the Daeva.
[The RAJMATA stops to speak. The song continues unabated.] RAJMATA: Yes, but now we must go a step farther.
[The RAJMATA begins to dance with the music. She is graceful despite her large size and heavy dressage, drifting slowly in complex motions around GALANIS.] ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT FEBRUARY 2003 GALANIS: This is beautiful, but— holy shit.
[Outside of the tree's boughs, the cityscape has shifted dramatically. Instead of the abstract starry void of the astral plane, the tree now looks out over a city on Earth, with lush green farmland stretching into the jungle beyond the gigantic stone walls. It is a mirror image of Korar's triangular shape. The open- air markets that make up the northern portion of the city are still present, but now they contain both humans and Daeva living and interacting side-by-side and filling the streets. Huge multi-legged beasts of burden move throughout the city, mounted by both humans and Daeva in elaborate robes and headdresses.] GALANIS: Is this time— RAJMATA: No. The astral plane is a land of dreams, formed of the mind of the Sleeping Scarlet — my master. This is my dream. My memories. I bare my soul to you, in friendship, in trust.
GALANIS: That's… This is how Mamjul was?
RAJMATA: Yes. Once. I was the last Rajmata of the Daevic Covenant, and this is how I choose to remember my city and the Daeva.
GALANIS: But those are humans down there, not just Daeva. You lived side by side.
RAJMATA: 'Daeva' is simply a word — in your tongue, the best meaning would be 'chosen people'. The Scarlet named us this when she became our king-of-kings.
In turn, we named the tribes of the land this when we chose to become one with them under the Covenant. The people, the spirits, the Empire, the magic — all are Daeva, all are the Children of the Scarlet, all are one.
GALANIS: Amazing.
RAJMATA: Look out, and see Mamjul at its summit. The peak of a civilization, the jewel of an empire that spanned the length of Asia. Food, knowledge, history, art. And of course, magic. All of it passed through Mamjul and from Mamjul, Korar. All are one.
[GALANIS watches the activity below. A team of Daeva and humans work to repair a fallen building. A man dressed in red-green robes slams a staff against the ground, and vines erupt out, lifting gigantic blocks of hand-carved stone from out of the hands of a contingent of human slaves.] GALANIS: This doesn't look at all like a city at war.
RAJMATA: It is not. This is nearly seven hundred years before the sorcerers on the distant reaches of the Empire first informed us of the dreaded Golden Wave.
GALANIS: Golden— Ah. The Mekhanites.
RAJMATA: If that is what you choose to call them, then yes. The Mekhanites. A chauvinistic people from the Western desert, zealots of Mekkan, the Sister of the Scarlet.
GALANIS: Then this has to be over a thousand years before you were Queen.
How can this be your memory?
RAJMATA: It is not my memory; it is my dream. A dream inspired by the soul of the previous Rajmatas, whom I carried with me then and carry even now. I hear, see, speak to them.
GALANIS: They had something like this in Amoni-Ram. A throne that would allow anyone to see in the eyes of a previous Emperor of the Bumaro Dynasty.
RAJMATA: Hmph. Artifice, borne out of a misguided obsession with improving oneself. All of Amoni-Ram's vast treasures were rubble and lost memories by the end of my reign. [Sigh] But for that matter, so were Mamjul's.
GALANIS: So what's so important about this day, this memory?
RAJMATA: Look. Look to the gate.
[At the far gate of the city, a large party is assembled. Hundreds of horses and other unknown beasts packed with supplies and wagons wait beyond the gates, and several humans and Daeva are saying goodbye to others inside.
Many more slaves are assembled alongside them, naked and bare in the sun.] RAJMATA: Our first attempt at establishing a colony far beyond the bounds of the Empire, another eye from whence our Scarlet Maharaja might see and arise to take stock of the world that was Theirs. Two thousand beasts and men, and twice as many slaves to carry the honor of the Children of the Scarlet. The expedition, prepared for years. The leaders assembled, with great artisans, merchants, general, sorcerers, nawabs, all walks of life, and sent out into the far emptiness of the East, towards the Endless Sea. They leave today.
GALANIS: There was another city of the Daeva?
RAJMATA: No. After they left the bounds of the Empire, we never hear from them again. Not for eight hundred years.
GALANIS: Wait. Wait, the Aegean Tablets mention this. Black Aditum, the city of the Nälka, was originally a slave colony. This… this is them?
RAJMATA: Yes. Today, you witness the birth of our blood enemies. Among those two-thousand slaves, one is a mere boy who will take the name Iūn and lead an insurrection. He will become the Scourge of the Coast, High Lord of the Nälka, Yaldabaoth's Prophet. He is a slave, and his parents were slaves. His hatred for us is inborn, and will cause millions to perish.
GALANIS: Good god.
RAJMATA: Nothing is alone. Everything is of two sides. The greatest peaks of our Empire are counterbalanced by the creation of the Red Death. All is one.
Though not even Iun will be enough to bring death to the Daevic Empire.
GALANIS: What will?
RAJMATA: In due time, Galanis-hiyar. For now, appreciate this — a snapshot of our greatest achievement.
GALANIS: Mamjul.
[The RAJMATA nods sadly.] RAJMATA: No. Peace.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ On February 28th, 2003, the following meeting was recorded by Alpha-1 Lieutenant Lucian Greaves in his stateroom and office aboard the FMS Phantom.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - FEBRUARY 2003 «BEGIN LOG» [GREAVES is seated at the small desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork with a pen. The door to the stateroom opens with a heavy metal clank, and Doctor GALANIS peers in.] GALANIS: Oh! Hey. Fancy seeing you here.
GREAVES: [Pause] It's my cabin, Doctor.
GALANIS: I know. Sorry. Bad joke.
GREAVES: It's alright. Can I help you with something?
GALANIS: Maybe. I'm not— [GALANIS sighs.] GREAVES: Is something wrong, Doctor?
GALANIS: Look, can we just talk?
GREAVES: Er, alright. Come in.
[GALANIS steps in, shutting the door behind them. They look at GREAVES' desk.] GALANIS: Huh.
GREAVES: What is it?
GALANIS: Nothing, I just… never really imagined you doing paperwork.
GREAVES: What, did you think you'd walk in and find me cleaning my rifle?
GALANIS: Kind of, yeah.
GREAVES: Well, if you'd come in ten minutes earlier, you'd be correct.
[They laugh.] GALANIS: Have you gotten some time to look over the last projection log debrief I wrote? The one from last week.
GREAVES: I looked over it, yes. But I don't think I've seen any of the ones you finished since.
GALANIS: That's because I haven't.
GREAVES: You haven't reentered Korar for a week? Why?
GALANIS: The last one kind of shook me up a little, if I'm being honest.
GREAVES: …You're talking about the memory-sharing, right?
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT FEBRUARY 2003 GALANIS: Yeah. When I was at Site-23 working on the Amoni-Ram Initiative, I was the first person to look through reports of the Fuladh Throne, what it could do. It reminds me of that a lot. And I don't like that.
[GREAVES stiffens.] GREAVES: Have you— GALANIS: I took a whole battery of Hartwell-Pugh tests. My CRV hasn't changed, no cognit influence detected in any one of the 13 tests. I took a CT and an MRI after that, and no change in brain function or structure. And I feel fine — Ajay said I wasn't acting weird, and he refuses to go near the Rajmata because she creeps him out.
GREAVES: I see. But you're still worried.
GALANIS: I'm still worried.
[They sigh.] GALANIS: Look, I know we haven't been on the best of terms. But you're the person they put in charge of making sure I don't go insane, so can you go with me next time I project? Ajay is coming, but… GREAVES: You want someone whose judgement won't be clouded. Sure, Doctor.
GALANIS: Oh. Well, thanks.
GREAVES: You were expecting an argument?
GALANIS: I mean, yeah. Like I said, we aren't exactly on the best of terms.
[GREAVES smiles.] GREAVES: We might disagree on things, but we're both on the same side here.
I've read the same copies of SCP-001-GOLD that you have — I'm not Eleven. I want to work with you. But I'm just as worried as you are if things don't go right. There's a lot riding here for me, too.
GALANIS: I didn't consider that, honestly.
GREAVES: Everything's a matter of perspective. Most people don't go beyond their own unless pushed. No offense.
GALANIS: None taken. You have to recognize that kind of bias in my field. Only way to work past it. Everything's a matter of perspective.
[They sigh.] GALANIS: That heuristic has been seeing a lot of use in my reports lately, hah.
GREAVES: Mhm. But you see now why my team is so involved.
GALANIS: I get it. But at the same time, you're dudes with guns walking around and inspecting everything. I'm trying to manage over two hundred researchers, and I can't do that if they all feel like they're hostages.
GREAVES: Hm. I can understand it, I suppose. I'll tell them to ease off a bit.
[GALANIS smiles.] GALANIS: I appreciate it. Really. Also appreciate you willing to project into Korar with me. I got the vibe that it's… really not your wheelhouse.
GREAVES: I've spent most of my life holding or avoiding a gun. This stuff with dreams and souls, it's confusing.
[He shrugs.] GREAVES: But I'm the one with the million-dollar Kodak in his head, so I guess we've got to get our money's worth.
[They chuckle, before falling silent.] GALANIS: I feel bad laughing. It's gotta be uncomfortable.
GREAVES: I knew what I signed up for when I joined the Council's Right Hand.
Some of the guys have much worse alterations than this.
GALANIS: Still, though.
GREAVES: I've been with the Foundation for long enough that I'd do a lot worse than having a couple pins in my head. We're protecting the world out here; I do my part, GALANIS: I can respect that. Me, I'm more here for the study of it — so much we still don't know about the world. It fascinates me, academically.
GREAVES: I can respect that too.
[Pause.] GALANIS: Well, it was nice to get on the same page with you, clear the air. I have a meeting with the Linguistics Team to get to, but we'll meet tomorrow aboard the Haffkine for the projection?
GREAVES: Roger that, Doctor.
GALANIS: Call me Pandora.
GREAVES: Pandora it is.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ The following projection log transcript was adapted from Lieutenant Greaves' LSAP Cadmus- Aram Array on March 1st, 2003, as part of a multiple-week projection regimen with Doctor Galanis and Operator Ajay Desai.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MARCH 2003 Rajmata Vaslirasirraj-Shirat.
SOURCE: Lieutenant Lucian Greaves, MTF Alpha-1 NOTE: As this transcript was originally produced by the subject's thoughts, certain sections may be nonclinical.
«BEGIN LOG» [GREAVES opens his eyes. He is standing outside of the entryway tunnel to the Citadel of Korar, with Doctor GALANIS and Operator DESAI alongside him. The RAJMATA stands before them, supported by her handmaidens, their faces obscured by red veils. The Daeva give the group a respectful berth.] RAJMATA: You have brought guests, Galanis-hiyar. This was not what we agreed upon.
GALANIS: I know. I'm sorry.
But this is too much for me to take in alone. It's an incredible amount of information. Ajay and Lucian are good people, though. I trust them. You can trust them.
DESAI: We've met before, uh… your Majesty?
GALANIS: It's "your Grace".
RAJMATA: The titles do not matter. Your tongue does not have the words necessary to convey the meaning of my full titles. It is of no concern.
[The RAJMATA turns to look at Greaves.] RAJMATA: You. I remember you. Your soul is aflame. A soldier.
GREAVES: Yes.
RAJMATA: Interesting. A warrior and a scholar. In my land, our soldiers were often slaves, conscripted and made to fight with the promise of freedom. Is the same true for you?
GREAVES: No. I choose to fight. There are things in this world worth protecting.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MARCH 2003 RAJMATA: So you are a slave to your morals in lieu of a whip. We are all slaves for something, Greaves-jirras. The constant in life is obedient servitude; the variable is to whom.
GREAVES: All due respect, your Grace — I make my own decisions. People like me exist.
RAJMATA: They do. They are a rarity, but they do. I suppose we shall see. I will allow this intrusion.
GALANIS: Thank you, your Grace.
RAJMATA: It is time to see the truth.
GALANIS: Are we entering the dream again?
[Rather than answer, the RAJMATA bows her head and begins to sing, with her handmaidens joining in the chorus. The song is slow and grand, deep sweeping notes and movements in an impossibly deep tone. Gradually, the surroundings of Korar melt away, the Daeva replaced with busy markets of humans and Daeva shoulder-to-shoulder.] GREAVES: I see what you mean.
DESAI: Woah.
GALANIS: We're not going to the top this time?
RAJMATA: No. There is something you must understand before you continue forward blindly. You tell me you went to Amoni-Ram, that you spoke with a surviving automaton of theirs.
GALANIS: Yeah. Well, not me personally, but the Foundation did.
RAJMATA: And what did it tell you about the Gods?
GALANIS: That there were three. Mekhane, your Brother Scarlet, and an unnamed deity that the Nälka worshipped.
RAJMATA: It lied to you. There are four. There have always been four corners to balance the world.
DESAI: The Abominate.
RAJMATA: It has many names. We refer to it as the Wretch. I believe the Nälka called it the First Apostate, in their infinite arrogance. Its true name cannot be spoken, but we accept its existence. The Mekhanites did not until it was upon their borders, and by then, it was far too late.
GALANIS: What is it?
RAJMATA: What I can say is limited. But I will tell you what I know. I. Now, look.
6 [The RAJMATA turns and enters the tunnel leading into the Citadel. The group follows. The interior of the tunnel is lighted with small fires lit at the tips of darkened vines. The firelight reveals a complex carving engraved into the walls of the tunnel. The nearest portion is similar to the one first observed on the exterior of the Citadel in Mamjul — a large glyph of a tree, with many figures now recognizable as Daeva and humans dancing and interacting around it, under the watchful eyes of a large red-painted androgynous entity.] GALANIS: The Scarlet.
RAJMATA: Yes. I have already told you of this, of how the Covenant came to be with the hopes of one day arousing our Sleeping God after we had delivered the world to him as a gift. Of how the Red Maharaja was selected by the Scarlet as her champion after he fell from the Heavens.
GALANIS: Right, yes. That actually leads into a question I wanted to ask… RAJMATA: Speak.
GALANIS: Well, the Scarlet is the primal concept of nature, and the Maharaja is its chosen prophet. But the Scarlet is… a spirit, right? Just an incredibly powerful one, a god.
RAJMATA: Yes.
GALANIS: I guess my question is where the Scarlet is. Where the Scarlet Maharaja is. Physically.
[The RAJMATA stops and looks at GALANIS strangely.] RAJMATA: The Scarlet is present all around us.
GALANIS: Right, I know, but like… Amoni-Ram was constructed on the back of Mekhane, made of her parts, physically.
RAJMATA: I think I understand what you are asking. Whether there is a place you can speak to my master.
GALANIS: I guess so, yeah.
[The RAJMATA places a hand against the tree.] RAJMATA: Such a place exists, but the reliquary of my master must be protected. It is his dream that allows Korar to exist. To open him to an outsider would be… [Pause.] RAJMATA: I am sorry, but I cannot allow it. For your sake as well as his. It would be like placing sand in a raging river. The sand is obliterated, and the river tainted.
GALANIS: Yeah, okay. I understand.
RAJMATA: But as you mention Amoni-Ram being built off the back of their goddess… [The Rajmata stepped forward, pointing to a new portion of the carving. This one depicted a large, infinitely complex feminine entity partially buried under sand dunes, looked on by a man the fraction of her size.] GALANIS: Mekhane.
GREAVES: And the first Bumaro.
RAJMATA: Yes. This was the pattern. Four gods, four prophets, four corners to the earth, four empires. One war. All is one. Our Gods are grand creatures, but they demand vessels for their power.
[GALANIS moves to the other side of the tunnel. This carving is substantially less detailed, and looks almost haphazard. It might depict some form of four- legged creature laying face down in a gargantuan grave or pit, surrounded by onlookers.] GALANIS: This one… is this Iun?
RAJMATA: Our best approximation. We know very little about what exactly Iun discovered when he founded Black Aditum. He was a secretive, vindictive animal. We understand it was a god of flesh, but that it did not choose him as its avatar. Not willingly.
GALANIS: What does that mean?
RAJMATA: I wish I knew, Galanis-hiyar. These are renderings of rumours of legends of myths. The truth may have been nothing like this.
DESAI: History in a nutshell.
GALANIS: Then… [The group moves to the last of the four large carvings near the entrance. In stark contrast to the others, this one shows only a single smooth, featureless circle on the wood wall.] RAJMATA: The Wretch. As I said, what I can say is… limited.
GALANIS: Why?
RAJMATA: I am powerful, but I am not a god. There is binding magic that surpasses even ours.
GREAVES: Someone sealed your ability to talk about it?
RAJMATA: Yes.
GREAVES: It's not unheard of. There are anomalous contracts, geases, that take away your ability to talk about something. But something on this scale… I can't imagine the kind of power it would take.
GALANIS: I imagine who and why are also bound.
RAJMATA: Unfortunately. What I can say is that the Wretch was once a god, just the same as Mekkan and the Sleeping Scarlet and whatever Iun found. But it was cast out long, long before the First War. Thrown deep into the seas of the West, beyond the edge of the world, to drown forevermore.
DESAI: What did it do?
RAJMATA: The First Sin. I don't know what it is. But it was the introduction of disorder into a perfectly balanced universe. The first vestiges of chaos.
DESAI: Jesus.
GALANIS: Okay, so — wait. The Mekhanites didn't recognize the legitimacy of the Wretch or the Abominate or whatever, or your gods. They rationalized Mekhane as the only legitimate deity. But you guys… do?
RAJMATA: We don't pledge our allegiance to the Sleeping Scarlet because they are innately supreme over their brethren. We do it because they have protected us, uplifted us, provided for us. We swear fealty because we choose to. It is a partnership.
GALANIS: A covenant.
RAJMATA: You see now. All is one.
GALANIS: But the others don't follow that belief.
RAJMATA: No. Which is why the First War was inevitable. Look.
[The scene changes. The group and the RAJMATA are now standing on the battlements of the northern wall. Outside the gates, a gargantuan group has been assembled — at least hundreds of thousands of Covenant, both human and Daeva, gathered into camps. They are heavily armored with wood similar to the one the Citadel is formed from, and are supported by cavalry forces of thousands of four-legged beasts. Elaborately dressed sorcerers command each regiment as they begin to organize and march.] GALANIS: Another expedition?
GREAVES: No. This is an army. Armies, even.
DESAI: Look up.
[In the far distance, over the thick treeline and expansive jungle, several thick plumes of smoke are visible rising into the sky.] RAJMATA: You will see the war as I saw it.
[The scene changes rapidly. A desert battlefield, littered with the corpses of hundreds of Mekhanites, their metal limbs torn from their bodies by Daeva scouring the field. A large Daevic city set alight by Mekhanite napalm, burning to the ground in a raging inferno as women run screaming and carrying their children. The corpses of Daeva and Mekhanites being puppeteered across a strait by Nälka necromancers, forming a living body of bridges to allow their abominations to cross over to the crippled Daeva force on the other side.] DESAI: [Under his breath] Jesus fucking Christ.
GALANIS: This is… carnage.
GREAVES: It's war.
[The scenes continue rapidly shifting. Daevic sorcerers raising vines to tear through Nälkan infantry, reducing them to bloody tatters of rotten flesh.
Prisoners of war being massacred on altars as human sacrifices. Mass graves and killing fields.] GALANIS: Please. Stop.
[The scenes abruptly stop and melt away. The group are once again at the top of the Tree. DESAI and GALANIS are holding their heads. GREAVES is not.] RAJMATA: You see now. Has any war of yours held a candle to the carnage?
GREAVES: Maybe a couple. We have a saying. War is hell.
RAJMATA: War is hell. Apt. And one must consider that it was all pointless.
GALANIS: What?
DESAI: All that was for nothing?
RAJMATA: While we waged this brutal, continent-spanning war, the Wretch was coming. We had no idea it had built up its forces in the Far West, after dragging itself out of the sea. A horde that dwarfed our armies, led by an undying general-prophet — the BLACKSTAR. And it was dragging itself across the face of Africa, bathed in blood and worship and chaos, to Amoni-Ram, the Gate of the West. For vengeance.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT Culture Briefing Excerpt Thaumaturgy & Magic Without active practitioners of the Daeva school of magic, it's difficult to make confident statements about its nature, especially in the framework of modern thaumaturgy which relies heavily on objective, metaphysical measurement.
However, through Doctor Galanis' sessions with the Rajmata Vaslirasirraj-Shirat and 141 interviews conducted on Daeva by members of the Mamjul-Korar Initiative, much information has been assembled.
The first, and perhaps most important point, is that the magic the Daeva used was not simply herbomancy (the magic of manipulating plant life). More broadly, the Daeva practiced animancy, in line with their philosophies that everything in the world had a soul, the only difference being whether it was on the astral or the material plane. The Daeva are self-identified spirits of nature, which is why the vast majority of Daeva magic focuses on plants and wildlife, but this is a choice, not a limitation.
Several Daeva have attested to more esoteric uses of their magic than conjuring aggressive, hostile plant life and the encouragement of agriculture. Mamjul was once host to a university of kallya, scholars we would now liken to alchemists, chiefly concerned with encouraging the development of life to serve the Daeva.
The most visible examples of this are the exotic many-legged beasts of burden observed in Korar and in Mamjul by Doctor Galanis — but this university also produced what we would now call bioweapons, highly-aggressive viral infections that could cause both anomalous and mundane damage on organic tissue. These infections would be loaded into glass vessels and catapulted into besieged cities.
As with most forms of animancy, the 'magic' was in fact a contract of exchange between the spirit and the caster. Given the close bond that most spirits (the Daeva) and the casters (the humans they were bonded with) had, there was no incentive to outsmart and/or betray the caster as with djinns. Instead, the price was paid through the ritual blood sacrifice of a third-party — usually a slave or later, prisoner of war. Magic was used in nearly every aspect of Covenant society, from the management and control of slaves (pheromone-based hypnotics) to construction and expansion (accelerated tree growth into the desired structures) to war (physical bonding of Daeva to Covenant soldiers).
As the Daeva supplying the spiritual power clearly still exist, there are no physical barriers preventing adequately-trained thaumaturges from studying and using Daeva magic.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT 7 ▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MARCH 2003 SOURCE: Lieutenant Lucian Greaves, MTF Alpha-1 NOTE: As this transcript was originally produced by the subject's thoughts, certain sections may be nonclinical.
«BEGIN LOG» [GREAVES opens his eyes. He is standing in the upper branches of the Citadel, next to Doctor GALANIS. The RAJMATA is seated in front of them, on a thick branch. No attendants are in sight.] GREAVES: Pandora. Your Grace. Operator Desai isn't joining us?
GALANIS: No, he's leading a dive. We're still running occasional missions into Mamjul, seeing if we can find something, anything.
RAJMATA: You will not. It is like the slates; wiped clean. But today our knowledge aligns.
GREAVES: What are you talking about?
RAJMATA: You tell me your knowledge ends at the fall of Amoni-Ram, the great city of the Broken Empire.
GALANIS: Yes. The automaton told us that you and the Nälka made an agreement to lay siege to the city at once. You joined your armies to bring down your common enemy. And that the Abominate, the Wretch, whatever you want to call it, took advantage of the opportunity.
RAJMATA: Then it was wrong.
GALANIS: What do you mean?
RAJMATA: [Voice rising and growing heavier] After everything I have told you about the history of my people and the Nälka, of Iun's First Hatred for us, of the carnage we laid upon each other, of their attempts to deny our fallen entry into the next life — what part led you to believe they would ever carry arms with us?
GALANIS: It's- I don't- I'm- RAJMATA: We are not some capricious apostates who would betray our own for a chance at delivering a blow to the Golden Legion. Is that what you think us, having lived in our city and spoken to our— [GREAVES steps in front of GALANIS.] GREAVES: Back off. They couldn't have known, we're just going off the timeline Nussbaum created. It's not their fault we're going off bad information.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MARCH 2003 [The RAJMATA and GREAVES glare at each other for several seconds, before the Daeva lowers her head. Her voice returns to its usual, sing-song tone.] RAJMATA: I apologize, Galanis-hiyar. The memories I wish to show you… they occupy a wounded space in my mind. They hurt to think of, much less display to others. And I have not felt such strong emotion in a very, very long time. I let it get the better of me.
GALANIS: [Shakily] I-it's alright. It's fine.
GREAVES: [Low voice] You're sure you're okay?
GALANIS: [Low voice] Yeah. Thanks. [Regular voice] It's alright. I shouldn't have pulled something out without confirming either. This is obviously a sensitive topic for you, understandably.
RAJMATA: I imagine that what the automaton told you was what the Mekhanites had written as the walls of Amoni-Ram toppled. The maddened, desperate rationalizations of how the most advanced people in the world had fallen. Surely it could only be if their worst enemies had banded together despite the centuries of conflict and bitter hatred, for then they could paint themselves as martyrs.
GREAVES: History is just a matter of perspective.
RAJMATA: Another wise platitude. The flawed perspective of the Broken Empire was the one you were fed. Nothing more than revisionism, intended to make themselves noble in their own histories. Even with the walls of their greatest city sundered and the enemy at the gates, they expected their empire to live on in the other Rams. Pure hubris.
GREAVES: Then tell us what actually happened. Give us your side of the story.
[The RAJMATA lowers her head and begins her chant. Once again, the branches of the tree melt away, swirling into colors, forming a new scene. The brown and green become beige and golden yellow. Over the chanting, the image solidifies: the group is on a sand dune overlooking a huge war encampment. Tens of thousands of Daevic soldiers and beasts of war, gathered around bonfires and tents. In the distance, Amoni-Ram burns. Its walls lie nearly cracked open, the huge gates sheared. Fires of all kinds and sizes dot the skyscrapers and minarets, and a thick plume of smoke hovers over the city. Another army, this one too far to make out, crowds the eastern gate.] GALANIS: Oh, man.
RAJMATA: There was never any alliance between us and the Nälka. I know not why they came to Amoni-Ram that day — but I sense it was for the same reason as I. We saw the signals; I heard a whisper, one of the sought-after signs from the Sleeping Scarlet of something he sees in his dream. A portent of things to come, and it told me that Amoni-Ram would fall not to me, not to Iun, but to a face not seen in a thousand thousand years, and it would fall on this night. I ordered the armies to march posthaste. I expect Iun received a similar portent, through whatever unholy magic he practices, of bone and fortune.
[She sighs.] RAJMATA: It was already fallen when we arrived.
[GREAVES turns to the RAJMATA.] GREAVES: You sound… sad. I thought you and the Mekhanites were blood enemies.
RAJMATA: We were. But it was a conflict that we knew, and that we understood. We were evenly matched — horns locked, none of us could destroy the other, and none of us would betray our allegiances with the notion of a truce.
[She sighs.] RAJMATA: Do not misunderstand me: the Mekhanites were as much of a warlike blight to us as the Nälka. But I am not too proud to admit that Amoni- Ram was a center of learning, knowledge, and progress that rivalled even Mamjul. The razing of the city did not just put your people back a thousand years. It directly led to the fall of my own. For that, I must lament.
[They all look back at the city. With a slow shearing noise audible even from their distance, one of the huge skyscrapers splits and collapses.] RAJMATA: My scouts corroborated that there was a huge force of Nälka on the other side, and we assumed Iun had devised some black magic that could take the city. Fools that we were, we thought that the third army was the dead, raised by the Nälka. We knew that the treasures of Amoni-Ram would be a great boon to whoever seized them, and we could not allow the Nälka to seize them. My generals made the decision: once the gates fell, we would march in and loot the city.
GALANIS: Oh, god.
RAJMATA: So we did. By morning, the walls fell, and our armies moved in. We expected resistance but this…. this was chaos.
[The scene cuts to a rooftop in Amoni-Ram. The streets are littered with corpses, and fires burn in every direction. The Covenant soldiers and Daeva are armed in curved swords and colorful clothing, and push against the surviving Mekhanite troops. The Nälka necromancers move through the streets, raising dead civilians to join the fray.] RAJMATA: A massacre. And do you see who benefitted from it? Why the Three- Prong Army didn't try to occupy the city after bringing down the walls?
GREAVES: The Wretch. It was letting you tear each other apart. Leave yourselves wounded and open for the killing blow.
RAJMATA: We walked right into it. I'm sure Iun thought the exact same thing, that I had brought down the walls and was going to seize the city. We massacred each other, all while the BLACKSTAR watched.
GALANIS: You keep mentioning that name — what is that? Why does it sound like that?
RAJMATA: Names have power. Some more so than others. The BLACKSTAR was the Wretch's chosen — as Bumaro was with the Metal, as Iun was with the Flesh, as my master was with the Scarlet. To lead its armies, to destroy the world in its name. He was a man in flesh, but a monster in soul. He could shape reality like sand in his fingertips; a demon amongst men. His atrocities only began with the rape of Amoni-Ram. Hark.
[The scene shifts once again to a distance away from Amoni-Ram. Half the Daevic army is still at the encampment. Suddenly, a low-pitched drone fills the air, growing steadily louder. The soldiers quickly get to their feet, pulling their weapons and looking around. The droning grows louder and louder, and just as it hits its crescendo, the towers and spires of Amoni-Ram vanish.] GALANIS: Ah. There it is. Mekhane's Grace.
RAJMATA: You say you've visited Amoni-Ram. What happened to it? Why did it disappear, taking half my army and crippling my forces?
GALANIS: It was a superweapon. The last-ditch efforts of the Mekhanites, meant to transport the entire city away in the blink of an eye if it were ever besieged.
RAJMATA: What? Transported where? Are they alive?
GALANIS: It didn't work, not how it was supposed to. It moved the city into a pocket dimension and killed everyone and everything inside. Amoni-Ram was utterly ruined.
RAJMATA: Oh. I… I see.
[She leans back lowering her head and whispering.] GREAVES: What're you doing?
RAJMATA: Offering a quick prayer for the departed, to my master. A part of me always held out hope… GREAVES: We understand.
GALANIS: We're sorry.
RAJMATA: It is not your crime to apologize for. But you see now.
[They look at the empty spot where Amoni-Ram once was.] RAJMATA: I was crippled. We were crippled. We hobbled the long march home, disorganized and routed. But what weighed heaviest on my mind was not my lost soldiers or the fate of the city. It was that the Wretch, hated enemy of the gods, demon of demons, had returned. And with the Mekhanites reduced to dust, half my armies gone, and the BLACKSTAR carving a path westward… Mamjul and Korar were next.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ ACT IV INFALLIBLE FILESERV NOTICE: The following document was inserted into this file at a later date, under containment protocol HERODOTUS . Refer to Special Containment Procedures for more information.
VERSE 106 109 As witnessed by Rapplataray, Fifth Rajmata of the Scarlet Maharaja.
And once the Beast had laid waste to Amoni-Ram, torn the city asunder and set the armies loose to tear each other apart, it continued its dreadful march across the desert and into the jungles and forests of the Covenant.
And in this it was victorious; for it had slaughtered the Grand Armies at Amoni-Ram, routing the men and spirits of the Daeva from the battlefield, sending them into a desperate retreat through the thickets and undergrowth, to Mamjul, to salvation.
And so it was that the armies of the Daeva were forced to abandon their peoples, their sacred charge and those of their children, as they formed a great mass, marching ceaselessly towards their stronghold, the ancestral home of the Daeva, where they could mount a defense. But as with all things, such decisions are rooted in sacrifices of blood, of honor, of duty. And the ultimate sacrifice was made a hundred times over. Loyal soldiers left to their devices against the chaos of the horde, knowing their deaths inevitable, taking solace in the fact that their deaths might preserve their afterlifes.
Because it was understood that were the BLACKSTAR to lead his armies across the isthmus and into Mamjul, he would lay siege to the city, and break it just as he had broken Amoni-Ram. The slaughter would be wholesale and complete, and not only of the material plane. For were the Three-Prong Army to bring down the walls of Mamjul, to seize the Tree, they would tear apart the roots seeking the original gift of the Scarlet, the source of the Maharaja's power. And should they take it from his sleeping corpse, he would crumble away to nothingness, robbed of his immortality. And as he crumbled, so too would the dream he dreamt, and Korar with it.
VERSE 106-109 Section 001.7 LATER RESEARCH On April 11th, following several months of cooperative research from all teams of the Mamjul- Korar Initiative, the first revision of the Daevic Empire Cultural Briefing was finalized. The report covered nearly every aspect of cultural knowledge that the Daeva had been willing to share with Foundation personnel, and represented likely the first written record of the Daeva's existence in centuries, perhaps millennia. A meeting of the Anthropology Committee was called to discuss forward action.
▶OPEN ADDENDUM◀ Despite the finalization of the Culture Briefing, the primary goal of the Mamjul-Korar Initiative remained to construct an accurate timeline leading to the fall of the anomalous empires and identify the Abominate/Wretch. Dr. Galanis' sessions with the Rajmata had reached the Fall of Amoni-Ram in approximately 1200 BCE, which is where the historical model constructed by Dr.
Hedvig Nussbaum ended. At this crucial precipice, the Council unanimously agreed to permit further sessions.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - APRIL 2003 SOURCE: Doctor Pandora Galanis «BEGIN LOG» [GALANIS and GREAVES are standing in a a lush verdant rainforest. Ahead of them, the trees grow thinner, eventually turning into a wide clearing in which sits a large village. Several dozen large stone buildings and many smaller wooden huts form the low, flat settlement; the architecture is consistent with many of the constructions in Mamjul and Korar. Aside from the pair, there is no one else visible.] GALANIS: What the hell? Where are we?
GREAVES: This is a dream. But I don't know where.
GALANIS: Where is everybody? The Rajmata isn't here. Nobody's here.
GREAVES: Wait.
[He pauses. His hand unconsciously goes to his side.] GREAVES: Something's wrong. I recognize this feeling.
RAJMATA: I had a feeling you would, Greaves-jirras.
[The RAJMATA materializes out of the trees, standing tall and draped in robes.] GALANIS: Woah! Sorry. You startled me.
RAJMATA: My apologies. But I had to gauge something.
GREAVES: What?
RAJMATA: Whether you were able to recognize an ambush. Look.
[She waves a hand out towards the empty clearing.] GALANIS: There's nobody there.
GREAVES: Yes there is. They're everywhere.
RAJMATA: Very good.
[An shimmer passes over the field of view. The incandescent silhouettes of hundreds of Daeva are briefly visible, crouching on the floor or standing in formation, armed with all manner of weaponry. They face the far end of the clearing.] GALANIS: Remarkable. They're invisible?
RAJMATA: A brief spell by one of the sorcerers. Simply a temporary measure.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT APRIL 2003 GREAVES: What for?
RAJMATA: For this.
[Distant, a horn sounds, growing closer. For a minute, nothing happens. Then a massive, black horde rushes out of the trees, charging the Daeva line. The Daeva flanks rush forward, crashing into the enemy. Shouting, yelling, and screaming immediately fill the air, punctuated by the horn and the steady beats of war drums.] GALANIS: Those aren't the Nälka. They're… human.
RAJMATA: The BLACKSTAR's horde, the Three-Prong Army.
[They watch as the soldiers charge out of the treeline. They are human warriors, dressed in dark armors and leathers, tanned skin visible underneath.
The generals and leaders are clothed entirely in suits of plated armor. They don't appear to use any specific kinds of magic or anomalies — just simple bronze weapons and wooden siege engines, their sheer numbers and ferocity enough to force the Daeva backwards.] GREAVES: They just look like any old painting of ancient soldiers. What was their deal?
RAJMATA: They scorned our magic. Not just that of the Daeva; all of ours. The Nälka, the Mekhanites as well. They had no qualms using it against us, but they were not believers.
GALANIS: They must have had some kind of advantage, if they were able to take Amoni-Ram and give you a fair right.
RAJMATA: They did. But their advantage was not in the weapons they used — in this sense, they were utterly human. Their advantage was in their leader. After Amoni-Ram fell, I recalled our armies from the eastern front. Half of our largest force had vanis- [She catches herself.] RAJMATA: Had been killed. We were going to be marched on by the Three- Prong Army. They were too powerful for me to split my forces.
GREAVES: You recalled the armies to Mamjul?
RAJMATA: No. Not to Mamjul. To Thijam, a smaller city on a narrow isthmus, forming the link between our peninsula and the mainland.
GREAVES: A choke point.
RAJMATA: Yes. The Three-Prong Army was far larger than mine. I had to reduce their numbers, so I elected to trap them at Thijam. But that took several months of full retreat. Our armies scavenging the land for sustenance while running, tails tucked between their legs, from Amoni-Ram back to the homeland. But if we didn't offer any resistance, the faster and lighter armies of the Wretch would catch up. With no supply trains, no civilians, nothing weighing them down… they would catch up, and they would massacre us.
GREAVES: Oh, no.
GALANIS: What is it? I don't understand?
GREAVES: It was a feigned retreat. But she had to leave behind just enough soldiers to put up resistance and prevent the pursuing force from catching up.
No chance of victory, just buying time and hoping the main force escapes.
GALANIS: Abandoning entire armies to the wolves.
RAJMATA: They were sacrifices. They knew this. Thousands of soldiers, left behind in abandoned settlements as pockets of resistance. They were little more than bumps in the road. The Wretch washed through from the desert, pushing through the last vestiges of the Mekhanite territory before smashing into our own.
[The RAJMATA sighs, and looks at the carnage occurring past the tree line. The Three-Prong Army is massive — endless soldiers dressed in black metal armor and armed with long pikes, lances, and saw swords continue to pour out of the trees.] RAJMATA: So many lost.
[The scene begins to cycle. It switches to a similar scene in a more temperate jungle that is aflame. The Covenant and the Three-Prong Army clash amidst thick foliage and underbrush set on a rapidly-spreading fire. Charred bodies litter the ground, and a number of Daeva are covered in fire eating away at them. It switches to a wide, flat desert plain, with a number of Covenant soldiers forming a defensive line of thick shields. A huge force of Wretch cavalry on massive black horses crash into the waiting phalanx and shatter it, routing the army. The Abominate's forces lay siege engines against the walls of a settlement, leaping over the battlements while artillery barrages the defenses. Dozens of scenes like this play out.] RAJMATA: He destroyed my Empire long before he took Mamjul. We abandoned cities, people, spirits, everything to the horde. We were walking dead.
GALANIS: Who?
[The RAJMATA points a long hand forward. In every scene, a figure is visible.
Dressed in the intricately-formed black armor of the Three-Prong Army, his head is obscured by a large, spiked metal crown. His shoulders are draped in a long, dark cape. Unlike the rest of the soldiers, his only weapon is a single sword hanging by his side. Rather than charging headlong into the fray, he remains on the front lines but in a rearward position. His expression is obscured.] GREAVES: He must be their commander.
GALANIS: The Blackstar.
RAJMATA: Yes. The blood of nations drenches him. One of the most powerful beings to ever walk the face of this planet.
GALANIS: He just looks like… a regular person.
RAJMATA: He is not a human. But he was, once. That is what makes him so dangerous. Why we could not face him directly on an open field, why I had to abandon my men to the wolves while I bought time..
GALANIS: What were you buying time for?
RAJMATA: I recalled the home guards of our smaller cities to the Isthmus of Thijam.
[The scene shifts to a view of a small, largely-empty narrow strip of land with seas on either side. A ramshackle village of straw huts and roots is visible near one of the beaches.] RAJMATA: It was once a quiet fishing village. Slaves would man vessels from sunup to sundown, bringing in their catch to be sold. There was an annual festival, wherein the catch would be slaughtered along with a number of slaves, their blood mixing and pouring into the sea, making the surf run red with blessings. This tiny strip of land connected us to the mainland, allowed us to trade with the fledgling city-states of your people.
[In fast-forward, a large, disorganized party of Daevic soldiers arrive from the north and make camp on the southern side of the isthmus. They are followed in quick succession by more forces — bloody armies arriving in retreat from the north under scarlet banners, fresh reinforcements from the south, beasts of war, siege engines. More and more soldiers arrive, the encampment swelling to at least a hundred thousand troops, stretching far into the south, until they stop.] GREAVES: What, then? Just lying in wait for them to come and kill you?
RAJMATA: Quite the opposite.
[A line of finely-dressed sorcerers stretches down the width of the isthmus, at least twenty-five kilometres. They dig their hands into the ground and, with an inhuman effort, raise the beginnings of a wall, made of intertwined stone and sand and root and vine, petrified and hardened. It slowly rises out of the ground, inch by inch, until the sorcerers collapse, many of them clearly exsanguinated of all the blood in their body. Soldiers rush forward with tools, fortifying and expanding the structure, even as the dead sorcerers are replaced, their blood spilt into the foundations of the wall, and replaced. The cycle continues as the sun sets and rises and sets and rises, until the wall is dozens of meters high and as thick as a building. Staircases and ladders let soldiers man the high battlements.] GALANIS: That has to be as tall as the Great Wall of China. No, taller. By a lot.
GREAVES: Thicker, too. How did you manage this without… architects, construction machines, anything?
RAJMATA: Do you see the gateway?
GREAVES: …No. There isn't one.
RAJMATA: Yes. Anyone on the other side of that wall was going to be killed. This was our last stand. That is what drove us. What drove me. The understanding that I must do what I have to do for my people to survive. Because if I didn't, we wouldn't.
GALANIS: But your people didn't survive, did they? Mamjul is still at the bottom of the ocean, and the Covenant is dead.
[Silence.] RAJMATA: No. I failed.
GALANIS: We need to know what this thing is. We need to know how it broke you.
RAJMATA: This method of showing you my memories is… a loophole in the laws that I have been bound to. That the Daeva have been bound to. You are seeing more than any living creature in three thousand years has.
GALANIS: I appreciate that, but it's not enough. If this Blackstar still lives, if the god he serves still exists, we need to understand them to be able to defend ourselves.
[GALANIS swallows nervously.] GALANIS: I have to again pose the idea that I be allowed to commune with… your master.
[Silence.] RAJMATA: You wish to speak to the Scarlet?
GALANIS: Yes. It's a god, right? It knows the Abominate or the Wretch or whatever. It cast it out to sea. It's the easiest way to learn what we need to know.
RAJMATA: Communing with the Scarlet is a dangerous task, Galanis-hiyar. I have been wedded to it for centuries, and I have only done so a handful of times. To commune is to invite another presence into your mind. To invite a god into your mind… like packing the seas of the world into a pot. The pressure would annihilate you from the inside-out.
GREAVES: But if you have a strong enough pot. A strong enough vessel.
RAJMATA: Perhaps then. But the last time when a man had such fortitude was the founding of our Covenant. I appreciate your struggle, but it is not a possibility.
GREAVES: Fine, okay.
[The RAJMATA clutches her forehead and the dream around the group shimmers.] GALANIS: Are you okay?
RAJMATA: Yes. Yes. Projecting the dream is just… intensive. I am not as young as I once was. I must rest.
GALANIS: That sounds like a good idea.
[The projection dematerializes, melting into puddles of nothingness that drip off the boughs of the tree. They are still in the canopy of the tree, shaded by the branches. The RAJMATA is supported by a flock of the masked Brides, their horns draped in veils.] RAJMATA: Goodbye, Greaves-jirras and Galanis-hiyar.
[GALANIS dematerializes out of the astral projection, fading into a cloud of glimmering noise. Lt. GREAVES lingers, staring at the RAJMATA.] RAJMATA: Greaves-jirras?
GREAVES: What do you think we're doing here?
RAJMATA: What do you mean?
GREAVES: You just told me and the doctor about your sacrifice. About your willingness to do anything if it meant your people would live to see another day.
RAJMATA: What of it?
GREAVES: You failed. But we haven't yet. We might still have a shot at surviving.
[GREAVES points at the RAJMATA.] GREAVES: We're willing to do whatever it takes. If you deny us access to what we need to save ourselves… it won't just be your own blood on your hands. It'll be ours too.
[GREAVES dematerializes and ends the projection.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ On May 3rd, the first group of researchers from the Thaumaturgy Division arrived at MKF-01 via helicopter. Due to their unique requirements, the Thaumaturgy Team was quartered aboard the Haffkine with the Psychotronics Division personnel. A meeting of the Research Committee was held shortly thereafter to determine the level of involvement and direction the Team would have.
As the Psychotronics Division personnel had successfully mastered the process of inducing projections, SCP-1867 was transported back to Site-19 via the same helicopter as it departed MKF-01.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED DOCUMENT - MAY 2003 «IN ATTENDANCE» Doctor Pandora Galanis — Project Lead (LEAD) Lieutenant Lucian Greaves — Security Team Lead (SECU) Sr. Researcher Levi Sheridan — Archaeology Team Lead (ARCH) Sr. Researcher Xing Yijun — Linguistic Analysis Team Lead (LING) Sr. Researcher Vijay Ramaswamy — Parahistory Team Lead (HIST) Doctor Gabrielle Carrick — Thaumaturgy Team Lead (THAU) «BEGIN LOG» [GALANIS and GREAVES enter the conference room aboard the Phantom. The research committee is already assembled and waiting. The leads are seated around the conference table, without any aides. SHERIDAN is standing.] GALANIS: Hello, everyone. Karl and Ajay couldn't join us today, I'm afraid.
[A low murmur of greeting runs throughout.] SHERIDAN (ARCH): I'd… like to apologize for my behaviour in the last meeting, Dr. Galanis. It was inappropriate, and rude, and I should've voiced my concerns more professionally.
GALANIS: That's… thank you, Dr. Sheridan.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): I still retain my concerns, and I think that we've gotten a little biased in our analysis, but… you know.
GALANIS: Of course. If we're all comfortable with moving on now, we have a new face. Welcome, Dr. Carrick.
CARRICK (THAU): Thank you! Happy to be here.
GALANIS: Is your team settled in?
CARRICK (THAU): As settled-in as one can be aboard a floating tin-can, yes.
[She laughs.] CARRICK (THAU): No offense to any of you, of course. It's just that we're not a very nautical bunch.
GALANIS: None of us were when the project started. Except Lucian, maybe. I'm pretty sure he was born in the Marines.
[They nudge him, and GREAVES smiles slightly.] GALANIS: Are you finding our analysis sufficient?
ATTACHED DOCUMENT MAY 2003 CARRICK (THAU): Not quite, I'm afraid. It's a very solid start, especially for people who aren't thaumaturges, but all thaumaturgy really is is a framework for understanding magic. To understand what drove the Daeva's magic, and how we can utilize and recreate that, would require my team to converse directly with them.
GALANIS: That can be arranged. You should sit down with Crowley from Psychotronics, and arrange tests for your… apprentices? See which ones will have the easiest time getting into Korar.
CARRICK (THAU): Researchers is fine. And that'll definitely help, but the problem is moreso that… we don't really feel comfortable tapping into spirits for our thaumaturgy yet without a greater understanding of the processes at play. What we'll be able to do without the Daeva is… limited. I'm just trying to set a realistic expectation for you — we're simply not going to be able to do the miracles they were, at least not at first.
GALANIS: That's fine, so long as there's progress.
YIJUN (LING): Oh, that reminds me — Researcher Crowley asked me to pass along a message to you, Doctor. She noticed that the equipment they use in Psychotronics to stabilize and support the astral projections were seeing increased power draw. Something about needing to work harder to keep the projection stable. I don't know what it means, but..
GALANIS: That's… odd. I'll get into it, thanks.
RAMASWAMY (HIST): Speaking of progress, I have looked into the Sea Peoples, as you asked me to.
GALANIS: Find anything?
RAMASWAMY (HIST): Almost nothing. The old files from Amoni-Ram indicate the Middle Kingdom pharaohs were at least aware of the anomalous empires, which might help explain why only a temple in Egypt has any record of their existence. But Amoni-Ram was also conspicously lacking in contemporary sources, and it existed fine.
GALANIS: Gut feeling?
RAMASWAMY (HIST): I do not believe in coincidences, Dr. Galanis. The surviving Mekhanites spread their culture and technology throughout the Middle East and North Africa, but lacked any contemporary source. They only appeared in the Quran as Iram. The Daeva appear to have done the same for Indian culture, taking the role of Kumari Kandam. It stands to reason that this… Three-Prong Army are the kernel of truth behind the myth of the Sea People. They certainly would have had to push through the region on their way to Mamjul and beyond.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): I should mention the only thing the mundane archaeological community has ever found related to the Sea People were bronze weapons.
RAMASWAMY (HIST): I do not understand the relevance.
GALANIS: The Rajmata mentions the Blackstar's forces looted Amoni-Ram. And scuffed fuladh looks an awful lot like bronze. It just makes too much sense.
Keep looking into it.
RAMASWAMY (HIST): Of course.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): What's up with that name, by the way? Three Prong Army, does that mean anything for the Daeva?
XIJUN (LING): I had the same thought. I looked through the preliminary translation dictionary we've compiled of the oral language — obviously a written one is impossible — and as far as I can tell… nothing. It quite literally just means 'three points'.
RAMASWAMY (HIST): Maybe a descriptor of their military strategy? A three- pronged attack.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): Could be referring to a trident.
GALANIS: That would certainly fit with the Sea People theory. Remind me to ask the Rajmata next time.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): Also on the docket: Thijam. Based on your description of her memories, it seems like it would be an isthmus connection the landmass of — well, I guess we're calling it Kumari Kandam now, to mainland India.
RAMASWAMY (HIST): Isthmuses have historically been of great importance in ancient cultures. Constantinople monopolized trade between the East and West by residing on one. I do not need to tell you how critical the Suez is. It makes sense they would make their choke point there.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): Yeah, but the problem is that we can't find it. We don't even have a very good understanding of what the continent looked like back then, just maps from Amoni-Ram we know are altered and maps from Blackwood's journals that are as likely to be right as they are wrong. The narrowest point of the isthmus could be a kilometre south of the tip of India, a hundred, or even inland. There's just no way to know.
GALANIS: I'll see what information I can get, but keep working on it.
[He sighs.] GALANIS: Is there something else?
SHERIDAN (ARCH): Permission to speak freely?
GALANIS: I'm not your commanding officer, Levi. Say what's on your mind.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): It feels like we're at a point where we've run out of knowledge to collect. And we're not any closer to finding out our answers.
GALANIS: That's not true, we've learned a lot about the Daeva. What they were, what happened to the world after Amoni-Ram fell.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): I'm an archaeologist, Doctor. I know first-hand what it means to search after knowledge most people will never appreciate, for the sake of nothing but the knowledge itself. But if this Blackstar stuff is still an existential threat… we need knowledge we can apply. And we're not getting that here.
GALANIS: Dr. Carrick is making a great start on applying Daeva magic. That's not applicable.
SHERIDAN (ARCH): Yeah, but— GREAVES: As the representative from the Council, they're quite pleased with how the project is progressing under Dr. Galanis.
[Everyone turns to look at GREAVES. He remains silent.] SHERIDAN (ARCH): I'm not questioning your leadership, Doctor. I'm just saying that I think it's time to go to the source of the knowledge.
GALANIS: Well, I'll take that into account. You guys know what you're working on. Dismissed.
«END LOG» ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MAY 2003 «BEGIN LOG» [GREAVES and GALANIS are standing on the deck of the Haffkine, looking out over the Laccadive Sea. The permanent attachments to the Phantom are being maintenanced by the seamen.] GALANIS: Thanks for sticking up for me back there. I appreciate it.
GREAVES: I was telling the truth.
[He shrugs his rifle out of the way, removes a lighter from his vest pocket, and lights a cigarette before lifting it to his lips and taking a drag.] GALANIS: Still.
GREAVES: I've worked in the Foundation very nearly all my life. Our academics tend to get… myopic. Sometimes they need a reminder of who's signing their paychecks. No offense.
GALANIS: None taken. You're hardly wrong — though it's also not a problem confined to the Foundation.
GREAVES: I'm sure. It's just all I know.
GALANIS: You've really been working for them — for us your whole life?
GREAVES: I was twenty-one when Vietnam ended. No college, no prospects.
Had a friend who said he knew a government agency that was willing to hire veterans who didn't ask questions. Did a year in Site Security, then worked in all sorts of Mobile Task Forces. Nu-7, Zeta-9, Eta-5, until I got handpicked for the big one.
[Silence as GREAVES takes another drag.] GALANIS: So you've killed people, then.
[He looks at them askance.] GALANIS: Sorry.
GREAVES: You're alright. Yeah, I've killed people. But I'm not one of those Kilgore nutjobs. I don't take any pleasure in it, and at least for the Foundation, I know it serves a greater purpose than some… political game.
GALANIS: How's that?
GREAVES: Shooting at rice farmers with AKs to stop the Red Menace isn't doing anything for anyone. Shooting at someone who plans to release and re-capture the lizard to use in his Nazi PMC? Yeah, I feel pretty comfortable doing that.
GALANIS: Still, I mean… it can't be easy, right? Killing someone.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MAY 2003 GREAVES: Oh, no.
[He shakes his head.] GREAVES: Killing someone is the easiest thing in the world. It's what comes after that's the hard part.
GALANIS: How do you deal with it?
[GREAVES takes another drag from the cigarette,] GREAVES: I have a kid. She's 13. Plays the clarinet. These people, the Mekhanites and Serpent's Hand and whoever, would have her live in a world filled with danger, where science and human society can't survive, where wizards and terrifying monsters are a real possibility. I ask myself what I would do to ensure that she has a future to look forward to.
GALANIS: The answer?
GREAVES: Pretty much anything.
GALANIS: Explains the loyalty.
GREAVES: Foundation's the only thing holding this world together. Yeah, I take orders to kill for them, because it's my role to play.
[He offers the cigarette to GALANIS, who waves their hand.] GALANIS: I was never any good at taking orders. I'm still not.
GREAVES: You seem to be doing fine. O5-1 certainly thinks so.
GALANIS: I'm being pulled in about thirty different directions at once. The half of the research committee that thinks we've all gone off the deep end, the half of the research committee that thinks the others are being ethnocentric troglodytes, the Council, O5-1, the Rajmata, not to mention the Initiative itself… GREAVES: Conflicting orders are a bitch. That's for certain.
GALANIS: It's a lot of pressure.
GREAVES: You'll get it done.
GALANIS: Why does everyone seem so sure of that?
GREAVES: Because you're a leader, kid. Leaders rise to the occasion. They do what has to be done.
GALANIS: I don't feel like a leader.
GREAVES: That's usually the first sign you'll make a good one.
[They stand in silence for some time, watching the waves. It is late afternoon, and the cloudless sky seems to stretch on forever.] GREAVES: Awfully calm.
GALANIS: That's what it looks like.
GREAVES: Not to you?
[They shake their head.] GALANIS: No. And no one seems to realize it. Well, except for you.
GREAVES: Me?
GALANIS: You've sat in on all the meetings with the Rajmata. We're about to learn how the Wretch destroyed Mamjul. And once we have that… show's over.
The Council has what it wants, and we transition fully to trying to weaponize the knowledge we've worked so hard to collect.
[GREAVES flicks the cigarette butt into the sea. It floats on the water for a moment before sinking out of sight.] GREAVES: You don't think we should use what we've learned from them to defend ourselves?
GALANIS: I think that we have an ethical responsibility to both respect the Daeva's culture, and to make sure they don't get any power. Because the last time they did, they enslaved a solid chunk of the population of Asia. And I think that the last time we tried to weaponize the powers of one of these cultures… GREAVES: I don't see how researching their magic to apply ourselves is inherently evil. There's risks, for sure — I've heard about Project London Bridge, but that was thirty years ago. We're better at this sort of thing now.
GALANIS: Honestly, I don't think it's evil either. But… it's complicated. It's also not what I signed up for. I'm a historian, and I came here to study history no one had ever seen before. Not this. I feel like… [They sigh.] GALANIS: Like we're standing on a precipice, and no one realizes it except for me.
GREAVES: Nobody you can talk to?
GALANIS: The only other person who's ever been in this position is currently a fugitive from Foundation custody, so… [They both chuckle.] GREAVES: Fair enough. Well, if you ever do need an ear… GALANIS: Thanks. Really. We have a session with the Rajmata tomorrow night, by the way.
GREAVES: I remember. This should answer some outstanding questions. Any reason we're waiting?
GALANIS: The Psychotronics team is fiddling with the machinery. There have been some issues with people randomly dropping out of the projection, like a bad phone connection. Not sure what to make of it yet, but hopefully it's just an equipment issue.
GREAVES: Hopefully.
GALANIS: Hey, Lucian — you have a higher clearance than me, right?
GREAVES: That's not really how clearance works, but sure.
GALANIS: Hm. That… weird effect when the Rajmata said Blackstar, Got me thinking so I ran a few queries against the Memetics Division database, keep running into blockers. Redactions, expungements, clearance checks.
GREAVES: With MEMDIV, they're probably there for good reason.
GALANIS: Still, I think it could be of use. Would you mind bringing it up to the Council, next time you check in? Just, you know, pass along the request.
[Pause.] GREAVES: Sure, kid.
GALANIS: Thanks. I'll see you in the mess?
GREAVES: Got some work to take care of. We'll meet tomorrow for the thing.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Lieutenant Greaves and Doctor Galanis entered into another astral projection with the Rajmata on May 23rd, with the goal of determining how exactly the Blackstar was able to take Mamjul and exterminate the Daevic Covenant.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MAY 2003 SOURCE: Doctor Pandora Galanis «BEGIN LOG» [GALANIS and GREAVES enter the dream. They are in Korar, standing on the great wall that surrounds the city. The Rajmata, alone and without her handmaidens, her face veiled, stands looking out across the featureless cosmic expanse. Lightning strikes aimlessly in the distance, spiderwebbing acoss the dark sky before fizzling out.] GALANIS: Greetings, your Grace.
RAJMATA: Look. What do you see?
GREAVES: The astral plane. Emptiness.
RAJMATA: What is it, though? What is the essence of the astral plane?
GALANIS: It's… another layer to reality, right? Superimposed on top of our own.
RAJMATA: Not incorrect, but at once not what I was hoping to hear.
GREAVES: It's a dream.
RAJMATA: Ah. He understands.
[She waves a long, slender hand out.] RAJMATA: All this was once supported by the minds of everyone in our sister city, when they dreamt. Our existence depended on them, and theirs on us.
Now, there is no Mamjul to rely on. Korar rests entirely on the dream of the Scarlet Maharaja.
GALANIS: Your husband.
[She pauses.] RAJMATA: I suppose. We have no particular word for a male spouse — every relationship in the world is formed of the dominant and the subservient elements. Master, and slave. I am master to my people, and the Maharaja is master to me.
GALANIS: You don't have a conception of gender, then. Interesting.
RAJMATA: Not in the way you would think of it. The physical body is… irrelevant.
All our souls rest in Korar, and the form one takes in Mamjul in between reincarnations should not dictate their lot in life. Surely they have experienced enough lives in enough forms to make any such determination irrelevant.
People are what they wished to be. No more.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MAY 2003 GALANIS: Interesting.
[Silence for a moment, as the party looks out before the wasteland beyond the walls.] GALANIS: So are we— RAJMATA: Yes.
[Distantly, the chanting of the city takes on a different tone. Less wildly harmonious, and more into a somber register. A slower melody, the words so long and deep as to be incomprehensible. At the same time, the view changes.
Grass sprouts out of nowhere far below and spreads, trees forming out of nonexistence. The sky goes from star-studded blackness to a deep blue, the sun hanging overhead. Korar melts away behind them, replaced by vast plains, and countless figures crawl out of the dust.] [In a few moments, they are standing atop the battlement at the Wall of Thijum. In front of them lies a vast, unspeakably large army. Formed into tight regiments, they mass around the base of the wall with siege engines that are not even half the height of the gargantuan barrier. At this height, each soldier is the size of an ant, and the swarm spreads far, far into the foggy distance.] GREAVES: That has to be… half a million men. Good god. Twice the size of the largest army ever fielded.
GALANIS: Not just them. Turn around, Luce.
[GREAVES turns. On the other side of the wall lies another massive force — not as unfathomably large as the Three-Prong Army, but the Daevic Covenant occupy the vast kilometers of beach between them and the jungle line. They are organized into massive lines, polearms extended to meet a charge. From this height, far to the south, beyond the Daevic Covenant, the huge boughs of the Citadel tree are visible. The wall is the only thing that separates the two forces.] GREAVES: This has to be that largest battle ever fought. At least a million men, on one battlefield. The mother of all chokepoints.
RAJMATA: Such was my belief. That the sheer size of the wall and the army would demoralize them. I was, needless to say, fatally incorrect.
[In fast-forward, the sun sets and drops below the horizon. A scattering of huge bonfires form on both sides of the wall, soldiers gathering around them.
The siege engines have been disassembled — the attempts at scaling the wall are obviously pointless. Instead, they are reassembled into a collection of trebuchets, catapults, and ballistas, all aimed at the top of the wall. With large, heavy booms, their payloads of huge stone boulders and explosive tar collide with the battlements. Daeva soldiers huddle behind the stone barriers as the wall shakes with every impact. Shakes, but holds firm, hour after hour, night after night, as they return fire with their own weapons of war and sorcerers.] RAJMATA: I underestimated the interminable nature of human persistence. I thought they would realize the wall was impenetrable. Not just physically — I sealed it myself, with a ward wrought in blood.
GALANIS: Blood sacrifices are common in your magical school. What's so special about this one?
RAJMATA: They are. But the more powerful the sacrifice, the stronger the magic. [Pause] I rest comfortable in the knowledge that my children would have been slaughtered regardless of whether the horde broke through.
[Silence.] GALANIS: You… killed your children?
RAJMATA: Seven bodies, seven wards, seven chains to protect the Scarlet Maharaja from those that would seek to destroy him. Their souls belonged to Korar, to him. I simply did what he commanded, and released their physical form with the same dagger I was anointed with.
GALANIS: The black dagger KHAN team found in the throne room. That's why it survived when nothing else did.
[Silence.] RAJMATA: Their flesh, so sweet, so innocent. The ultimate sacrifice for the ultimate protection.
[Suddenly, she turns and spits on the stone wall.] RAJMATA: And look now.
[The scene continues to fast-forward. The sun rises, and sets, and rises, and sets. The siege carries on for a week, then two weeks, then a month, then two months, then six. The wall continues to be battered, and stand firm. The vines and toxic clouds and poisoners falling from the walls collide below, thinning out the Blackstar's forces, before they are immediately crowded out and replaced. The defenders are killed and replaced by more reserves from the amassed army. Sorcerers raise water spirits to destroy any attempt to cross from the sea.] GREAVES: They're not going away. Laying siege to it, just like how they did to Amoni-Ram. But… Mamjul is protected, far to the south. You're clearly holding out. What happened?
RAJMATA: Their master arrived.
[A ravine forms in the vast army as soldiers separate, standing a respectful distance away from one figure. He appears to be a regular man, but his very presence is larger than life — the battlefield bows toward him as he makes his way to the encampment, flanked by his guard. A full moon hangs overhead in the smoky sky. He disappears into a tent.] GREAVES: What the hell is that thing? Every time I look at him— GALANIS: It feels like my brain is boiling.
GREAVES: Yeah. Like he can see me.
RAJMATA: Most magicians in this world are simply that — magicians. Sorcerers, warlocks. People who have a particular leaning towards the esoteric arts and have studied years to apply them to perform even the slightest magic. He… is something else. The world itself shapes around him.
GALANIS: Oh, shit. A reality bender.
GREAVES: Has to be Class 4, at least. Maybe Class 5.
GALANIS: That's theoretical.
GREAVES: They're all theoretical, Pan. We haven't seen anything above Class 2 in decades.
RAJMATA: I do not understand. Explain.
GALANIS: They're called ontokinetics. Reality benders, more informally. People who can mold the world to whatever they want. This is the most powerful we've seen in a long, long time.
RAJMATA: Hm. I see. Such is the blessing of a god.
GALANIS: What did he do? I honestly don't know how reality-bending would interact with… the magic you did. It's an unexplored field.
RAJMATA: He stayed, in that tent, for seven days and seven nights. And for all that time, the Abominate, the Wretch, his god hung overhead, lending him power.
GALANIS: What do you — the moon?
RAJMATA: Look.
[Ahead, the bright whiteness of the full moon over the battlefield is fading as it blackens. It sinks low, a dark star in the sky, blackened and scorched, surrounded by a corona of white light, burning like the eye of a great dead god.
After some time, the sun rises, but the moon remains locked in place, hovering over the horde. The tides of the sea malform, twisting and turning, rising and falling in different directions.] RAJMATA: Do you feel it?
GALANIS: I feel… sick to my stomach. Like I'm going to vomit.
RAJMATA: Yes. This is the Wretch. Primarch of chaos, lord of disorder. Where it goes, the natural laws that govern us fail. Once, the Mekhanites accused us of being wild people. In a sense they were right, but even in the most untamed wilds, a natural harmony emerges. Survival of the fittest, domination of the meek, the cycle of life. That is what the Scarlet embodies.
[She looks out towards the battlefield as the waters rise even higher and turn into rough, raging seas, inching up the beach, constricting the Daevic forces into tighter columns.] RAJMATA: And on the eighth day, he emerged, bathed in the blood of my people.
[A figure exits the tent. The army separates around him, flowing like water, as he marches, alone, to the base of the wall. The defenders sling vines and casks and magic, and all disintegrate before ever reaching him. A storm has gathered overhead — dark clouds, hard sheets of cold rain slamming into the muddy ground and the stone walls. Lightning spiderwebs across the sky and the seas slam into the land as the black moon watches its prophet make his way to the base of the wall, and kneel, brow dripping sweat, hands dripping blood.] RAJMATA: And he raised his hands, and— [CONNECTION SEVERED] [The projection dematerializes. Dr. GALANIS reawakens aboard the Haffkine, gasping for air and clutching their head.] GALANIS: What the fuck just happened?
[Silence.] GALANIS: …Luce?
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ In the middle of the astral projection, a sudden and unprecedented equipment failure occurred in the Psychotronics Lab aboard the Haffkine. The projection lost connection, and several pieces of equipment were heavily damaged. Doctor Galanis awoke unharmed, but for unknown reasons, Lieutenant Greaves remained unconscious and in the fugue state; an hour later, he slipped into a coma.
The immediate assessment by Psychotronics Division personnel and medical personnel aboard the Phantom was that the LSAP Array embedded in Lt. Greaves' brain resulted in some kind of adverse reaction to the psychic backlash, or was in fact the cause thereof. Before any decision could be reached on moving him to the infirmary, or extracting the Array from his brain, the Array reactivated despite no longer being attached to any discernable power source. The transcript printer it was attached to begin printing a large amount of nonsense text with no clear meaning or purpose, and extremely faint delta waves were detected from Lt. Greaves in an EKG.
Per Dr. Galanis' orders, the Haffkine was temporarily quarantined. Reentry into Korar was not possible until replacement components for the damaged equipment were rush-ordered from the nearby MKF-02 and delivered via helicopter to the ships. Due to the time-sensitive nature of the project, typical Foundation practices to obscure logistical transportation were ignored. The components were installed on May 25th, and, two days after contact was lost, Dr. Galanis reentered the astral projection with the directive of assessing Lt. Greaves' status and, if possible, recovering him.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MAY 2003 SOURCE: Doctor Pandora Galanis «BEGIN LOG» CROWLEY: Remember, Doctor. If anything seems weird or off, pull out immediately. If we don't get you back within 6 hours, we're going to quarantine the ship indefinitely.
GALANIS: Yeah. Yeah, okay.
[CROWLEY hands GALANIS a small plastic cup with two RL-023 pills. They down them with a cup of water, and lean back in their seat, closing their eyes. They drift away, leaving their body, settling through space. Then they open their eyes.] GALANIS: Luce!
[They are standing where they had been before the projection dematerialized: on the wall of Thijum, overlooking the vaste horde of the Three-Prong Army.
But time is frozen — the sheets of rain hang in the air, trembling. The surf of the rough waves is frozen in mid-splash. But despite the stillness, it is not silent — drums beat through the air, far, far louder than ever before. The voices making up the chorus are high and strong, reaching a loud peak as they sing out from every direction. The RAJMATA and GREAVES stand overlooking the tableau. He turns.] GREAVES: Pandora!
[They run to greet each other.] GREAVES: What happened? You just vanished. It's been hours.
GALANIS: Lucian, it's been… three days.
GREAVES: I don't understand.
GALANIS: There was an accident. An equipment failure in the lab. It pulled us out of the projection but… you didn't wake up. You slipped into a coma. And the Array kept outputting nonsense text, stuff about dreams and waves and the sea.
GREAVES: I'm in a coma?
GALANIS: It's okay. Calm down. We're gonna wake you up.
RAJMATA: Not yet.
GALANIS: Fuck that. We're leaving.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MAY 2003 RAJMATA: Listen around you. Listen to the dreams, the growth of the words, spreading across, covering all. The Song of the Daeva has arrived at its final verses, the crescendo. Crafted by us even as the waves bore down, so that we would always remember who wrent us.
GALANIS: Sure, but I don't see how— RAJMATA: Listen. You cannot leave now. You have come so far. We have both come so far. You must listen to our Song. You must be our chronicler.
GREAVES: We can come back, we'll— RAJMATA: You will not be able to come back.
GALANIS: We always have in the past. The equipment's been repaired, we'll return once Lucian's been treated.
[The RAJMATA sighs, holding her head. The world around them shudders and glimmers for a moment.] GREAVES: Did you see that?
RAJMATA: The failure of the projection was not a failure of your equipment, Galanis-hiyar. The dream… Korar has been splitting apart, failing, fraying at the edges of our great tapestry.
GALANIS: What does that mean? This is the Maharaja's dream, isn't it?
RAJMATA: And he was able to support us, quietly worshipping him, for three thousand years. We had a balance — a harmony formed of primal violence. And your arrival has upset it. Upset him.
GALANIS: Well, we didn't mean— RAJMATA: Your intentions do not matter now, I'm afraid. The dream is collapsing. Leave now, and there will be no Korar for you to return to. The secrets of the Daeva will go with us to whatever lies beyond paradise.
GALANIS: You'll all be destroyed, you mean.
RAJMATA: There is no body willing to take the interminable burden of being the Maharaja, the Dreamer. A Daeva cannot do it — we need one of the Covenant. A human. The Maharaja's physical body has long since rotted into dust, at the bottom of the sea. There is no one.
GALANIS: We'll find a different way. Lucian— GREAVES: No. We have to listen.
GALANIS: Are you insane? We already have no idea how much time has passed — GREAVES: This is it. This is the home stretch. If we don't take it home now, it'll all have been for nothing.
GALANIS: But— GREAVES: I have an obligation. I'm staying.
GALANIS: Fine!
[They turn to the RAJMATA.] GREAVES: Hurry.
[With a deep groan from the RAJMATA, the dream suddenly continues. The rain slams down, the waves crash, the Blackstar slams his palms against the ground, and the ground begins to shake as the moon hangs yet lower. Against the crescendo of drums, the Daevic army tightens its grip on its weapons and braces itself for a charge that will never come.] RAJMATA: He knew he could not take the wall. So he broadened his scope. Like the animal that sees he cannot drag home the carcass, and resolves to consume it all then. His god was thrown into the sea, and spent a thousand years crawling back up to land. Only to turn around and do the same to us.
[The waves on either side of the Isthmus crash again, this time substantially higher. The army looks to their sides and again tightens, only for the waves to grow even higher. The forces at the rear begin a retreat, one that quickly turns to a rout. The army rushes back even as the water rushes forth from either side, drowning the base of the wall. The ground shudders again, and the soldiers in the center of the mass realize what is happening. The sea is not rising. They are sinking.] RAJMATA: Look.
[They float off the top of the wall, rising into the air higher and higher, climbing well into the sky, past the clouds until the miniscule soldiers disappear completely. Finally, they stop at a birds-eye view of the entire region: the continent is a large freehanging peninsula extending forth from the tip of the Indian subcontinent. Thijum lies at the thinnest point, and Mamjul lies near the center of the peninsula. As they watch, the entire landmass grows incrementally, marginally smaller. The moon draws yet closer, pulling the water, sinking Kumari Kandam beneath the waves. The coastal areas disappear in a frothing mass of blue as the waters make their way inland in raging floods and violent rain. Bit by bit, the entire continent drops below the sea, until only the highest point, a small patch of land containing Mamjul, remains.] GREAVES: The deluge.
GALANIS: He… sank an entire continent, alone. That was millions of people, at least.
RAJMATA: No. By himself, he could have flooded the plain, routed my army. The wall would still prevent him from crossing south and taking Mamjul. But by invoking his god, who lent him its power? Yes, he could sink a continent as easily as slitting a throat.
GALANIS: That was it. The annihilation of the Daeva. Wiped out in a matter of hours.
RAJMATA: No, Galanis-hiyar. That was not the annihilation of the Daeva.
GALANIS: What could possibly be worse than that?
RAJMATA: Witness the final hours of Mamjul.
[The scene shifts to the streets of the city. Terrified, confused screaming fills the air as civilians, slaves, and soldiers run in every direction, attempting to escape to higher ground that does not exist. Mothers carry their babies, or are forced to leave them behind by the shoving of the crowd. Sorcerers rush to the battlements but find their abilities useless against the raging sea. Some citizens even raise their swords to slit their own throats, secure in their future in Korar. Throughout all this the dream is strange, fragmented. It sounds and looks as through passed through a thousand filters, breaking apart the image and putting it back together again. In front of the group lies a grand, marble- panelled building.] GALANIS: This is the library. The dilapidated one we found in Mamjul, filled with blank tablets.
RAJMATA: Destroying us was not enough for the Blackstar. No, where the Mekhanites had ignored him until it was too late, we fought back. We held back the horde. For this affront, for daring to stand against him, he was not content to destroy us. He had to annihilate us.
[Scholars run through the halls of the huge Library, Daeva and human. They carry huge armfuls of scrolls and tablets, plinths and statuettes, all carved with complex, swimming writing and pictographs, rushing to get them out of the way of the flood. But even as they do so, the tablets fade, as though rubbed clean of their etchings. The ink on the scrolls melts away. The statuettes and plinths lose all features and writing, and the carved etchings throughout the rest of the hall are rubbed just as clean. The scholars stare at their objects in wide-eyed shock, even as cold water begins to seep in from under the door.] GALANIS: He… wiped you from the historical record.
RAJMATA: The Daevic Empire, once the pride of scholars and artists the world over, now reduced to nothing. No evidence of our existence. No writings, no monuments, no great chronicles to survive us.
GALANIS: Damnatio memoriae. Condemnation of memory. The ancient practice of scrubbing undesirable figures from official histories. But something on this scale… GREAVES: He was breaking your spirit.
[The memory again flickers, twitching and melting in places.] RAJMATA: The Maharaja's dream is collapsing. We must hurry.
GALANIS: What does that mean?!
[They rise again into the sky, to a birds-eye view of Mamjul. The raging waters around it build up against the triangular walls of the city, forming a thin barrier as the water rises, until it spills over. Buildings collapse, citizens drown under the deluge, forming a living wall of bloated bodies bearing down on others.
They watch as, over the course of minutes, Mamjul sinks into the ocean, exterminated of all life, a dead city sinking to its watery grave. The boughs of the Citadel tree are the last to disappear under the waves.] RAJMATA: Now you see. We were destroyed. Totally and utterly, and the Song of the Daeva our only record of ourselves. I apologize for the deception, but I needed you to understand. To remember us, when there is no longer a dying king's dream to support us.
GALANIS: But why didn't you just— [A loud, resounding explosion sounds from above, ringing through the heavens.] GREAVES: Is that the dream falling apart?
RAJMATA: No. That was not from the dream.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Section 001.8 INCIDENT HIEROPHANT 2 hours and 44 minutes into Dr. Galanis' projection, the various sonar equipment placed in Mamjul's ruins by the Diving Team also began reporting localized underwater disturbances.
At the same time, several covert monitoring buoys that had been spread in concentric circles around the location of SCP-001 began pinging the bridge of the Phantom reporting multiple unknown objects detected in the vicinity.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MAY 2003 «RADIO CHATTER — PHANTOM BRIDGE TO OVERWATCH COMMAND» PHANTOM: Overwatch Command, this is FMS Phantom, do you copy?
OVCOM: We have your signal locked. Please confirm identity.
PHANTOM: Phantom One, authcode ziggurat-gamma-7-8-9-1-1.
OVCOM: Identity confirmed. Sitrep?
PHANTOM: Several monitoring sites, both in SCP-001 and at our red radius, have sounded at the same time.
OVCOM: Radar report?
PHANTOM: A regular systems check resulted in a delay on the radar read. We're just about to receive it.
[Pause.] PHANTOM: Fuck me running.
OVCOM: Phantom?
PHANTOM: Surface radar reports multiple unidentified flying objects moving southeast at high velocity, inbound to MKF-01. Repeat, direct course with MKF- 01. Attempting to get speed now…. objects are moving in excess of 450 kilometers per hour, and are approximately 100km away from our current position. ETA 13 minutes.
OVCOM: Copy. Activate Protocol Westchester, and patch me in to Captain Hickman. Stay in communication while Protocol is executed.
«CAMERA LOGS — MKF-01» ETA: 12:21 [Various researchers and personnel occupy the mess hall of the Phantom, eating meals and engaging in casual chatter. They are suddenly interrupted by alarms sounding throughout the ship, and klaxon lights flashing red. Security personnel, both assigned ship security and MTF Alpha-1 troops, spread out in the large room and firmly escort researchers and personnel to their assigned quarters.] [Throughout the rest of the vessels, similar experiences unfold — security officers seal bulkheads behind researchers packed into their labs and sleeping quarters.
The research staff stare at each other worriedly, as the alarms continue to sound.] ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MAY 2003 [In the Psychotronics Lab, several MTF Alpha-1 personnel move in, sealing the door behind them, and take up defensive positions around the bodies of Dr.
Galanis and Lt. Greaves.] ETA: 08:45 [The remaining security personnel quickly move through the facility, grabbing weaponry from armories. Crates are pulled from storage rooms and opened, and security personnel hand out rifles. After receiving weapons, a number of personnel make their way to the top deck while others go lower.] ETA: 06:09 [Across the topdeck, sailors, security personnel, and Alpha-1 operatives move to battle stations. Chain gun emplacements and cannons arranged across the top of the Phantom are quickly activated and loaded, sweeping across the sky in a northwestern direction. A number of large hatches pop open, filling the topdeck with smoke as a dozen small missiles rocket away, turning into the distance.] ETA: 03:01 [In the lower decks, gunners crowd around the firing computers. The large automated cannons on the top deck activate, raising their barrels upward and firing another volley of missiles into the distance. They curve and fix their heading to follow their targets.] ETA: 02:15 [A number of explosions are visible in the distant air. Dots become visible on the horizon exiting the smoke clouds and rapidly increasing in size and proximity.
They are moving extremely quickly, but separate out as they near into at least 30- 40 different figures. A number of them fall into the water, damaged by the missiles; approximately two-thirds of them are still in the air.. The sun is high overhead, but even at the distance, the light gleams off their bronze forms. The automated chain guns begin firing at them indiscriminately.] ETA: 00:24 [Foundation personnel begin firing small arms. The chain guns fire and reload themselves constantly, switching between targets. The swarm of figures swoops overhead, each one now clearly a highly-augmented humanoid with large, bronze wings. A female with the largest wingspan on an intricate set of white-and-gold wings hovers at a distance, then rockets around the ships, far outpacing the guns following her. The rest of the bronze-armored troops charge forward.] PHANTOM: OVCOM, come in OVCOM. FMS Phantom is under attack, repeat, we are under attack.
OVCOM: Copy. We've emergency scrambled naval support from MKF-02, but it may take some time to reach you. Can you identify your attackers?
[Static-ridden explosions.] OVCOM: Phantom, come in Phantom.
PHANTOM: [Out-of-breath] This is Phantom One Actual, Captain Hickman. It's the Mekhanites.
[A number fly low and grab hold of security personnel, lifting them into the air and dropping them into the sea or onto the metal deck, where their bones shatter on impact. Chain guns swing around and lay suppressing fire onto the cloud of Mekhanites.] [One of the huge guns swivels on its base, following the largest cluster of Mekhanites through the air, before firing. The shell collides with one of the armored figures before exploding on impact, dispersing the cluster and sending them sailing through the air. As the smoke clears, the figure it impacts sails through the air and slams into the deck of the Haffkine.] [The deck of the ship shakes slightly, the waters around the Phantom growing rough and frothing. For a moment, the cloud of Mekhanites hangs back.] [With an explosion of spray and foam, two dozen large bronze-armored figures rocket out of the water, slamming their swords into the sides of the ship. They began to crawl up the hull. Security personnel move to the gunwale, leaning their weapons over the sides and firing straight down. One or two Mekhanites' skulls shatter under the hail of gunfire and fall back into the sea, blood spreading into the water. The bullets harmlessly bounce off most of them as they continue to inch their way up the sides of the ship.] [The security personnel on the sides cover each other while they swap out to armor-piercing rounds. At the same time, the aerial contingent of Mekhanites turn and make another pass over the decks of the ships, this time pulling out fuladh spears and driving them through the chests of security personnel.] WILCOX: Get down, get the fuck down! They're dive-bombing!
FRANKLIN: Nine o'clock, fire!
FRANKLIN: Scratch one!
MCNAMARA: What the fuck is that?!
BENOIT: Get away from the hull!
RODRIQUEZ: Shit is not working, switch to AP!
[Several of the flying Mekhanites land on the deck of the Haffkine, engaging personnel directly with close-quarters polearms and swords. Personnel turn the chain guns on them, hammering them with rounds from close proximity. Their advance is halted, but the bullets fail to pierce their fuladh armor.
[On the Phantom, the situation worsens as the boarding party begin to reach the top deck and pull themselves over. They are distinctly humanoid, but tall, and heavily augmented with Mekhanite prosthetics and implants. What little of their skin is visible under the armor bulges with subdermal cables and wiring. They are armed with what appear to be primitive long rifles, which they turn on the security personnel and begin firing.] [Several sections of the deck of the Phantom rise up and out, forming makeshift cover. Security personnel dash behind them, leaning out to fire their rifles. The large-caliber rounds from the Mekhanite weapons slam into the barricades at high velocity, a few tearing completely through personnel, who collapse onto the ground, bleeding out.] [With the close-quarters combat occuring on both decks, the remaining aerial Mekhanites can no longer effectively dive-bomb, and slam into the decks of the ships, drawing their weapons and making another advance. Under heavy machine-gun fire, a handful drop to the ground, but most continue advancing.] PHANTOM: OVCOM, there's a terrestrial group of them. Attempting to board and take the vessel. Requesting air support.
PATEL: Bridge, put up the barricades!
PHANTOM: Roger.
OVCOM: Additional reinforcements have been scrambled. An Indian Navy patrol group has been requisitioned, and is en route to your location. Fixed-wing aircraft have already been launched and are en- route.
PHANTOM: But— OVCOM: We can amnesticize them after. Under no circumstances can the Mekhanites be allowed to take MKF-01. You need to survive until the support arrives.
[Through one of the doors, a group of hooded and armored personnel exit, shoulderpads emblazoned with the sigil of the Thaumaturgy Division. They form a small phalanx, one drawing a sigil in the air that expands into a moving, translucent barrier. They press forward onto the deck where the firefight is occuring — the barrier trembles under the assault, but holds.] [The thaumaturges move forward, coming into within a few meters of the Mekhanites. CARRICK holds the barrier while the others brace themselves against the ground and whisper. A few moments later, green, expanding vines creep out through the cracks in the deck and wrap around the ankles of one of the Mekhanites, causing him to crash into the ground. An Alpha-1 operative leans around the cover and empties a magazine into his unprotected nape.] [The phalanx is temporarily pushed back by one of the Mekhanites charging them. On the Haffkine, Alpha-1 personnel also flood out of the doors to the bridge and lay down suppressing fire from their weaponry. These weapons cause slightly more visible damage, but still fail to stop the advance towards the bridge.] ALLARD: We're getting fucking massacred out here!
POLRYS: Bridge, we need reinforcements now!
LIAN: Are those the fucking wizards!?
CARRICK: Cover us! We're going to try to disable them!
OKONKWO: Move starboard, keep the lane clear for them!
VERNE: Shit, that worked! Keep going!
CARRICK: It's too energy-intensive, we can only get one at a time! We just don't have the power!
PHANTOM: All personnel, hold the line. Reinforcements are on their way.
JEFFREY: They're not going to get here in time! We can't stop them!
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MAY 2003 SOURCE: Lt. Greaves «BEGIN LOG» [GREAVES, GALANIS, and the RAJMATA hover in the air above MKF-01. The decks of all three ships are embroiled in firefights. Dead personnel and Mekhanites litter the decks, and the gunfire is deafening. From a bird's-eye view, it is clear that the Mekhanite advance is slow but steady, moving inch after inch towards the bridge and the access to the lower decks.] GREAVES: What the hell is this?!
RAJMATA: What is currently occurring in the material plane above Mamjul.
GALANIS: Wait, this is happening?!
GREAVES: It's the fucking Mekhanites. How the hell did they find us?
GALANIS: They must've caught the emergency equipment transfer. Shit. SHIT!
[GREAVES turns to the RAJMATA.] GREAVES: You need to let me out of here. Right fucking now.
RAJMATA: Look at it. It is a massacre. Your weaponry, even your primitive understanding of our magic, cannot hold a candle to the Mekhanites in their prime. And they have advanced quite— GREAVES: I don't care. Let me out.
[The RAJMATA cocks her head.] RAJMATA: You would walk into certain death?
GREAVES: Those are my men getting slaughtered out there. We'll find a way to turn the tide.
RAJMATA: You will not.
GREAVES: Then the least I can do is die alongside them.
GALANIS: You can't keep us here.
RAJMATA: I cannot. And you have what you wanted from me. And I from you.
GREAVES: Then let me go.
RAJMATA: I am not keeping you here, Greaves-jirras. Your mind is.
GREAVES: What are you talking about?
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MAY 2003 RAJMATA: We have been meeting for a year, and not once in that time have I ever shown the power to trap you into the projection. Only your mind can do such a thing. Your current state was caused entirely by what your doctors thought: the object in your brain.
GALANIS: How the hell do you know about that?
GREAVES: I'm… dead?
RAJMATA: No. But both of you are in a torpor, from which you are unlikely to awaken. Certainly not before the Mekhanites kill your men, make it to the lower deck, and slit your throat along with those of everyone else on board.
And I know this because the Scarlet whispered it to the Maharaja, and he to me. Your future is written in the trees, I'm afraid.
GALANIS: No. No. This can't be right. There has to be something we can do.
[On the decks, the firefight continues, as the personnel are worn down and pushed back.] RAJMATA: There is.
GALANIS: What? Tell me.
RAJMATA: I have told you of how Korar is collapsing. How the strain has sucked out the last vestiges of the Maharaja's energy, sapped into nothing after almost a thousand years.
GALANIS: I thought you were supposed to be the Eternal City!
RAJMATA: A lie. The astral projection was never meant to be an afterlife. It was only a matter of time. And you accelerated our time.
GREAVES: Get to the point.
RAJMATA: The Maharaja is dead. Korar is dying. But were it that the Scarlet could select a new host… not only would the Daeva survive, but you witnessed the power of the Blackstar when he had his God's favor. Turning the tide of this battle would be trivial.
GALANIS: You told me humans would be destroyed if we tried to commune with the Scarlet!
RAJMATA: Most. But I have been watching you, Greaves-jirras. The Scarlet has told me your people, your Foundation, are sliding towards a war none of you can prevent. You are a soldier, a warrior-king. You are strong. You wish to protect your people.
GREAVES: What are you talking about?
RAJMATA: Strike a new Covenant. Become our Maharaja, our king in slumber.
And destroy your enemies.
GALANIS: This is insane. This is completely insane. We're not going to— GREAVES: I'll do it.
[GALANIS turns to GREAVES.] GALANIS: What?!
GREAVES: Whatever this is. Accept the Scarlet. Just give me the power to stop this.
GALANIS: Lucian, are you out of your mind?!
GREAVES: I said I'd do anything, kid.
GALANIS: We'll find another way! You saw the reports, we can't let the Daeva return to power. This is just one battle!
GREAVES: No. No, she's not talking about just this.
RAJMATA: No.
GALANIS: What are you two talking about?
GREAVES: There's a storm coming, Pandora. Something bigger than the Mekhanites, than any of us. The Foundation needs to survive.
[The vision crackles and sags, like film put to a match.] RAJMATA: We are out of time.
[She claps her hands, and the vision melts away. The group is standing in the antechamber of the Citadel — not in Korar, but in the ruined throne room in Mamjul. Behind the throne, in front of the epicenter of the massive floor carving that spreads across the building. The RAJMATA claps her hands again, and the wooden floor splits apart, curling back to reveal a hollow space. Inside lies the desiccated, mummified corpse of a man, skin stretched taut, a black headdress resting on his brow. A single red jewel is embedded into the headdress, shining like an ocean of blood.] RAJMATA: Our Maharaja. My master. Take it, as he took the jewel from the roots of the trees so many centuries ago.
GALANIS: Luce. Please. Don't do it. You don't know what you're unleashing.
[GREAVES reaches in and grips the stone firmly, pulling. It resists, but then gives way, tearing out of the Maharaja's headdress, leaving a gaping hole. As he watches, the Maharaja's body falls in on itself, drying even further, turning to dust, fading. The stone whispers to him: promises of salvation, of divination, of victory against the enemy.] RAJMATA: Now place the stone where it belongs.
[The far wall contains the engraving of the tree of life, of the Daeva and the humans dancing around it, of the Scarlet watching over them. GREAVES walks over, as if in a trance, and raises the stone. The wall falls away, peeling back and receding, splintering into nothing, revealing its secret. Behind the space lies an infinite scarlet ocean, a miasma of shifting and spiralling redness, stretching far into a horizon that cannot possibly exist. It speaks with the voice of a hundred thousand souls sacrificed in its name, as a great and terrible idea. A god.] THE SCARLET: WHAT ARE YOU PREPARED TO SACRIFICE?
GREAVES: [Slight pause] Everything.
[It does not respond; it does not need to. The red beckons forth, and I step forward, across the threshold, into everything. It is around me, in me. The primal knowledge of what was before and what will be, the natural law written millions of years before any life existed. It is infinitely complex, and at once deeply simple. I see everything. The precipice we are on, and the brink we are falling towards. Our universe, severed from the others, utterly alone.
I see Aram in his throne room in Amoni-Ram, augmented beyond any spectre of humanity. His eyes glitter with foresight and fear: he sees what I do. He is terrified of it.
I see the Blackstar, sitting alone in a forgotten city on a forgotten island. A paper lies in front of him, and the weight of eras rests on his face.
The power of something older than the universe itself courses through me. I reach out and touch God.
«END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ ACT V IN THE COURT OF THE SCARLET KING As witnessed by Vaslirasirraj-Shirat, Seventh Rajmata of the Scarlet Maharaja.
And after the waves crested over the spires and palaces of Mamjul, and brought the city low, and slew in one fell wave the Covenant, then for a time, Mamjul rested, alone and rent, at the bottom of the sea. And there it lay, as the BLACKSTAR marched onwards, through the center of Asia, against the forces of the Nälka, and took the world into a great silence.
And there it continued to lie, unaware of the events beyond the waters, until the ruins of the once-great were happened upon by an old enemy, one who had forgotten its own past. And such were the Daeva immortalized in the pages of the document, defiant of their prison of nonexistence. And in this way, the Song of the Daeva began to write itself once more.
FILESERV NOTICE: The following document was inserted into this file at a later date, under containment protocol HERODOTUS . Refer to Special Containment Procedures for more information.
VERSE 145-147 Section 001.9 SECOND COVENANT ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MAY 2003 [A large amount of the security personnel have been killed, and their corpses litter the deck. The Mekhanites are nearly at the bridge, only held back by the few remaining personnel and Alpha-1 operatives, who huddle behind the barricades.] [The deck of the ship rumbles again. This time, the force is coming from below.] [The ship shudders. For a moment, the Mekhanites pause their advance. In the center of the three ships, a circle of red light begins to form in the water, perhaps 10m across. It steadily increases in brightness and intensity.] [A single figure, wreathed in fire, breaks through the surface of the sea, immediately boiling the water around it to vapor that sprays outward. It rises into the air, a blur of red shooting up to twice the height of the Phantom and moving until it is hovering over the deck.] ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MAY 2003 OVCOM: Satellite 15 of the Atreus Array is approaching your location, Phantom. ETA six minutes.
PHANTOM: I don't know if we have that much time.
PHANTOM: Something's happening. We're getting — what the hell?
OVCOM: Sitrep, Phantom.
PHANTOM: Subaquatic monitoring equipment is giving abnormal readings, I don't— PHANTOM: What is that?
PHANTOM: Visual contact. A red-skinned nude figure, flying above the ship.
OVCOM: Mekhanite?
PHANTOM: No. No, it doesn't appear to be. It's not wearing any armor — or anything, actually, and I don't see any augments. It's glowing, though. A corona of red light. The Mekhanites stopped — they're just staring at it.
[The figure reaches one hand out of the corona of light, waving it across the dozens of Mekhanites on the deck of the Phantom. The vines left abandoned by the Thaumuturgy Division suddenly engorge with thorns and violently outstretch, far more aggressive than they were. They wrap around the torsos of a slew of the Mekhanites, pulling them to the ground, burrowing through their eye sockets and mouths into their bodies, tearing them apart from the inside, leaving pools of viscera and blood-soaked augments.] [The remaining Mekhanites turn their weapons on the floating figure, barraging it with spears, rifles, and conventional firearms. Several of the flying units take to the air, making a run at it. It lazily waves another hand. They stop in midair, clutching at their implants. The bare skin where their augments are attached turns yellow, then green, then black, rotting in real time. It oozes with pus and disintegrates, the dead tissue tearing away from the living, their implants going with it, and their limbless torsos fall screaming into the sea.] [It turns its attention to the handful of remaining hostiles. They are preparing a retreat, about to leap over the edge of the ship and back into the sea. Some even make it, but they do not survive the fall — their bodies split apart, vines and roots forming from inside them and tearing through their skin and flesh as they force an exit. Many are simply bisected, their bloody halves falling into the sea and sinking, turning the water red with blood as it pools around the ships. The battle is over; in the course of 40 seconds, the figure has eviscerated over a hundred Mekhanites.] [The figure begins to descend from its hovering position. It becomes clear that it is essentially a disembodied nervous system wrapped in a translucent red layer.
As it descends, it begins to take firm shape — bones grow, muscles knit themselves into place, though the figure never grows skin. Standing well over 3m tall and with large horns on its head, its skin is inscribed with symbols and markings that pulse to an inaudible rhythm. As it reaches the deck of the Phantom, MTF Alpha-1 operatives fan out from behind cover, supported by security personnel. They surround the figure in a circle, guns drawn and all pointed directly at its head. It does not react.] PHANTOM: It just… killed them.
OVCOM: Sitrep, please.
PHANTOM: It massacred them. The Mekhanites are all dead. No further friendly casualties. It just brutalized them.
OVCOM: Treat as hostile, Phantom.
[The figure looks up, raising a hand in greeting.] The figure, temporarily designated SCP-001-KING, surrendered to security forces and was detained in a secure holding cell aboard the Phantom. Interrogations were a failure; it insisted on speaking first to Doctor Pandora Galanis. Dr. Galanis was brought into the secure cell four hours after they awakened from their astral projection and were debriefed.
PHANTOM: Wait.
OVCOM: What?
WILCOX: …Lieutenant Greaves?
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT - MAY 2003 «BEGIN LOG» [GALANIS enters the cell. The room contains a number of automated gun turrets encircling the ceiling, all aiming squarely on SCP-001-KING's bare skull.
A thick pane of glass separates the observation chamber from the entity.] GALANIS: Lucian?
SCP-001-KING: PERHAPS ONCE. NOW, I AM SO MUCH MORE. HELLO, PANDORA.
GALANIS: What… happened to you?
SCP-001-KING: I MADE THE DECISION YOU COULD NOT. APOTHEOSIS, ESCALATION TO A HIGHER TRUTH.
GALANIS: You can't be him. His body is still lying in the Psychotronics Lab.
SCP-001-KING: THE MATERIAL BODY. I AM THE IMMATERIAL BODY. THE SOUL.
GALANIS: The astral projection, made physical.
SCP-001-KING: I HAVE REACHED OUT AND BECOME ONE WITH SOMETHING SO MUCH GREATER THAN YOU OR I.
GALANIS: You became the Scarlet Maharaja. God, Luce. How could you be so stupid?
SCP-001-KING: I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO. AND NOW I SEE THE WHOLE BOARD, LAID OUT IN FRONT OF ME. THE TOTAL MASS OF OUR HISTORY, BEGINNING, TO END.
GALANIS: You were the one who was supposed to make sure this didn't happen!
SCP-001-KING: THE SITUATION CHANGED. I AM A SOLDIER. WHEN YOU SEE ARMIES TRAMPLED, ENTIRE CITIES RENT TO ASH, NATIONS BURNED… ARAM MADE THE WRONG DECISION FOR THE RIGHT REASONS. ONLY A MADMAN WOULD SEE WHAT IS COMING AND ELECT TO DO NOTHING.
GALANIS: We should have never interfered with the Daeva to begin with.
Goddammnit.
SCP-001-KING: YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE, BUT YOU DID. I AM THE RESULT OF THE NEW COVENANT, WHATEVER I AM.
GALANIS: What kind of deal did you cut?
SCP-001-KING: THE DAEVA REALIZE THEY ARE LIMITED BY THEIR CURRENT MEANS OF EXISTENCE. THEY CAN ONLY INTERACT WITH THE WORLD THROUGH THE FOUNDATION. I AM THE VESSEL. THEIR POWER FLOWS FROM THE SCARLET, TO THEM, TO ME, TO YOU. ALL IS ONE.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT MAY 2003 GALANIS: And what about you? I thought the Maharaja needed to be dreaming to ensure Korar survives.
SCP-001-KING: I DO. AND SOON I WILL LEAVE, TO FALL INTO THE ENDLESS SLEEP DEMANDED OF ME. SO THAT YOUR ALLIES MAY CONTINUE TO EXIST. SO THAT THEY MAY SUPPORT YOU IN THE COMING STORM. BUT BEFORE THAT… ARRANGEMENTS MUST BE MADE.
GALANIS: What fucking storm?!
SCP-001-KING: I SEE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE, PAN. BUT THAT COMES WITH A RESPONSIBILITY OF CARE. THE COUNCIL WILL UNDERSTAND WHAT I MEAN; I APOLOGIZE.
GALANIS: You can't tell me. Shocker.
SCP-001-KING: I AM BOUND BY THE SAME MAGIC THAT BOUND THE RAJMATA TO SILENCE. I HAVE INHERITED THE CURSE.
GALANIS: Enough magic to bind a god.
SCP-001-KING: A PROPHET. THE SCARLET IS FREE TO TELL ME THE TRUTH, AND IT HAS. I SIMPLY CANNOT SHARE IT WITH YOU. YOU MUST DISCOVER IT YOURSELF.
GALANIS: What arrangements, then?
SCP-001-KING: THE DAEVA REQUIRE CERTAIN CONCESSIONS FOR THEIR SUPPORT, FOR TEACHING OUR THAUMATURGES THEIR MAGIC. CHIEF AMONG WHICH IS BEING IMMORTALIZED IN OUR ARCHIVES. SOMETHING THAT WILL LAST BEYOND THE SONG OF THE DAEVA, EVEN AS A NEW VERSE IS WRITTEN IN OUR BODIES.
GALANIS: You want us to ally with them?
SCP-001-KING: WE DO WHAT WE MUST TO SURVIVE. THE DECK OF THE PHANTOM IS LITTERED WITH THE BODIES OF THOSE WHO DIDN'T. THE MEKHANITES ARE TOO DANGEROUS FOR THE FOUNDATION ALONE. AND THEY ARE NOTHING — NOTHING — COMPARED TO WHAT RESTS ON THE HORIZON.
GALANIS: I can't— No. We'll find another way. One that doesn't betray our principles.
SCP-001-KING: THE DECISION IS THE COUNCIL'S TO MAKE, BUT WE HAVE ALREADY BEEN TRADING INFORMATION, SUPPORT, ASSISTANCE.
GALANIS: I can't take this to the Council. I was insistent this doesn't end up like Amoni-Ram, and here we fucking are.
SCP-001-KING: RID YOURSELF OF THESE PETTY INSECURITIES. YOU CAN DO AS I HAVE DONE. YOU CAN BECOME SOMETHING GREATER THAN A COG IN THE MACHINE. YOU CAN SHAPE OUR FUTURE. I NEED SOMEONE I CAN TRUST, PANDORA. A NEW RAJMATA.
[Pause.] SCP-001-KING: YOU ANSWER TO NO ONE, ONLY YOURSELF. MY WILL IS YOUR WILL. A CHANCE TO MOLD THE SOCIETY TO HOW YOU WISH? NO JUDGEMENT, NO COMMITMENTS TO MODERN BIASES AND BIGOTRIES. A PERFECT SOCIETY, BEYOND GENDER AND SCARCITY AND SUFFERING. ISN'T THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?
GALANIS: No. No! What the fuck is wrong with you? No, this isn't what I wanted at all! [Yelling] This isn't how any of this was supposed to go!
[Silence.] SCP-001-KING: DISAPPOINTING. YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN LEGENDARY.
[Pause.] SCP-001-KING: GO NOW. TAKE THE TERMS OF MY COVENANT TO THE COUNCIL. SEE IF THEY ACCEPT THE HELP I WANT TO GIVE THEM. THEY UNDERSTAND THE THREAT.
GALANIS: How did we get here, Lucian?
SCP-001-KING: YOU LED US HERE.
GALANIS: What?
SCP-001-KING: YOU LET YOURSELF BE PUSHED, PULLED, BY THE FORCES THAT SURROUND YOU. A VESSEL WITH NO AGENCY OF YOUR OWN. YOU HAVE BEEN USED, PANDORA, USED AND THROWN AWAY.
GALANIS: You said I was a leader.
SCP-001-KING: LUCIAN SAID YOU WOULD RISE TO THE OCCASION. YOU HAVEN'T YET.
GALANIS: What am I supposed to do?!
SCP-001-KING: TAKE CHARGE BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.
[Pause.] SCP-001-KING: GOODBYE, PANDORA.
[In a flash of fire and red light, SCP-001-KING demanifests, leaving behind nothing but a few dead leaves. GALANIS stands, staring at them for a few moments. Then they turn and leave.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Three days later, on June 3rd, O5 Edict #2130 was released. Doctor Galanis was not invited to the deliberation session or to testify.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT — JUNE 2003 COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA ABSTAIN NAY O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 X X X O5-12 O5-13 ADDITIONAL VOTE Administrator N/A STATUS APPROVED The Foundation is to establish formal diplomatic channels with the Daevic Empire, and occupy the role of the human element in a future Daevic Covenant, when it is established. The exactitudes of the Covenant will be worked out in a manner to benefit both parties and ensure mutual security. The Mamjul-Korar Initiative's role is to be transformed into a diplomatic one, with academic study of the Daeva allowing a better understanding of their culture and society as they pertain to the Foundation. SCP-001-KING, formerly Lieutenant Lucian Greaves of Mobile Task Force Alpha-1, currently Scarlet Maharaja of the Daevic Empire, is to serve as a channel for the thaumaturgic powers of the Daeva, allowing them to be utilized by trained Foundation thaumaturges.
ATTACHED DOCUMENT JUNE 2003 The Daevic Empire is to support the Foundation in any future confrontations against hostile anomalous empires.
This vote is taken and this measure is enacted in the absence of the Administrator, who historically has handled diplomatic commitments of the Foundation.
▷CLOSE◁ ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT — JUNE 2003 «BEGIN LOG» [DESAI and GALANIS are seated in the latter's office, looking over documents.] DESAI: This is utterly fucking insane.
GALANIS: I feel like I'm going insane.
DESAI: They can't possibly be serious. Can they?
GALANIS: A 7-5 margin. Razor thin. I just don't understand what they could possibly be thinking.
DESAI: They want to ally with the baby-sacrificing demons.
GALANIS: They're not… ugh.
[GALANIS sighs.] GALANIS: This was a mistake. Top to bottom.
DESAI: What do you mean?
GALANIS: WE— I had an academic responsibility. I was stupid, and naive. There was no way this was going to go any other way than us weaponizing the Daeva for our purposes. Just like Amoni-Ram. I failed then, and I failed now.
DESAI: Hey, woah, relax. This isn't your fault.
GALANIS: It is, Ajay. I need to take agency.
DESAI: How?
GALANIS: I really don't know yet.
[Silence.] GALANIS: I'm trapped between a rock and a hard place. They're expecting me to enforce this, to continue leading the Initiative into something I can't possibly support. And they did it all without so much as asking me.
DESAI: You're still the project lead. You can demand an audience.
GALANIS: And say what?
DESAI: Demand a fucking answer! You were the one who saw the Rajmata's visions. They don't know what they're agreeing to, you do.
GALANIS: God. The Rajmata.
DESAI: Snake bitch.
GALANIS: No. No, not really.
ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT JUNE 2003 DESAI: Don't give me that protecting her people crap. We do that every day and we do it without sacrificing our baser principles.
GALANIS: It's more than that. There are two groups here — one thinks the Daeva are all insane murderers and the other one thinks that's a risk we have to take.
DESAI: And you?
GALANIS: Neither. Both. Caught between a rock and a hard place. I've seen the visions. The Daeva are not morally pure, and letting a culture with the morals of 3000 years ago out into the modern world is…. obscenely careless. But at the same time… they're not inherently evil, and they don't deserve to be destroyed.
DESAI: So that's what you mean by a rock and a hard place.
GALANIS: Yeah. Man, Ajay. The way that Lucian was talking… I'm scared.
DESAI: Of what?
GALANIS: That's what scares me. I don't know. And it's not just him. The Rajmata, even O5-1. They all seem utterly convinced we're about to crash into something and I just don't know what and that terrifies me.
DESAI: We'll get through it. We're the Foundation, we always do.
GALANIS: Yeah. Yeah.
DESAI: Still, I think that you should talk to the Council.
[They sit in silence for some time, sorting through a huge stack of debriefing documents. DESAI pulls one from the stack. It is a black envelope sealed with tamper tape.] DESAI: What's this?
[GALANIS furrows their brow, grabbing it and inspecting it.] GALANIS: I'm not sure. It's from… Lucian? Oh. Oh, crap. I forgot about this.
DESAI: What?
GALANIS: I asked him to run a query on a term that kept coming up in our research, since he had a higher clearance level than me. I didn't think he'd actually do it.
[They slit open the envelope, breaking the tamper tape. They pull out the document inside and begin reading. After they finish, they sit in silence for nearly a minute.] DESAI: Dora? You okay?
GALANIS: Motherfucker.
[GALANIS abruptly stands up.] DESAI: What does it say? Where you going?
GALANIS: To do what I should've done a long time ago.
«END LOG» ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT — JUNE 2003 «IN ATTENDANCE» «BEGIN LOG» OPERATOR: Secure Ley connection established. Incoming signal from the FRS Lillihammer to Overwatch Command.
[The Leyspace activates, cycling through a number of locations before settling on a large, vast concrete room. The circular meeting table is surrounded by thirteen seats, all of them filled, and contains a small aperture in the center.
The only other object in the brightly-lit room is a singular metal chair, folded and leaning against the far wall. Researcher Galanis' avatar appears in the center of the table.] O5-1: Doctor Galanis. It's nice to see you. You requested an audience?
GALANIS: What the hell have you people done?
[O5-1 raises an eyebrow.] O5-3: Excuse us?
GALANIS: This Edict. You talked so much about not wanting this to end up like Amoni-Ram, and here we are.
O5-5: You misunderstand. This is a success for us.
GALANIS: In what world— O5-5: We have access to a school of thaumaturgy that's an effective countermeasure to Mekhanite augments. We have a better understanding of the nature of these gods and the threats they pose. And the Daeva are indebted to us.
GALANIS: Wait, what? Indebted?
[O5-5 stiffens.] GALANIS: What is he talking about?
[The room is silent.] O5-1: The details are still being worked out, but… we will be strongly considering SCP-001-KING's offer for a new Covenant in the coming days.
GALANIS: I had a feeling. I've spent more than a year studying them. They're not evil, but this is not going to go how you think it will.
O5-1: I'm afraid that's a risk we're willing to take, Doctor. Now if you would just calm down— ATTACHED TRANSCRIPT JUNE 2003 GALANIS: But this doesn't explain why they'd be indebted to you. The Covenant is a mutual agreement — it benefits them as much as it benefits you. We're getting the magic, we're getting the tools to fight the Mekhanites. What are they getting?
O5-1: Pandora— GALANIS: What do they want? They've been written out of history, out of reality itself. They don't exist in any material sense anymore, they didn't until we started looking at them. And once we stop looking, they'll fade away again.
They want something permanent. They want someone to write them back— [GALANIS abruptly looks up.] GALANIS: Oh, Jesus Christ.
O5-8: Figured it out, eh? Smart kid.
O5-1: Aktus, please.
GALANIS: You're making a deal with the devil.
O5-1: I assure you, Doctor, I am acutely aware of the risks we're taking.
GALANIS: Yeah. You've been aware of them for 60 years.
[O5-1 stiffens.] O5-1: I'm not sure what you're referring to.
GALANIS: Lucian used his credentials to run a database query for "BLACKSTAR", see what I was locked out of. I expected copies of my own records. And yet there it was: a database of verbal cognitohazards dating back to the original Memetics Division, World War 2. Top of the list, first record: "BLACKSTAR".
You've known about it. I have no idea what the hell you know, or how, but you've known something about all of this since 1945 that you never told me or him or anyone.
O5-1: What?
GALANIS: Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re smarter than that.
O5-1: I swear to you, Doctor, I have no ides what you’re talking about. Only someone with Level 5 clearance could’ve ordered those files sealed.
O5-6: We’re not the only ones with Level 5 clearance.
[A short pause, then the council bursts into overlapping chatter.] O5-12: Could he have— O5-2: We haven’t seen him in years, I don’t think— O5-9: But why— O5-1: [Raised voice] Everyone! Please. Doctor, I can promise you we’ll look into this. But in isolation, it really doesn’t mean anything. There are a thousand ways they could’ve randomly stumbled across something like that.
[GALANIS is silent.] O5-1: Pandora?
GALANIS: You stood there, in Amoni-Ram, and assured me that you were a historian, that you wouldn’t let this be exploited. That you understood. What the hell happened?
O5-1: I have people to protect, Doctor Galanis.
GALANIS: Yeah. I’ve heard that before. But nobody seems willing to tell me what you’re protecting them from.
O5-1: Yes, I did. Another Occult War is brewing on the horizon, Doctor Galanis, and I’m just doing what we can to avert it.
GALANIS: What?
O5-1: You're a historian, Doctor Galanis. Tell me what the Occult Wars are.
GALANIS: Occult Wars, from the Latin root occultare. Hidden. Secret wars of the anomalous world, occuring in parallel with mundane conflicts. But I don't understand, the last Occult War was nearly a hundred years ago.
O5-1: Which means the next one has had a hundred years to stew. Or longer, honestly. And this time the threat won't be Nazis with anomalous arms. It will be something so powerful, the only term we have for it is reality-bender.
GALANIS: You're talking about the Blackstar.
O5-1: We all have our roles to play. Yours is to follow the orders I give you.
[Silence.] GALANIS: Am I… going to stay on as project lead? To execute this new directive?
O5-1: Yes. You are expected to, at any rate.
GALANIS: Yeah. I thought so. Then consider this my immediate resignation.
O5-1: From the Mamjul Korar Initiative?
GALANIS: From the Foundation. I’m not gonna be complicit in you weaponizing the anomalous.
O5-1: I strongly urge you to reconsider, Doctor.
GALANIS: After the Manhattan Project, a number of scientists at Los Alamos couldn’t handle the reality of what they’ve done, what they’d helped to create.
They couldn’t live like that.
O5-1: Yes. I was there.
GALANIS: For all your talk of making sure I didn’t end up how Aram did, you let Lucian turn into that… thing the moment it was useful for you. I never should’ve gotten involved in this. And now I’m cutting myself off.
O5-1: I see. That’s… disappointing.
GALANIS: You want to, too. You’re a historian. You understand where this road ends.
O5-1: I have obligations. A higher calling. My principles can’t be unimpeachable, because then people die.
GALANIS: Used to justify every Faustian bargain in history.
[O5-1 shrugs.] O5-1: We’re all slaves to something, Doctor.
[Leyspace connection to: SITE-01 terminated.] «END LOG» ▷CLOSE◁ Per O5 Edict #2130 and with a majority vote of the Overseer Council, the Daevic Empire has been designated GoI-019 and classified as an ally of the Foundation.
Additionally, the Foundation and the Daevic Empire entered into a formal Covenant; a mutually- beneficial anomalous agreement binding both sides to each other. This Covenant is contingent on several factors, and may be broken off if either party feels it has been wronged or betrayed.
The Daevic Empire will surrender knowledge on thaumaturgy that is capable of being utilized against hostile threats.
The Daevic Empire will remain in the astral plane, and make no attempts to forcibly breach through to the material plane.
The Daevic Empire will not intentionally expose their existence, the Foundation's, or the anomalous to non-Veil societies.
In return: The Foundation will act as the human arm of the Covenant, affecting the material plane in the stead of GoI-019.
A small number of personnel will be permitted to become temporary hosts of Daeva, thereby significantly escalating their thaumaturgic ability.
Additionally, as the Daevic Empire has been ontologically scrubbed from baseline reality by the Blackstar, the Foundation will take a leading role in restoring them. While they will not be given physical form, interviews with Daeva and the Rajmata indicate that the presence of a physical, written record of the Daeva's history will significantly stabilize Korar and begin restoring the vast historical records in Mamjul and across the Indian subcontinent that were obliterated by the Blackstar's damnatio memoriae.
As their presence in baseline reality retroactively increases, so will the thaumaturgic power they can supply to the Foundation. This effect will apply retroactively — as the document is extended and completed, more ancient artifacts and ruins of the Daeva will be unearthed.
This anomalous effect has been classified as SCP-140, and applied to the current most complete record of the history of the Daeva: this document. Under containment protocol HERODOTUS , SCP- 001-JADE has been separated into 5 "acts", each covering, in parallel, a broad period of the Daeva's history from the Song of the Daeva, and the events leading to their rediscovery, and the file has been designated the primary vector of SCP-140. It is recommended for perusal in its redacted forms by all cleared Foundation personnel; as more personnel go through this document, the more the Foundation's thaumaturgic capacity increases.
As the Mamjul-Korar Initiative shifts into its new goals of training thaumaturges in Daeva magic, global Foundation priorities are to be shifted towards the investigation and approval of Thaumiel-class anomalies, particularly those effective in combat applications. Project OLYMPIA has been expedited.
Global Threat Level has once again been elevated to Keneq-5. Project FORERUNNER TRIAD is to dedicate all possible resources to identifying, locating, and securing the final remaining city: the Nälka city of Black Adytum.
Section 001.10 CONCLUSION WARNING The following sections of document SCP-001-JADE are restricted to Clearance Level 5/001-JADE.
Please enter valid security credentials to continue.
DOES THE BLACK MOON HOWL?
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FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE SITE-120 SITE-120 SITE-120 About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us Ralliston's Proposal » Ralliston's Proposal SCP-001 BY ORDER OF OVERSEER DIRECTIVE ALPHA/1911 The following file is Level 6/001 classified. Unauthorized access is strictly forbidden and will result in immediate termination, regardless of clearance or importance to the Foundation.
001 Rating: +223 ▽ DOES THE BLACK MOON HOWL?
Only of the sins of yesterday, through the crimes of tomorrow.
Identity confirmed. Security measures disengaged.
Welcome, authorized personnel. The Queen awaits.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Thaumiel [PENDING RECLASSIFICATION] Special Containment Procedures: The General Assembly of Thaumaturgists and Theologists Against Queen Mab is to ensure all non-SCP-001-A-staff are forbidden from entering the building. The origins, motivations, and connections to any cults or thaumaturgic groups of PoI-001-A ("James Rollander") are to be investigated.
Update 23/03/1910: Site-01 has been created around SCP-001-A to maintain its proper containment.
All staff entering into the anomaly are to be rotated out on a monthly basis and are to undergo weekly psychological screenings for any changes. Entry into SCP-001-B is not to be attempted. Any personnel entering are to be considered lost; attempts to contact them are prohibited.
No contact, physical, psychic, or otherwise, with SCP-001-C is to be attempted. Research into the nature and properties of PoI-001-C ("Queen Mab") is to be considered an Alpha-class priority.
Procedure 001-Corpus is to be initiated on a weekly basis to maintain proper containment of PoI-001- C; its maintenance is imperative.
1 PoI-001-A, circa 1905.
Update 13/08/1911: As per Directive Alpha/1911, worldwide amnestics are to be utilized to expunge the knowledge of SCP- 001-A from the general public. All references to the previously general Foundation knowledge of the forever wandering originating outside Overwatch Command are to be expunged by the office of Maria Jones, Secretary of the O5 Council. The search for Nexuses and Free Ports worldwide is to be considered an Alpha-class priority.
Update: 06/11/1914: It is imperative that personnel assigned to the Polish Containment Project investigate all information regarding the existence of a Free Port within the confines of Częstochowa, Poland. All further information regarding the existence of non-Eshu Fae within Poland is to be immediately forwarded to Overwatch Command.
Update 02/05/1916: Site-120 has been established in Częstochowa to oversee all activities regarding FP-120 ("Esterberg"). In the event that any information about PoI-001-C or GoI-120 ("Triumviraté") is obtained, the Emergency O5 Council Contact Line should be utilized to relay the aforementioned as quickly as possible.
Description: SCP-001 refers to three interrelated phenomena: SCP-001-A, SCP-001-B, and SCP-001-C.
SCP-001-A is an industrial megastructure located 25 kilometers south of Kraków, Poland, founded and overseen by James Rollander. Acting as the main provider of a plethora of services to the entire country and most of the continent, it currently houses approximately 30 000 laborers working and living within its confines. Atop its gates the following sentence, written in the Fae language, can be seen: SCP-001-B is a room located within SCP-001-A, which can only be found once an individual expresses the wish to find it, be it willingly or subconsciously. So far, attempts to mark it in relation to any other rooms or landmarks within the structure have been unsuccessful; inevitably, all individuals coming into contact with it will describe drastically different details of the place and the path which led them to it.
SCP-001-C is an entity located within SCP-001-B, fed by human sacrifices delivered to it by PoI-001-A.
Further details regarding its nature are presently unavailable.
The Factory hungers, as the Queen’s move has become her last gambit. Do not leave it in famine.
Discovery: SCP-001-A was constructed by a currently unidentified group of individuals or force between 1898-1902; no formal records regarding the process of construction exist. Created as the "ultimate factory," it was meant to supply every single possible industrial need of the people.
SCP-001-A gained Foundation attention in 1908 after exceedingly high levels of thaumaturgic energy were intercepted from it. This energy did not fade over time, instead remaining at a consistently high level. Now theorized to be the date of origin for SCP-001-B, this event sparked a visible period of the highest productivity to date, ultimately resulting in unprecedented profits and the expansion of Rollander's nascent empire.
To eliminate the possibility that the event was merely a coincidence precipitated by the building's potentially anomalous location, further research was approved. This resulted in the discovery of the ruins of numerous palaces and city structures in the caverns below the factory. Dated at approximately 200 000 years old, they were immediately identified as structures formed by the Fae Empire prior to its fall. Despite their anomalous properties, it was later discovered that they had been uninvolved with the event, which had instead been the result of some form of ritual conducted within SCP-001-A.
Following these discoveries, the Foundation officially classified SCP-001-A as its first full high-priority project following the adoption of the 'SCP' classification, resulting in it acquiring the designation of SCP-001.
Addendum 001-1: SCP-001-A Exploration In light of the thaumaturgic energy's failure to fade, the O5 Council decided that more information regarding SCP-001-A was required. As no SCP-001-A personnel were noted leaving the factory within the previous month, a Foundation-organized exploration mission was orchestrated.
However, upon entry into the factory, the Task Force immediately lost contact with the Foundation.
Addendum 001-2: SCP-001-A Ruins Analysis Following the loss of contact with previous exploration missions, it was decided that further exploration attempts would inevitably end the same way. In order to still obtain further potential information regarding SCP-001, research into the nature and origin of the ruins underneath the factory was immediately approved. The following is a statement by the project's research head following numerous months of focused investigation, released on 14/12/1909. Prior to reading it, personnel are heavily advised to familiarize themselves with the documentation available in the sidebox next to it to understand its full context.
2 A section of the SCP-001-A Ruins.
SCP-001-A Ruins Analysis A paper by O5-4 When I first arrived at the dig site beneath SCP-001-A, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't expecting the usual findings — that being yet another gigantic ruined palace of Mab, brought down by the furious First Diasporans desperately trying to find the monster behind their suffering.
And, in a sense, I was right; the building was in fact yet another fortress of the devil Mab is, but this time it was… different.
What we found was, frankly, shocking.
One room after another, we uncovered the secrets that place had held for so many millennia after the First Slaughter, and, well, after months of relentless work and making sure our interpretations were accurate, we have to come to one final conclusion that we are almost afraid to mutter: she still breathes somewhere outside our reality, biding her time. Just like her sibling.
We've always thought the other died, trying to stop her monstrous sister — however, evidence recovered from the SCP-001-A ruins singlehandedly debunks this. We checked all our calculations and interpretations to make sure we're not wrong, for this could change everything.
What's even more shocking is that the sister is not only alive, but also active; just like Mab has her own cults trying to find a ritual capable of resurrecting her, so does the sibling. We however discovered something even more alarming: the names of the sisters. Not true names, of course, for the second sister does not even own hers anymore — but we did discover… half-names, would be the best way to put it. Words not fully describing the very being of a person, as true Fae names do, but descriptors of important parts of their personalities. For Mab, long associated with lies and deceit, it was "shvygh" and "shfijifæ," meaning "queen" and "starlight" respectively, but for the sister, associated with creation and aid, "nv̄ nvŋ́nfat" and "pitfḿje," which, upon translation, meant "inventor" and… "factory." What's even more alarming is the event that led to the thaumaturgic energy explosion within SCP-001-A. You see, upon further inspection, my teams discovered many truly bizarre signs: high Akiva radiation, as well as a single sentence woven into the rituals binding the room that would eventually become SCP-001-B into our reality: 3 Come, Inventor; come, our Factory. The Queen is ready. Do not leave her waiting.
Addendum 001-3: Further Research and Changes Two months following the conclusion of the SCP-001-A ruins research, the news regarding it was apparently leaked by an unknown individual to the worldwide anomalous community. Numerous rumors resulted, and as a result, Fae militia organizations were seen taking interest in the factory.
This news reached the ever-growing group supporting Mab's actions and planning her resurrection.
In the coming weeks, their squads were noted to patrol the outskirts of the factory, apparently seeking to gain access. Successfully doing so, they were then seen sabotaging SCP-001-A, resulting in significant damage to the building. To counteract this action, Rollander decided to double the sacrifice rate towards SCP-001-C, resulting in an extremely high disappearance rate among workers within Kraków and surrounding cities. This led to local authorities gaining interest in the case. To counteract a possible Veil-breaking event, on 03/02/1910, the Administrator sent the following urgent message to Rollander: And so, it appears, Rollander quite literally called forth a factory. A factory to resurrect the true Factory through regular human sacrifice.
Identical ritual parts were detected in the magic which created the factory in the first place.
What's more, my men report the feeling that these two rituals were merely two parts of a three-act performance. Whatever the hell Rollander did to bring his masterpiece and the room within to life was merely preparation for bringing a third thing, this time presumably an entity, from within it and into our reality.
Mab has been a danger lurking behind our backs for almost 40 years now, ever since we founded ourselves in those dark halls, swearing to protect humanity from a Third Diaspora that would bring us down again. We did everything we could to stop Mab's influence, but let's face it: our best magicians won't even form a fraction of the power that devil possesses. But the sister does. And we need to do everything in our power to use that to our advantage.
What I'm trying to say is that I believe SCP-001-B isn't merely a room — it's a throne room, designed to host royalty. Whatever god resides there — and let's call it SCP-001-C, for simplicity's sake — I can feel its hatred for Mab pumping through the veins of the Factory, coming from the pounding heart seated within. And I know only of one entity that hates Mab more than the Nightwalkers.
We must use this opportunity as best as we can, unless we wish for another genocide to hit, this time targetting us.
Two days later, the following reply was received by the O5 Council; how PoI-001-A was aware of the location of its members remains unknown.
Immediately after, PoI-001-A took the following actions: tripled the intake of workers to SCP-001-A, effectively resulting in the tripling of the ratio of the rituals feeding SCP-001-C; neutralized numerous Mab-aligned Fae organizations, bringing their bodies into SCP-001-A for purposes unknown; utilized numerous thaumaturgic rituals within SCP-001-A, disallowing entry into the building without his direct permission; hastened the shipment of unknown thaumaturgic and theological apparatus into the factory.
Honorable James Rollander, We are aware of your actions within your factory, and, whilst we realize and appreciate your intentions of keeping Mab at bay through the resurrection of the Inventor, we must ask for an immediate cessation of such activities. We realize that you are left with no other option than to increase your sacrifices following the attacks, but we simply cannot allow you to continue doing so; the only alternative you realistically have is to properly deal with the attacks and continue your work at a normal pace. We hope you will understand our concerns and express a wish to cooperate, for we will engage with force otherwise.
With respect, — Kraków authorities Silence, foul creatures of darkness. My noble heart shan't listen to your laughable heresies — I can hear the Queen speaking through your words. And, I want you to know one thing — I am no Starlight's servant. I swore loyalty to only one Inventor, to one brilliant mind illuminating the skies with its genius like your Star had never had. I forgive your vengeful hearts serving Mab, for the creator forgives, unlike your Queen. Begone, whilst your armies can still walk.
My Masterpiece is almost done, and I shan't stop with its preparations — if you wish for a war with our magic, then you shall have it. The Factory is almost ready to emerge, and once it does, her brilliance shall overpower the darkness your Empress wished for the entire world. You cannot stop the rituals feeding Her, for the Inventor can feel your every move. She whispers to my ear, illuminating my mind with a portion of its brilliance, and I know of all you do — of your horrid servitude to the betrayer of the men of this Earth.
May the Skies above us have mercy on you.
You will not stop us.
Realizing the only way to neutralize the threat of the breaking of the Veil due to Rollander's actions whilst still maintaining the protection from PoI-001-C was taking control of SCP-001-A, Overwatch Command had undertaken the following vote: Proposal: "Utilize Foundation resources to seize SCP-001-C from James Rollander and establish a Site within. Effectively gain control over the protection from PoI-001-C offered by sacrifices to SCP-001-C whilst still maintaining the secretive nature of the SCP Foundation's operations." Council Vote Summary: ADMINISTRATOR'S NOTE When, all those years ago, I brought the thirteen talented mages and theologists that would eventually become my Council before myself, I swore one thing — to never resort to meaningless violence. For all those 40 years we've operated together now, I stayed true to my promise — even if I was among the few of us that did keep it, I kept it. Never have I approved an operation that would result in the deaths of people who didn't need to die for the world to become safe. But times have changed.
If you'd told me 40 years ago I would be approving, nay, even suggesting a military raid that would result in the deaths of factory workers to contain a single threat, I'd call you a madman. But it must be done. We simply cannot allow ourselves to lose the only known mechanism to defend against Mab in the entire universe. We must strike quickly and ruthlessly, because we need to keep Mab away from baseline reality, no matter what it takes. Such are the demands the greater good makes upon us, no matter our personal opinions.
I'm truly sorry, but there is no other way.
4 Addendum 001-4: SCP-001-A Raid Following the mobilization of all available Foundation forces within the area of SCP-001-A, on 27/02/1910, the SCP Foundation officially began a military attack on SCP-001-A. The following is a transcript of [ERROR]'s only memory of the event, verified as safe for public viewing due to numerous memetic triggers present within his memory, as provided by a ritual conducted by Maria Jones.
YEA NAY ABS.
O5-1 O5-2 O5-3 O5-4 O5-5 O5-6 O5-7 O5-8 O5-9 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 ADDITIONAL VOTE ADMINISTRATOR YEA STATUS APPROVED (7-5-2) Result: Following the vote, the operation was slated to take place as quickly as possible.
O5-8, circa 1903.
Date: 27/02/1910 Subject: SCP-001-A Present Parties: PoI-001-A; [ERROR]; O5-4; O5-8.
Foreword: Due to the protective field set-up within [ERROR]'s memories, the following was the only memetic-trigger-free memory of the event available for harvest without causing damage to its host. As a result of only partial removal to ensure [ERROR]'s safety, the following transcript is unclear and describes only one very specific fragment of the SCP- 001-A raid.
[BEGIN LOG] The feed begins as O5-8 is standing outside the entrance to PoI-001-A's office. Her hands are extended widely, just 5 centimeters away from the doors to the room, and she is visibly struggling in deep focus. She opens her deep and burning purple eyes and, with a silent scream, tears the doors apart, revealing entry into the office. Panting, she nods towards the rest of the group, made up of [ERROR] and O5-4, and they enter into it.
The room is extremely large and packed with numerous bookcases, chests, and containers, with magical items of unknown purpose scattered throughout. In the corner, behind a large wooden desk, Rollander is cowering. He is shivering, with a shadow formation akin to a crown forming above his head. Sobbing, in a panicked state, he attempts to hide from the intruders behind the chair.
O5-8: <in a powerful tone:> JAMES JOSEPH ROLLANDER.
PoI-001-A screams, falling to the ground. The shadows above him start to disappear; noticing this, Rollander panics. He attempts to grab the formation, but fails, eventually losing all of it. He starts to scour the floor around him, looking for something, frantically talking to himself but finding nothing.
O5-8 comes closer, extending her hand. Rollander notices this, and widens his eyes.
Rollander: No no no no no, no no. No. No no, no!
O5-8: COME FORWARD, AND ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES.
Rollander throws a book at Eight, who easily deflects it with ontokinesis. She comes closer yet again, and snaps her fingers. PoI-001-A starts to levitate, unable to move.
5 6 Rollander: No! <weakly:> She… she said… it will end… differently… Eight smiles, clenching her fist. Rollander starts to choke, grabbing his throat in a panicked manner, but seconds later falls on the ground, his eyes burning with a bright green. He frees himself of the power holding him back through unknown means, moving towards O5- 8.
Rollander: <in a hoarse tone:> THE LIGHT OF THE THOUSAND-DAWN EMPIRE SHALL NOT F— AGH!
He blinks, suddenly falling to the ground again. When he reopens his eyes, they are normal, and he does not seem to realize what just happened. Eight groans, throwing him like a ragdoll onto the wall. Her nose starts to bleed profusely.
[ERROR]: Mary, I think that's eno— Eight screams in anger as she throws PoI-001-A around the room, smashing him against any and all obstacles in her path.
[ERROR]: THAT'S ENOUGH!
The overseer suddenly stops, panting aggressively. She is bleeding from every orifice, but does not seem to notice nor care. Instead, with visible exhaustion in her eyes, she turns towards [ERROR].
[ERROR]: <quietly:> What the fuck was that? What the hell's gotten into you?! You were supposed to not kill him, for god's sake, we can't just murder people!
O5-8: You can't murder people.
Eight grabs herself by the head, groaning silently.
O5-8: God, I… I don't know, I… Something here is… I… I… They are suddenly interrupted by O5-4 grabbing the half-alive Rollander by his jacket, pulling his face close. Four spits on him. Rollander does not react, silently sobbing.
O5-4: You… disgust me.
Four heads for the exit, carrying the broken PoI-001-A with him. However, as he is about to reach the rest of the group, Rollander's body suddenly explodes with shadows and smoke, causing the Overseer to drop him. Four screams, backing off, as a singular, burning green eye blinks from within the expanding smoke.
[UNKNOWN]: <coming from within the smoke, in a hoarse tone:> COME HOME, MY CHILD.
COME HOME AND SUFFER NO MORE.
The smoke suddenly clears, revealing that PoI-001-A's body has disappeared; where it once laid, only his clothing remains to be seen. O5-4 inhales sharply, and turns towards the rest of the group.
O5-4: [ERROR]?
[ERROR]: Yes?
SCP-001-A, pictured midway through its transformation into Site-01.
To fully discuss further actions following the above, a summit of the O5 Council was called. Further containment and research plans regarding SCP-001 were discussed, eventually landing on the necessity of a Site within the anomaly's proximity to properly contain it. As a result, a proposal was put forward by O5-1 to, over a long period of time, transform the gigantic structure of SCP-001-A into a Foundation Site, acting as the main hub of operations for the Council and its most important project: SCP-001.
Addendum 001-5: Further SCP-001 Research Following the stabilization of the threat of potential civilian discovery of SCP-001-A due to Rollander's decisions and the finalization of Site-01's construction, the O5 Council decided that research into the true nature of SCP-001- B and SCP-001-C as well as the latter's protective nature against PoI-001-C was a priority. Despite previous studies showcasing the fact that SCP-001-C is most likely the half- dead entity referred to as 'The Inventor', further study conducted by O5-4 and his teams revealed that the entity was connected to numerous Fae seers and thaumaturgists in the world, still capable of communication.
However, despite the aforementioned stabilization, attacks from local Queen Mab-affiliated militias did not stop, instead increasing in frequency; the Foundation attempted contact with said groups on numerous occasions, but the only answer ever received was the following: Chatter picked up by Foundation moles situated within communities around the world suggested that a "Fae army, like the world has never seen since the dawn of Mab" was gathering to attack SCP-001-A.
Initially dismissed as mere rumors, this eventually led to the Foundation tripling security measures around Site-01 after numerous previously stationary Fae groups went on the move. Further research into this phenomenon remained pending at the time.
In the meantime, research into SCP-001-C was officially approved. After months of analysis, it was officially confirmed that following sacrifices to SCP-001-C being done, the percent of Queen Mab's entire being existing in baseline reality did in fact seem to reduce from 5% to 4%, rendering all previous interpretations to be true.
O5-4: Tell the people the factory has fallen.
[END LOG] Afterword: Following the events described above, the SCP Foundation had officially taken control of the factory.
You will not bring her back. Not after everything we've done to try to stop it.
In order to utilize the fact that SCP-001-C, presumed to be Queen Mab's sibling, was still alive and able to communicate, the following tests were undertaken.
INPUT OUTPUT A singular red apple (Malus domestica), delivered to SCP-001-B through thaumaturgic rituals No results A singular red apple (Malus domestica), delivered to SCP-001-B through a D-Class personnel Three seconds following input, the following phrase was heard in the minds of all near Site-01 personnel: "MORE" A singular, already dead, dog (Canis lupus familiaris) "FRESH BLOOD" A singular living dog (Canis lupus familiaris) "MORE" A singular alive D-Class personnel "I AM THE CALL OF THE HEAVENS, BRINGING DOWN GIFTS OF INTELLECT TO THE MINDS OF THE WORTHY" Repeat of the above "I FEND OFF THE EVILS OF DARKNESS AND FEAR, LURKING IN THE SHADOWS OF STARLIGHT" Repeat of the above "I AM THE SENTRY, THE SHIELD AGAINST ALL THAT LIES WITHIN THE LAND OF DARKNESS" Repeat of the above No results Repeat of the above No results Three alive D-Class personnel "MY POWER FADES LIKE STARLIGHT IN THE NIGHT MY SISTER IS, BUT IT STILL GRASPS INTO THIS REALM" Repeat of the above "BUT IT SHAN'T FOR MUCH LONGER, FOR THE SERVANT OF DEATH IS STRONG. STRONGER THAN I COULD EVER IMAGINE" Repeat of the above "FEED ME, SO WE CAN WALK IN THE DAY AGAIN AS ONCE WE DID, SO MANY MILLENIA AGO" Repeat of the above "FEED ME, SO WE CAN ONCE AGAIN UNITE, BROUGHT TOGETHER BY A COMMON ENEMY" Repeat of the above "FEED ME, SO WE CAN TOGETHER KILL MAB, THIS TIME FOREVER" Repeat of the above "FEED ME" Repeat of the above "FEED ME" Repeat of the above "FEED ME" Repeat of the above "FEED ME" Repeat of the above "FEED ME" Noteworthy is the fact that all bodies and individuals sacrificed to SCP-001-C seemed to lack any characteristic traits — no individual looking at them was able to identify them, despite their physical composure not having changed.
Addendum 001-6: Site-01 Raid On 13/08/1911, Site-01 thaumaturges suddenly detected a gigantic mass incoming, manifesting into the plains around SCP-001-A via a portal ritual. The ritual was nearing completion, with the portal approximated to contain individuals numbering in the thousands; a 2-hour window to prepare for the army's arrival was projected. When evacuation was ordered, the area around the building was almost immediately cut off via a thaumaturgic barrier. Numerous anti-magic apparatus set up around the Site did not appear to slow the ritual.
A Site-wide alert was immediately called, with the entire Council immediately evacuated to the lower levels and appropriate personnel called to duty. A distress call to other Foundation Sites was attempted, but due to no such facilities existing within Poland, no aid was possible within the given time span. Site-01 staff began to prepare for the incoming attack, attempting to eavesdrop on the teleporting army's conversations, yielding the below result.
Foreword: Due to high ritual instability, most of the intercepted and translated Fae dialogue is heavily corrupted.
[BEGIN LOG] [UNKNOWN 1]: [unintelligible] I'm trying to say is that we [unintelligible] cannot allow them to bring [unintelligible] back, no matter the co— [UNKNOWN 2]: I know that, [unintelligible]; that doesn't mean we [unintelligible] can disobey her; this [unintelligible] insanity. We both know that.
[UNKNOWN 1]: It is. But has she [unintelligible] done [unintelligible] same? All great [unintelligible] revolutionize the world [unintelligible] way, after a— [UNKNOWN 2]: <sigh> If by "a breakthrough" you mean "a slaughter," then cong[unintelligible], you are exactly like [unintelligible]een[unintelligible].
[UNKNOWN 1]: [unintelligible] the only choice. It's [unintelligible] the greater good.
[UNKNOWN 2]: No. There's no such thing as a [unintelligible] good. And you're exactly like her zealots for believing there is.
[END LOG] At this time, all personnel within the facility reported hearing a voice similar to that of SCP-001-C, both screaming with fear and laughing simultaneously; research into this event revealed the source to be nonexistent.
At 17:38 approximately 100 000 Fae appeared, ignoring and bypassing all anti-teleportation and anti- magic defense mechanisms, and immediately began to storm the Site. Consult the below extracted memory for more details.
[ERROR! NO PHOTO DETECTED!] [ERROR], the original Administrator of the SCP Foundation, as seen during its founding in 1870.
Date: 13/08/1911 Parties Present: [ERROR]; O5-1; O5-2; O5-3; O5-4; O5-5; O5-6; O5-7; O5-8; O5-9; O5-10; O5-11; O5-12; O5-13; Maria Jones.
Foreword: Due to the frequent corruption present within this extracted memory, it is unknown how much of the material presented within, if any, is true.
[BEGIN LOG] [CORRUPTED MEMORIES REDACTED] [ERROR] is frantically running through the numerous corridors of SCP-001-A, constantly looking back, trying to see if anyone is following him. All around him lie numerous corpses — some of them with broken necks — and the floors of the factory are covered in blood. He is shivering. He eventually finds a dead-end he can hide in; he covers his mouth, trying not to make a sound, and closes his eyes, trying to stop the panic.
Footsteps can be heard from the outside hallway as [ERROR] starts to sob, attempting to remain silent. The footsteps eventually stop as shadows just outside the gap he is hiding in appear. Neither of the figures seems to notice the entrance to [ERROR]'s hiding place.
[UNKNOWN 1]: <in Fae:> Where did he go?!
[UNKNOWN 2]: I… I don't know, he was just here, I— UNKNOWN 1 groans.
[UNKNOWN 1]: Are you kidding me? He could've already found the Queen, moron!
UNKNOWN 1 sighs.
[UNKNOWN 1]: We need to find him, and we need to do it now; I'm not about to fail her for the second time, you understand?!
[UNKNOWN 2]: Y-Yes.
The two walk away as [ERROR] collapses on the ground, grabbing his head in his hands. He starts to sob as the recording is filled by screams, sounds of flesh being torn, and metal clanging against metal.
[CORRUPTED MEMORIES REDACTED] [ERROR] is shivering, sitting as close to the wall as possible. Although tears are still running down his face, he no longer seems to notice them, frantically trying to stay as immobile as possible. The sounds from before seem to have ended, instead replaced by a deafening silence.
He suddenly opens his eyes, looking around the room with an unconscious stare. He is no longer within the same space he'd occupied minutes ago, now lying on the cold floors of a short corridor ending in gigantic green doors, which stand open. Green smoke is pouring out of the doors, encompassing him and his surroundings in an ominous aura. From within the room beyond, a silent whisper akin to that of an animal fills the air.
[UNKNOWN]: COME.
[ERROR] is lifted from his sitting spot, suddenly starting to walk towards the room.
Unconsciously he walks into it, and the entire feed becomes filled with the smoke, obscuring vision. From within a singular green eye can be seen, blinking once and illuminating the room with its bright light.
[UNKNOWN]: WHAT IS IT YOU SEEK WITH THE LIGHT THAT ILLUMINATES THE SKIES OF THE MILLENIUM EMPIRE?
[ERROR]: I… I… [UNKNOWN]: SPEAK.
[ERROR]'s expression suddenly changes from panicked to completely still as a green spark appears within his right eye.
[ERROR]: I wish to… seek shelter from my enemies. I wish to save my people, I… [UNKNOWN]: NO, NO NO NO NO. NO. TELL ME WHAT YOU TRULY WISH FOR.
The room is suddenly filled with thousands of eyes, observing [ERROR] from every single corner. Both his eyes start to burn with a bright green.
[ERROR]: I… I wish to destroy my enemies. Utterly and thoroughly, so that none of them remain. Wipe them out like the maggots they are, bringing back my dominion over them once again, like the— I… I… [ERROR] begins to sob again, grabbing his head. His face turns expressionless only seconds after.
[UNKNOWN]: AND WHO ARE YOUR ENEMIES?
[ERROR]: The servants of the Queen, the zealots of the Eternal Starlight upon the skies of the Endless Kingdom, wishing to bring their monster back from the dead.
The myriad eyes suddenly start to smile.
[UNKNOWN]: THEN IT SHALL BE DONE.
[CORRUPTED MEMORIES REDACTED] [ERROR] is suddenly standing on the balcony directly above SCP-001-A's entry, with O5-2 and O5-8 beside him. His eyes are burning with a green light, and in his hands, a long stone similar in shape to a wand can be seen. He is pointing it at the open hills beneath him, upon which thousands of Fae are standing with various forms of weaponry in their hands.
[ERROR] smiles, and starts to speak, his deafening voice filling the horizon.
[ERROR]: ARMY OF STARLIGHT, HARBINGERS OF MONARCHY, AND OMENS OF DOOM.
HEAR ME.
The entire army immediately looks at him, every single individual present with full focus.
[ERROR]: FOR MILLENNIA, YOU AND YOUR QUEEN HAVE REIGNED SUPREME AS THE HORRORS OF YOUR RULE FILLED THE NIGHT SKY YOU ILLUMINATED WITH HATRED.
The staff starts to burn with a green light as [ERROR] extends it forward.
[ERROR]: FOR COUNTLESS EONS YOU'VE TAKEN WHAT WAS NOT YOURS TO RULE, BRINGING IT TO YOUR OWN KINGDOM AS SACRIFICES TO THE ONE YOU CALL GOD.
The entire crowd starts to look around, deeply confused. Seconds later, however, their attention is once again brought to [ERROR] as blank expressions fill their faces.
[ERROR]: FOR YEARS UNCOUNTABLE, YOU'VE EXPLOITED THIS WORLD AND ITS PEOPLE FOR YOUR MONSTROUS EMPRESS, FEEDING THE ELDRITCH MONSTER OF A RULER SHE WAS.
He whispers a few inaudible words to himself, and the terrain around the army starts to shake.
[ERROR]: BUT NO MORE SHALL IT BE SO.
The crowd becomes distressed, noticing the changes.
[ERROR]: BEGONE.
7 To discuss the consequences of the above, an emergency O5 Council meeting hosted at Site-01 was called two weeks later, following the finalization of the clean-up required by the results of the raid. The following is its record, as transcribed by Maria Jones.
The entire crowd suddenly starts to scream as a gigantic vortex forms in the ground beneath them. Animal-like cries can be heard as the countless vocalizing Fae fall on the ground, screaming in agony as their bodies start to transform into numerous animal-like humanoid beings, retaining their original clothing. In the middle of the vortex, a portal black as night appears, sucking those present into it as more and more of them sob in pain, their transformations continuing. Seconds later, a number greater than what was originally standing in the hills falls into the forming hole as the portal leading to an unknown place closes, leaving no one standing in front of SCP-001-A. A silent scream fills the local area as the sky smiles for a second, before blinking again into nonexistence.
O5-2 looks at [ERROR], with a terrified expression filling his mechanical face.
O5-2: WHAT… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, [ERROR]?
[ERROR]: Exactly what needed to be done.
[CORRUPTED MEMORIES REDACTED] [END LOG] Afterword: It is believed that, as a result of the action undertaken by [ERROR], approximately 85% of the Fae populace was eradicated from baseline reality. Further research into the consequences of this action as well as the true destination of the ritual is ongoing.
Date: 27/08/1911 Parties Present: [ERROR]; O5-2; O5-4; O5-5; O5-11; Maria Jones.
Foreword: Due to the state of their health or their outright death following the Site-01 raid, a majority of the O5 Council was unable to attend the following meeting. At that time, potential replacements for the positions of O5-7, O5-9, O5-10, and O5-12, were being sought out.
[BEGIN LOG] The transcript begins, showing Site-01's O5 Council meeting hall, adapted from Rollander's office to fit its new purpose. Of the fourteen seats around the gigantic table in the middle, only five are filled. Upon the table, now visibly damaged, rests a multitude of letters and documents. O5-4 is browsing them quickly, trying to read as much as he can. The other Council members and Maria Jones are visibly impatient, as if waiting for someone.
Minutes later, the doors to the room open, revealing [ERROR]. He nods to the Council, corrects his suit, and checks his watch. O5-4 notices him, standing up from his chair and walking towards him angrily.
O5-4: What… What have you done?
[ERROR] does not respond, instead coming towards the table. He grabs one of the chairs and sits in it, looking at the documents around him. O5-4 comes closer, shaking [ERROR]'s shoulders.
O5-4: What the fuck have you done?!
[ERROR] sighs.
[ERROR]: Chosen the lesser evil.
O5-4 scoffs, slightly backing off.
O5-4: You're insane. You're actually insane.
[ERROR] groans silently.
[ERROR]: Four, I would like you to remind you who you're talking t— O5-4 comes closer to [ERROR], pushing him slightly with anger in his eyes.
O5-4: Shut the fuck up! Shut up! I'm your friend, [ERROR], I'm not fucking Four to you. And I would like to remind you that you just fucking murdered almost an entire race, you… you…!
8 O5-4 tries to hit [ERROR], but he is too slow to duck an incoming blow from his opponent.
Four falls, spitting blood on the floor. [ERROR] turns his sight from the floor to the Overseer.
His eyes glow with a faint green, and, above his head, for a brief second, a shadow formation reminiscent of a crown forms, only to disappear moments later. He comes closer to O5-4, grabbing him by his jacket and bringing their faces close together.
[ERROR]: Insult me one more time.
Four backs off, again attempting to strike [ERROR], but he is interrupted by O5-2 standing up slowly from the table and turning towards the two of them.
O5-2: GENTLEMEN, I DO NOT BELIEVE VIOLENCE IS PRODUCTIVE IN OUR SITUAT— Four looks angrily at Two. He starts to pant, grabbing his head again, this time with one hand only.
O5-4: Don't get into this, you fucking piece of cogs.
O5-4 turns to the rest of the Council.
O5-4: How can you stand idly by, knowing what he's done?! How can you not react?!
Four looks at Eleven.
O5-4: Where is your Ethics Committee now?!
Four looks again at [ERROR], pointing at him with a shaking hand.
O5-4: We swore to protect humanity from a Third Diaspora when we banded together those forty years ago, don't any of you remember?! <scoffs> I'd call all of you hypocrites, but that wouldn't reflect even a part of my hatred for you, you pieces of shi— Maria Jones suddenly stands up, moving her pen and papers aside.
Maria Jones: Enough!
O5-4: But— Maria Jones: <in a thunderous voice:> I SAID — ENOUGH!
O5-4 calms down, walking towards his seat. He starts to sit in it again, and puts his face in his hands.
[ERROR]: O5-4, I believe it would be in your… best interest to remove yourself from this room now.
O5-4 stands up with an angry manner, calming himself, walking towards the door. [ERROR] turns towards the rest of the Council [ERROR]: What I've done, I've done because it was the only way out of that situation. There was no other way.
He pauses, taking a deep breath.
9 Addendum 001-7: Results of the Third Diaspora Following the information about the Foundation causing the Third Diaspora reaching the public, and, by extension, Foundation personnel, resignations have reached the highest rate ever recorded.
Espionage and betrayal amongst Foundation personnel has increased by almost 10%, with overall efficiency down by approximately 40% even two years after the event.
Throughout the entirety of the post-Diaspora period a severe decrease in the mental stability of numerous Foundation staff, including Maria Jones and [ERROR], has been noted. The most notable case is the aforementioned Administrator, seen engaging in highly uncharacteristic behavior while denying any personal peculiarity. Examples included, but were not limited to: erratic decisions without authorization from the rest of the Council; visible obsession with the occult, despite little to no previous interest in such; visible obsession with Fae history, despite little to no previous interest in such; paranoia and trust issues; patterns of talking to himself on seemingly nonsensical subjects.
Said behavior culminated on 30/12/1913 when [ERROR] disappeared, the only evidence left being the following note found on his desk: The only contextual evidence Foundation thaumaturgists have found is an almost unnoticeable mark of magic leading towards SCP-001-B from [ERROR]'s office. The following is the only memory visualization available in the thaumaturgic thoughtspace near SCP-001-B that in any way references the event.
[ERROR]: I realize what I've done, and I will not try to defend myself. But you have to look at it this way — out of the two evils, this was for the greater good for all of— O5-4: —If you really believe such a thing as 'the greater good' exists. then you truly are a bigger fool than I ever expected.
[ERROR]: <firmly:> Go, before I remove you from more than just this room.
O5-4 opens the doors leading out of the hall, and spits on the floor.
O5-4: You… disgust me.
Four walks out of the room.
[END LOG] Afterword: Due to his behavior during the summit, O5-4 was officially removed from the SCP-001 project by direct order of [ERROR]; refusing to elaborate on the incident, he simply left Site-01 without a word, later found reporting from one of his research sites in North America.
'It' had never been the Inventor. How could I have been so blind?
Date: Unknown Subject: Unknown Foreword: The truthfulness of the following is still pending approval from the rest of the O5 Council.
[BEGIN LOG] [ERROR] is standing in a short and dimly lit corridor, panting. He is holding the same stone he had used to cause the Third Diaspora in his hand, pointing it at the gigantic green doors in front of him. The entire area is filled with fog and sounds of clockwork turning in the background, as well as voices similar to those of former SCP-001-A workers.
[ERROR]: You… m-monster!
He comes closer, opening the doors with visible difficulty. As he finishes doing so, powerful wind starts to blow from inside, making him back off. He points the item at the inside of the room, from which green fog is rolling into the area around him.
[ERROR]: We… we fed you!
The sound of something stirring within the room fills the air as [ERROR] grabs his head in his hands. He screams with pain, falling on the floor. [UNKNOWN] laughs.
[ERROR]: What… what even are you?!
[ERROR] loses his words, breaking down in tears. He loses hold of the stone, letting it fall on the ground as his entire body shivers.
[UNKNOWN]: <chuckles> DOES THAT EVEN TRULY MATTER?
[ERROR] is suddenly lifted from the ground as green fills his eyes, making him scream. As he continues to do so, he is transported into SCP-001-B.
[UNKNOWN]: COME.
From underneath [ERROR]'s jacket, animal-like fur starts to explode, eventually filling his entire body. His face distorts, visibly deforming. His continued screaming eventually turns into the gurgling of a hog. He tries to reach for an exit, grabbing one of the doors, but his hands slip away as they turn into hooves. He eventually loses all voice, but the screaming continues as his now fully-converted body begins to twitch violently. The feed disconnects.
[END LOG] Afterword: No such individual with the name "[ERROR]" was ever a part of the Foundation's personnel. Following a second appearance of such an error following the initial SCP-001-A exploration and the above event, it was decided that it was the effect of SCP-001-C and should be ignored to maintain documentation logic.
Addendum 001-8: Post-Incident Stabilization Attempts As requested by the remaining members of Overwatch Command, now not limited by [ERROR]'s influence, further research into the consequences of the Third Diaspora revealed that despite the 85% of the previously existing Fae populace being murdered, the remaining 15% did not fade, instead forming communities within Nexuses and Free Ports around the globe. No contact with them was attempted at the time of discovery, for obvious reasons.
Following the death of [ERROR] in unknown circumstances at the hands of SCP-001-C, the position of the Administrator remained vacant for a significant period of time; to properly deal with this problem as well as the consequences of the Third Diaspora following the death of its perpetrator, a meeting of the O5 Council was called. The following is its transcript, as provided by Maria Jones.
Due to months of no contact with [ERROR] (likely the previous name for the Foundation's Administrator), as well as the nature of the above event, he was presumed dead.
O5-11, circa 1880.
Date: 25/07/1914 Parties Present: O5-1; O5-2; O5-3; O5-4; O5-5; O5-8; O5-11; O5-13; Maria Jones.
Foreword: As, at the time of recording, the position of Administrator remained vacant, no supreme leadership over the Foundation was granted to any individual; despite this, the Council unanimously agreed a summit was necessary, without any outside pressure to attend.
[BEGIN LOG] O5-11 enters into the now-fully renewed hall of the Council's meetings. Where once had been the damaged office of the now-deceased PoI-001-A is a room filled with Foundation maps, iconography, items of research, and contact apparatus. Among this can be seen a large wooden table with 13 seats, around which 8 visibly tired and saddened individuals are sitting. They are reading letters and other documents on the table. Eleven hurries to the table, clears his throat, and joins the remainder of the Council members in his seat.
O5-11: Apologies for the delay; Ontokinetics needed my assistance. Shall we begin?
He looks at O5-1, who nods. Eleven smiles almost unnoticeably, nodding back, and he stands up from his seat, looking at the remainder of the Council.
O5-11: <sigh> I… I'm not going to play around the problem; [ERROR] is dead, as you all know, and, well, with him being gone, so is the position of Administrator.
O5-4 groans.
O5-4: And so too, the defenses for what he’s done.
O5-11: Yes, that too.
O5-11 pauses for a moment, trying to find his words; after failing to do so, he grabs his forehead with his right hand, gently massaging it, and sighs.
O5-11: What I'm ultimately trying to say is that we fucked up. Jesus Christ have we fucked up. We need an Administrator and a way to fix all of this goddamned mess. And we need one now.
Dead silence fills the room as Eleven exhales loudly.
O5-11: So, uhm, any ideas?
The silence is broken by the quiet humming of O5-2's mechanisms as he stands up. The turning clockwork fills the void left by the intrusion.
O5-2: MEKHANE ONCE SAID THAT TO BEAR TOTAL POWER WELL, ONE MUST BE OBJECTIVE IN ORDER TO BE JUST.
Two looks around the room.
O5-2: THEREFORE, HUMANITY IS UNABLE TO RULE WELL. TO DEAL WITH— O5-4 coughs theatrically.
O5-4: No. I'm not giving a goddamned Mekhanite power over the rest of us. <pointing at O5-2:> That wasn't the deal with your little master when we built you.
O5-2: I— O5-11: Friends, please.
As silence fills the room again, O5-1, who remained both silent and inactive during prior activities, suddenly clears his throat.
O5-1: I will take it.
O5-11: Huh?
O5-1: No matter how you think about it, the position of Administrator isn't a blessing.
<sigh> And I'm the only one here who's too tired to use that curse in any way that would destroy us. I'm an old man, Joseph. You can wage your little wars as much as you want — but I'm only here to keep the destruction to a minimum.
Eleven tries to speak up, but decides against it. He sighs, and sits down, looking at the rest of the Council.
O5-11: Anyone against?
No one reacts, silently looking on the ground.
O5-11: So it's decided.
One stands up again, throwing the document he's been holding in his hands on the desk.
O5-11 raises his eyebrow.
O5-11: And that is…?
O5-1: The results of the Third Diaspora, in numbers.
O5-2: I FAIL TO SEE HOW THAT IS RELEVANT TO THE TOPIC OF OUR MEETING.
O5-1: It's relevant, Two, because we have to admit to what we've done.
O5-2: I BEG YOUR PARDON?
O5-1: We need to fix what we've done, do you understand? Even if [ERROR] had done so, we were one of the reasons it happened, and I'm not about to allow for my first action to be avoiding the consequences of our crimes.
Short pause.
O5-1: So, to put it simply, what the hell do we do?
Eleven raises his hand.
O5-11: Free Ports. We… We need to find them. Find them, and protect them the best we can do. And, perhaps one day, they might even not want to kill us.
O5-8 scratches her head.
O5-8: The last I heard about them was when we discovered that one in Wisconsin. And I don't think they have Fairies in there.
O5-4: There's been… rumors of one here in Poland, mostly Fae operated. 'Esterberg', it's supposedly called. My teams recover more and more records of it being a safe heaven for the anomalous, something like that. And there's always Hy-Brasil.
O5-1: Is this… confirmed?
Four scratches his chin.
O5-4: As close as we can get with a rumor, I suppose. But… establishing a Site wouldn't hurt anyone there. We needed one in Poland anyways. <turning towards Eleven:> Hasn't Hannah Rivera been keen on making one recently?
O5-11: She… She has, yes.
O5-4: So, what's the problem?
O5-2: WE CANNOT JUST ALLOW THINGS TO CHANGE IMMEDIATELY. IT WOULD BE SUSPICIOUS, AND PERSONNEL WOULD REBEL. APPROVING OF HER REQUEST AFTER DENYING IT FOR SO LONG WOULD BE UNWISE.
O5-1: Two's right. We need to take our time. Let's send her there, and if she finds something, only then let's allow her Site to happen. It would be… what, our one-hundred- twentieth?
Four smiles.
O5-4: And then, once she finds that Esterberg, let's start slowly, until we can fix things. But it will need time. We can't rush this. Sixty years at least.
O5-8: Sixty years? Have you lost your mind? That's more than half a century— O5-11: We have time.
One sighs.
O5-1: We can't just make this a one-time thing. We must change our directives, not the ways in which people perceive them.
O5-4: Nobody can know this, aside from us. Not now, at least; people will resign if they learn of this now. Let's pretend to stay ruthless still, until we can truly change, giving into that change one step yearly.
O5-2: IT WILL NEED TO BECOME OUR FOURTH MOTTO. SECURING, CONTAINING, AND PROTECTING ARE NO LONGER THE VALID WAY.
Four chuckles silently.
O5-4: A fourth directive? Why not.
Passionate chatter spawns among the Council, which is quickly stopped by Eleven standing up and clearing his throat.
O5-11: Let's… Let's put it to a vote, shall we?
[END LOG] Afterword: See the document below.
Proposal: "Through the pursuit of all available information, locate every single Free Port previously unknown to the Foundation across the globe in an attempt to find and aid the remaining members of the Homo sapiens sidhe species. Expunge all information about the Third Diaspora available to the public, and prevent a fourth from occurring through any means necessary, including the containment of Queen Mab through continued sacrifices to SCP-001-C. Declassify a simplified version of the Third Diaspora records to all Foundation personnel." Council Vote Summary: YEA NAY ABS.
O5-1 O5-2 O5-3 O5-4 O5-5 O5-6 N/A O5-8 N/A N/A O5-11 N/A O5-13 STATUS APPROVED (8-0-0) Result: Further codenamed "Directive Alpha/1911," the foregoing proposal has been accepted and set as the unofficial subdirective to the SCP Foundation (among its known directives "to Secure, Contain, and Protect") available in full only to the O5 Council. All Foundation resources are made available to ensure the procedure's proper maintenance.
10 11 12 13 Following the unanimous passing of the proposal, making amends with the Fae populace has officially started. However, to ensure the continued compliance of Foundation personnel and to not precipitate any resignations due to drastic policy changes, the full process was projected to take over 70 years to complete. Calculations by O5-2 determined that the best way to integrate Fae and SCP- 1000 cultures into human societies and structures, allowing for peaceful and harmonious coexistence would be gradual and small changes, eventually leading to total integration and, perhaps, the removal of the Foundation as a factor altogether. This process began with the founding of Site-120 to oversee Esterberg, the Free Port of Częstochowa.
However, despite these changes being attempted and, over time, amplified, not all anomalous societies have shown support, with some going as far as violence to oppose them. The most active was and remains to this day GoI-120 ("Triumviraté" ), formed amongst the chaos that ensued following the Factory Purge — as the Third Diaspora was later called — by the followers of Mab which remained after their slaughter. On the day of its inception, theorized to be within two weeks of 13/08/1911, the original date of the Third Diaspora, the group sent out a message to all Site-01 personnel which resulted in their discovery. A transcript of the message, translated from Fae and without the memetic triggers the original possessed, is available below.
Despite the actions undertaken as a result of Directive Alpha/1911, the threat posed by Queen Mab remained extant. To counter this, a consensus between the Foundation and SCP-001-C was attempted. Despite [ERROR]'s (the entity's prior host) death, the lack of ease in contact with it as a result of the event, and ethical concerns, following numerous days of debate among the Council and approval from O5-11, it was decided that Procedure 001-Corpus needed to be maintained at all costs.
As a result of that decision, it was agreed that exactly 13 live humans would be delivered to SCP-001- C on a weekly basis. To cause the least damage to the Foundation via this process, the usage of Bright/Zartion Hominid Replicators (BZHR) to form the individuals required for the procedure was unanimously authorized.
However, despite this, numerous Foundation personnel were found dissatisfied over the ethics of this method as well as the overall ethics of working with a deity. In response, the following message was sent by O5-1 to all Foundation personnel with knowledge of the procedure: 14 It's quite funny, seeing your organization and the little Council managing it believing itself to be in control.
We've seen that attitude ever since we formed in the bowels of the Earths all those hundreds of thousands of years ago — hubris, that's what we called it. Hubris was the downfall of everything you've built, and ever will build. We'd say we're the bringers of that exact same event, only in recent days, but that would only be half the truth — as for you, we are also the harbingers of your inevitable and painful deaths.
There's a certain irony to your situation, but we'll let you figure it out yourselves; it will be quite fun to watch you realize the obvious truth before you. But even then, none of this truly matters — we are growing in numbers, and we are growing fast. The Third Diaspora left more of us than you thought, and you'll soon find it out the hard way.
Until then, we will be patiently waiting.
With current information, it is believed that the total fulfillment of the Foundation's new subdirective will be possible by approximately 1980, with containment of PoI-001-C being indefinitely sustainable.
[END OF FILE] In recent days, my office and I have been approached by anonymous complaints regarding the… ethicality of Procedure 001-Corpus, going so far as to ask "where was the Ethics Committee" when we approved it. Whilst those complaints are of course understandable given the situation, I need to clear something up: we are not giving a god what it wants.
We're merely making sure the sister of said god doesn't massacre us. And giving that bastard corpses is frankly the only thing we can do.
We can't fix the past. But we just might be able to make the future a little brighter. And to do that, we cannot allow Mab to repeat what we've done, slaughtering the world for the Fourth Time. And the only way to make sure that doesn't happen is Procedure 001-Corpus.
Know I say this with a heavy heart — but the ritual remains as it is. It simply must.
— O5-1, current Administrator of the SCP Foundation ONE (1) FILE UPDATE AVAILABLE. ACCESS?
Addendum 001-9: 12/08/1918 File Update On 10/08/1918, a member of the Site-01 Maintenance Team, Anthony Majer, fell victim to an incident involving SCP-001-B. At the ending of his shift he entered into the room, despite claiming to have possessed no will to find it — further research revealed that this was due to the cleanup crew's leadership forgetting to relay the anti-SCP-001-C influence pills which each team member is required to take daily.
Despite successfully entering into SCP-001-B, Majer was able to escape the room due to a sudden awakening of previously dormant ontokinetic abilities, effectively becoming the first recorded person able to leave unaffected. He remained within the corridor through which he found entry into SCP-001- B for the remainder of his shift, only discovered two days later by Site-01 guards patrolling the area.
Majer was extremely dehydrated, exhibiting signs of extreme paranoia, fear, and anxiety, and refused to answer any questions. Following numerous hours of the appliance of calming rituals and treatment, however, he began to respond to simple queries. The following is a transcript of the interview which subsequently took place.
[ERROR! NO PHOTO DETECTED!] Anthony Majer, circa 1910.
Date: 12/08/1918 Interviewed: Anthony Majer Interviewer: [ERROR] Foreword: System Error: unidentified edit lock override detected! Abandon t{crfssticall databaseee errosrss//]> The feed connects, showing the interviewed and interviewer within a room in Site-01's medical bay. Majer is shaking, paranoically looking around himself. His knees are close to his face, resulting in a fetal position on the bed. His eyes are swollen from hours of crying and two days of not sleeping. He is mumbling incoherently to himself. The interviewer is sitting on a chair near the previously mentioned bed. He is holding some sort of notebook, noting all reactions from Majer.
[ERROR]: What did you see?
Majer looks at him, panicked. His eyes are frantically moving, scanning [ERROR], as if attempting to discern if the figure before him is real.
Majer: I… I… I… He starts to sob again, staring at the floor beneath him. He blocks his ears and begins to shiver, moving in an irregular pattern.
[ERROR]: Majer!
The interviewer grabs Majer by his arms, shaking him. He blinks twice, realizing he's with someone else in the room and starts to shake again, but this time is visibly more focused.
[ERROR]: What did you see down there? Anything?
Majer nods, swallowing saliva. He wipes tears away from his eyes, and starts to stare at the floor again.
[ERROR]: Yes?
He nods again.
15 CRITICAL DATABASE ERROR. SERVERS COMPROMISED. SHUTTING DOWN TERMINAL… [ERROR]: What was it?
Pause.
[ERROR]: What. Did. You. See?
Maje█: <whispering:> Its name. I saw the name of… of the… the beast. T-The beast within the room.
The interviewer visibly livens up, clicking his pen. He starts to write something down in the notebook, and, seconds later, turns his attention back to Majer.
[ERROR]: What was it?
M█je█: I… Silence.
[ERROR]: What was the name, Majer?
M█j██: I… <sobbing, starts to shake> I don't know, I… [ERROR]: What was it?!
█████: <shakes head, crying violently> M-Mab. It… It… It was M-Mab.
[END LOG] Afterword: Further research and implication interpretation is ongoing.
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S Andrew Swann's Proposal SCP-001 » S Andrew Swann's Proposal rating: +2039 + – X Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: There is no means to contain SCP-001 yet found that does not risk a potential ZK-Class Reality Failure scenario and subsequent destruction of the observable universe. (See: Containment Protocol ZK-001-Alpha) Current procedures are limited to the absolute containment of information regarding SCP-001. No data regarding the nature or description of SCP-001 shall be provided to any personnel with the sole exception of the senior member of O5 Command. (Currently O5-█) All data collected in regard to SCP-001 shall be stored in encrypted form via [REDACTED], with the decryption key split into thirds. Each member of O5 Command shall memorize one third, and only one third, of the decryption key. Data shall only be decrypted on a network- isolated eyes-only terminal to be read only by the senior member of O5 Command, and then only after unanimous consent of O5 Command.
Leaking of data about SCP-001, through espionage, telepathic leakage, original research or [REDACTED] must be contained by any and all means available to the Foundation. The senior member of O5 Command, as the one person with authorized knowledge about SCP-001, is the final arbiter on containment.
Foundation personnel of Level two or higher who discover data about SCP-001 in the course of their normal duties may be given a Class A Amnestic after debriefing rather than being terminated. This is subject to O5 approval on a case-by-case basis.
Description: [DATA EXPUNGED] Addendum: Containment Log 001-Alpha Date: 01/12/19██ Incident: Documents appear on Internet site [REDACTED] servers seized and authors traced to [REDACTED]. Resulting explosion explained as gas leak. Monitoring has not shown any further propagation of documents.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Date: 03/31/19██ Incident: Script with possibly compromising information optioned for production by ██████ ████. Pictures. Original scriptwriter [REDACTED] agents successfully replace script with one re-written without [REDACTED]. Film is produced with title ███ ██████ and grosses $27 million its opening weekend.
Date: 06/19/19██ Incident: Novel outline describing [REDACTED] submitted to [REDACTED] by best-selling author █████ ████. Attempt to neutralize author unsuccessful, leading to high profile hospitalization. O5 authorizes the use of Class A Amnestic to prevent more attention to case. Outline recovered and destroyed.
D█te: o5/2█/20█z IncIdeN█: FounDAtIon R█searcHe█%20discov %5BDAtttA ExPu██geD%5D Ask yourself if you want to know.
If the answer is no, then you need to stop reading now. If you go and report this unauthorized file to your superiors, act contrite, and claim that you only read to this paragraph, you might get away with a Class A Amnestic. If you’re lucky. And if the O5s aren’t particularly paranoid at the moment.
So you want to know what SCP-001 is? The first answer is that it is was a placeholder, a theoretical designation for the prime cause, the ultimate reason for all the paranormal crap we deal with on a daily basis. SCP-001 is why we have to deal with omnicidal reptiles, ever expanding rooms, extra-dimensional pools of red goop and consumer products that don’t obey the normal laws of physics. Of course, given that all these things— as dangerous and deadly and just plain insane as they all are— are inherently patternless and self-contradictory, most researchers are convinced that there is no possible unifying principle for them all, much less a common source.
They’re wrong.
There’s more than one reason that cross-testing is discouraged, and the O5s even look down on excessive cross-referencing of SCPs. The O5s don’t want any one group looking at more than a handful of these things at once, because of what they discovered when the Foundation tried to develop a Grand Unified Theory of SCPs. That research is mostly gone now. Site-001-Alpha was dismantled, scrubbed from the archives, the staff mind-wiped and reassigned. No one left but me, and I wouldn’t know ≡ anything if it wasn’t for my habit of not trusting the Foundation servers and having my own hidden personal archive the O5s missed in their panic.
I was a data analyst at Site-001-Alpha [Note to O5 Command: Don’t bother looking for me, I finished the job you started, the identities of all former staff at Site-001-Alpha have been completely scrubbed from the records, you know as much as they do now.] and I participated in the first and only attempt to consolidate all Foundation data on all SCPs. I was in charge of data integrity. And as much of a mess as you might think that was, it was an order of magnitude worse.
Forget the memetic SCPs, or the ones that modify their own description, or the ones that seem to only inhabit infospace and slip into the database to wreak havoc. That’s all SOP for anyone who works with the Foundation’s network, just a matter of scale. Worse were the completely inexplicable, unexpected changes in data Sorry, that’s wrong, even though I can’t help thinking of it that way. It isn’t a change in data when reality is shifting to match. I don’t know a lot about the internals of the software we used, but I know that part of it ran outside what we think of as the “real world.” And, at first, everyone thought that the audit trails it produced were some sort of bug. However, it became apparent that the nature of the software, its purposeful isolation from the narrative-affecting SCPs, allowed it to record something far more important.
It’s not visible to you, or the O5s, or even to most of the SCPs we deal with, but the Foundation— and by extension the entire universe— is in a state of constant shifting reality flux. SCP files appeared and disappeared from our database with alarming regularity, and the SCPs referred to, to all appearance, appeared and disappeared along with them. Not just SCPs, but personnel, whole sites, and entire decades of the Foundation’s history would be re-written, seemingly at random. And our own memories, and all external research would confirm that “objective” reality matched the current version in our database.
One of the researchers told me that it was as if we were seeing the effect of something like SCP-140, only much larger in scale.
Yeah. Something a lot like SCP-140, and infinitely larger in scale.
I don’t know who did the analysis, and if I did, I wouldn’t say. She’s probably a lot happier not knowing about her own discovery. But she looked at what vanished and what appeared, and what subtly changed in the records, and she found the pattern, the drift toward darkness, toward narrative coherence, toward a plot… ≡ Everyone who works any length of time at the Foundation knows the universe we live in is a seriously fucked up place. Those of us who still believe in God tend toward serious ambivalence about his handiwork.
But we found out that there is a God, and it is SCP-001.
And it’s a bunch of horror writers.
Addendum: Emergency Containment Protocol ZK-001-Alpha O5 Eyes Only Decryption Key Accepted Note: Containment Protocol ZK-001-Alpha carries a non-zero risk of creating a ZK-Class Reality Failure scenario. Use should only be authorized in an attempt to mitigate an end- of-the-world scenario or the imminent destruction of the Foundation.
Research at Site-001-Gamma has conducted narrative analysis on SCP-001's changes to the observable universe. Conclusions are that SCP-001 consists of multiple entities showing cognitive patterns that are indistinguishable from human, and that these entities are therefore susceptible to memetic effects. Since prior experiments have shown information feedback via the SCP data warehouse, a possible method of attack and or control has been developed. Protocol ZK-001-Alpha, when initiated, will cause a software viral insertion of a variety of memetic agents into the SCP database which, through the observed information feedback, should expose SCP-001 to the memetic effects of these agents. Protocol ZK-001-Alpha consists of three stages: 1. Memetic agents inserted to promote calm and/or well-being 2. Memetic agents inserted to promote sleep, unconsciousness or catatonia.
3. Memetic agents inserted to cause death.
Given the nature of SCP-001 and our limited interaction with it, it is not possible at this time to safely test Protocol ZK-001-Alpha, and it is unknown if the universe can continue to exist without interaction with SCP-001.
Cite this page as: "S Andrew Swann's Proposal" by sandrewswann, from the SCP Wiki.
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‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal cosmic-horror ectoentropic horror k-class-scenario keter knowledge meta metafiction scp self-replicating page revision: 40, last edited: 1 Oct 2024, 15:21 (152 days ago) Edit Rate (+2039) Tags Discuss (248) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
SCP-001 » S. D. Locke's Proposal Rating: +2650 + – X You find the access tunnel, hidden within a natural cave a mile off the main road.
You don't need the keycard. The door is ajar.
It smells here. It smells like them. Hopefully, they've moved on. You've come so far already. You can't turn back now.
There is a slick trail that leads from the cave entrance and into the depths of the site. If it's blood or shit - or something that smeared off one of those things, you cannot tell. You make a point to avoid it.
You're still receiving the distress signal. It only started broadcasting yesterday.
Whoever it is - you pray they're still alive.
Your footsteps echo throughout empty corridors. Each footfall sounds for all the world like a dozen, as if you're not treading through the dark alone.
Elevator is down - so you take the stairs, ending on floor B5: Keter Holding.
You pass several empty containment chambers. The horrors they once held are long gone.
If you're lucky.
The trail takes you to an office branching off the main hall - the source of the signal. The door is cracked open, but stuck. You plant your feet, push with all your might.
Something skitters out of one of the rooms to your left and around the corner before you can get a good look at it. Your first thought is 'dog'.
It was on the ceiling, though.
S. D. Locke's Proposal DAYBREAK SOL'S CRUEL PLANET Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in You take refuge in the room, slam the door behind you. It's dark here. You're safe. You take off your jacket and head wrap. It'd be a damn shame to die from something like hyperthermia after all that's happened.
The sole operating emergency light rotates in its casing - casting a pale orange glow across the room every other second.
As if the room itself had a pulse.
There's shelving haphazardly placed behind the door - a barricade. You scan the room. Soiled clothes, half eaten food. Despite the presence of an adjoining restroom, there is excrement in a bucket in the corner. A pneumatic chamber on the Northern wall would have been delivering consumables to the occupant.
The trail terminates in the corner of the room, forming a sick puddle. You spot three pharmacy bottles - further inspection reveals them to be various opioids.
They're all empty.
There's a desk with a computer atop it. Approaching the terminal, you can clearly see the blinking light of the power button.
You take a seat. Turn it on.
Emergency Protocol Activated. Clearance Level Safeguards Removed. Full Access Granted.
Secure. Contain. Protect.
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≡ You hear footsteps just outside the door. Every first step comes down heavy, the second drags behind it.
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Authenticating...
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A dark shape blots out the light streaming in through the slit between the floor and the doorway.
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Authenticating...
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≡ ..
Authenticating...
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You tense up, waiting with bated breath, praying it will pass. You damn the deafening thumping of your heart for betraying your position.
Please Wait...
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Please Wait...
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Please Wait...
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The shadow recedes. You breathe a sigh of relief just as the screen comes to life… Opening File ≡ SCP-001, minutes after its activation.
Photographer unknown.
🔥 AUTOMATED SECURE SYSTEM NOTIFICATION CODE 235 (ASSN-235) 🔥 There has been an error in retrieving the current iteration of the SCP-001 file. You are currently viewing revision #3. Newer revisions can be accessed at the bottom of this page.
▽ Hide Revision Revision 3/12 updated 1312 days ago Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Apollyon Special Containment Procedures: Due to its nature, SCP-001 cannot be contained.
Survivors of the SCP-001 event stationed within secure facilities are to remain in contact with one another. Personnel are encouraged to attempt to reach Site-5 Site- 19 by any means at their disposal. Personnel with knowledge as to the whereabouts of the O5 Council are to relay this information to the Administrator.
Survivors attempting to travel outdoors must fully cover their bodies in protective clothing; preferably several layers. Travel by foot should be limited as much as possible. Cities - and man-made structures in general - provide the greatest protection. Formerly-wooded areas should be circumvented. Travel by air is preferable above all other methods.
Personnel exposed to SCP-001 are to be considered lost. Compromised personnel are to be abandoned. Euthanization is not to be attempted.
Collective instances of SCP-001-A that are of formidable size are to be avoided at all costs.
Conductive electrical weapons have proven partially effective at immobilizing instances, and may be used for self-defense. Incendiary weapons work as well. Cryonic munitions are the most effective thus far.
Testing has revealed that SCP-001-A is relatively safe to consume. This is only to be considered as a last resort in the absence of other options. As SCP-001-A may reconstitute within the digestive system, only small portions should be consumed at a time to prevent blockage.
1 ≡ Personnel stationed at Site-19 are to pursue research concerning off-world colonization.
Shuttles must be constructed as to not allow light to penetrate the interior.
To those of you with families, or God forbid, children - I'm deeply, deeply sorry, you must push on. Do not let their deaths be in vain.
We do still have time.
Humanity may still have a future. Come to Site-19. We need all the hands we can get.
Learn to embrace the darkness, friends. Fear the light.
- The Administrator Description: SCP-001 is the designation given to the Sun, after an event on [SYSTEM ERROR] Data lost: ec172. Contact SysAdmin. resulting in ~6.8 billion casualties within the first twenty-four hours. This event has been categorized as an XK-Δ-Class "Solar Singularity" Scenario.
The SCP-001 effect does not seem to result from exposure to ultraviolet rays, but rather light in the visual spectrum (~390 to 700 nm). The effect is similarly present in moonlight.
Upon contact with visible light produced by the sun, living organisms liquefy at the point of contact, with the effect spreading until the entire organism is converted. Visually, this is reminiscent of melting wax. The time this takes is largely dependent on the level of exposure and size of the organism. Despite this restructuring, at no point do living organisms perish.
Upon completion, these organisms (SCP-001-A) take on a gelatinous consistency. Motile organisms will attempt to orient themselves in a fashion reminiscent of their previous form, to varying degrees of success.
Flora typically remain physically inert, yet are still capable of photosynthesis, and still produce oxygen. Organisms capable of flight lose the capability to do so. Fauna remain sentient, and display behavior that parallels their non-anomalous counterparts when not absorbed into a collective instance. Humans retain a modicum of sapience and memory.
Biological anomalies exposed to SCP-001 are affected in the same manner. It seems that exposure nullifies any previously expressed anomalous characteristics.
Due to their composition, instances of SCP-001-A that make contact with one another may combine and blend at the molecular level. This does not seem to cause any pain or distress to the instances, though the resulting bulk can inhibit movement. Since the SCP-001 event, most instances have congregated into such collectives, which seem to possess no maximum volume.
≡ The resulting biomass is amorphous and chaotic. The component organisms will shift between a full-to-semi-liquid state - limbs and bodies will rise periodically from within the mass for a short duration, before deteriorating and being subsumed by another life-form.
Collective instances will locomote by using their appendages in tandem to carry their mass.
Larger instances will form a pseudopod from their constituent life-forms, and drag themselves about in a manner similar to amoeba.
+ Open attached file: Audio Log ...
...
...
Access granted.
A harsh static lashes out of the speakers when you open the file. It disturbs the stillness of the room, catches you off guard and quickens your heart's pace. There's some handling noise as the recorder adjusts their microphone.
A brief moment of silence passes and then: "Ahem. This is Doctor Logan Igotta, Level, um, Three researcher." There's a quiver in her voice that betrays her attempts at professionalism. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues.
"Due to Site-46's possession of several communicable infohazards - we have, we have been cut off from the rest of the network u-under Blackout Protocol. As such, I'll be updating this as we come a-across new information.
On the bright side, we are actually still receiving transmissions from a few Sites. A good number of personnel have made it, it seems. Some are planning to make a break for 19, some are trying to fight the dash As, some, like us, are simply biding their time. Our Site is sealed for the time being. We're not ready for the journey. At least, not yet." She sighs.
≡ "We... experienced a containment breach a few days ago. One of the higher-maintenance humanoids broke loose - son of a bitch compromised containment on half a, half a dozen Keters and ran off.
They didn't make it more than five feet from the tunnels before collapsing in a soup. I-I watched it play out on the cams.
It didn't take long for them to get back up." She stops again, mutters to herself incomprehensibly - before you hear the unmistakable sound of a match-strike.
She exhales audibly.
"Ahh... M-much better. Not exactly a, exactly a designated smoke area; but what the hell, right?" She clears her throat.
Commander Anand suited up and went to town on them the next day, tried to drive them off. It didn't turn out very well, poor bastard. But we did learn a thing or two, at least." Pause. Exhale.
"There's only a few of us left here. I'm holed up in one of the offices. Jerry and Director Phillips are somewhere in the barracks. Clyde and a few D's locked themselves in the armory with Ari.
I really should see how she's doing." She trails off for a moment - before you hear the buzz of radio chatter.
"Hey, hun. How're you holding up down there?" A voice responds. A man with an exaggerated, mocking tone.
"I'm doing just fine poopsie-kins! I want you to know I wuv you bunches! Heh, heh." Logan shoots back.
≡ "Who? Wh- knock it off and put her on, dammit. I need to speak with her." There's a clamor on the other end while the radio changes hands. A soft voice calls out, concerned.
"Babe? What's wrong?" Logan responds.
"Um - er- nothing, nothing." Pause. Exhale.
"I just wanted to check in real quick." Ari pleads.
"I'm fine, babe. Really. I can take care of myself." A creak - Logan shifts in her seat.
"No, no. I know, I know that. I can't help it, though. I know coming here was never easy for you..." Pause. Exhale. Logan continues: "...and with everything going on I—" Ari interrupts her.
"Hey! You told me you quit smoking." There's a ruckus as Igotta presumably attempts to snuff her cigarette.
"Oh! Uh…No! No, of course not. I mean, I did! I did stop." ≡ Ari doesn't sound convinced.
"I don't think I'm the one you need to worry about. I'm staying clean. I haven't even thought of touching mnestics in months. Trust me.
Anyways, since you were wondering, I'm fine. The guys are sitting around playing cards, I'm tucked in the corner with my notebook." You can practically hear Igotta smiling as she jokes.
"Sweetheart! Penning a sonnet about my undying love at a time like this? I'm flattered." Ari responds with a feigned laugh.
"An elegy, at the moment. I feel like if I don't keep myself busy doing something, I'll go crazy locked down here." "I know what you mean, hun. I'll let you get back to it.
I love you." Ari replies.
"Love you too, babe." A moment of silence. Then, a match-strike followed by an audible exhale.
"And that's all of us. Everyone else was either top-side during the event, or they were killed in the breach. Director's orders are to stay put. Keep an eye on the cams - both in and around the facility. We've got the 001'd skips beating at our front door, and god knows what else locked in here with us.
We still have electricity - we should for quite some time - and the place is stocked with enough supplies to last the site a couple of years. We're going to be fine for now." Pause. Exhale.
"Everything's going to be fine." ≡ SCP-001, minutes after its activation.
Photographer unknown.
She waits a beat, before ending the transmission.
▽ Hide Revision Revision 5/12 updated 1202 days ago Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Apollyon Special Containment Procedures: No changes submitted. Information collapsed.
Description: No changes submitted.
Information collapsed.
+ Open attached file: Incident Report-001.1 ...
...
...
Access granted.
They've just been sitting out there this entire time, calling out to us, begging for us to come outside. The noise drew in more of them. There's this one mass that I'm sure must have a few dozen people and god-knows how many animals roiling around inside it. Screams and bleats and screeches and howls nonstop. Louder than all hell. The worst ones make this disgusting moaning - like they're actually enjoying it.
They're not going to leave so long as they know we're down here.
We managed to talk one of the D's into going out - see if he couldn't draw them away. He was surprisingly okay with the plan - all he asked for was a gun, and a single round. He made it out there and one got a hold of him, tried to get his mask off. He managed to work the pistol up beneath his chin in time, got it off. I figured he was lucky.
After he fell limp though, it kept working at his suit. Pried off the hood, poured itself inside.
Began tearing it off of him from within.
He came back; started changing - dripping out of the suit and screaming and screaming and screaming.
≡ SCP-001, minutes after its activation.
Photographer unknown.
They won't even let us die.
The Director has a plan. There's an escape tunnel hidden in his office. Tram under the Site will take us to a safe house - we should be able to start towards 19 from there.
▽ Hide Revision Revision 8/12 updated 1200 days ago Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Apollyon Special Containment Procedures: No changes submitted. Information collapsed.
Description: No changes submitted.
Information collapsed.
+ Open attached file: Video File ...
...
...
Access granted.
You see her for the first time. Dr. Igotta is seated where you are right now. She has a pained look, her eyes are bloodshot. A large, wet, red-black blotch has formed on her breast-pocket.
She draws a shuddering breath, parts her lips as if to speak, and stops herself.
She bows her head, and cries silently. After a minute, she manages to choke out: "I-I-w-we - the t-tunnel.
Flowed in through the, through the ceiling, dragging, dragging them into the, the l-light and ripping off their, their clothes a-a-and..." She reaches into her breast pocket, and withdraws a finger. The glint of a wedding ring is visible above the severed portion. She holds it close, in ≡ cupped hands, and runs a thumb across the glimmering band.
She sits like this for an eternity, whispering apology after apology, begging forgiveness, lost in the moment. She looks up after some time. There's a look of realization when she sees she's still recording; before she places the digit back in her pocket. She leans forward, as if to turn off the camera, when a radio crackles to life.
It broadcasts white noise for a few seconds, and then, a voice that sets you on edge.
"Logan?" It's Ari, almost. Her voice has taken on the disgusting, gurgling tone characteristic of the affected. Logan's jaw drops, what little color that was left in her face drains. It speaks out again.
"Where are you? Why can't I get back inside?
Are you there?" Logan rummages beneath the desk for a moment, and produces a hand-held radio. Her hands are shaking. The thing implores her; its inhuman speech curdles your stomach.
"Babe, it's alright. I'm alright, really.
It's a bright, sunny day and you're just wasting away down there." Logan is in tears, her finger hovering just above the call-button. The Ari-thing draws a deep, wet, breath and speaks.
"Such a beautiful, clear blue sky - just like that day. Do you remember, babe?
Logan withdraws a cigarette with her free hand, followed by a pack of matches. Her shaking thwarts the first two attempts to light it. She swears silently. Third time's the charm, and she inhales a quarter of it in a single drag.
The Ari-thing continues: ≡ "It was so perfect. Everything was how I'd always dreamt it would be. You planned exquisitely. I'd never felt so in love.
You even had the band play our song..." It starts singing.
"Golden days In the sunshine of a happy youth" Logan begins rocking back and forth in her chair.
"Golden days In the sunshine of a happy youth" Logan hurls the radio across the room. It smashes somewhere off-camera.
It's still somewhat operational - you can still hear the thing singing. More voices join in chorus as the radio slowly loses life. A few, a dozen, then more.
"Golden days, In our hearts we remember them all else above Days of youth and love" They continue singing until the radio mercifully dies. Logan rushes out of her chair, and you can hear her vomiting off-screen. The video films the empty seat for several minutes before she returns to end the feed.
▽ ...
A lingering, paranoid sensation washes over you. You're being watched. You defensively dart your eyes about, though they take a second to adjust to the darkness beyond the monitor. The emergency light sweeps across the room, ≡ SCP-001, minutes after its activation.
Photographer unknown.
stretching and twisting the shadows beyond recognition. That's when you spot it.
There, in the corner.
Coming out of the puddle.
Time slows to a halt. A pair of hands, coated in the lustrous black slime you followed through the facility, are on either side of the sickening pool, as if something beneath the floor is bracing itself, trying to lift itself up.
Something inhuman.
The head comes next, rising from the muck. Matted hair conceals its face, plastered over it by the mystery fluid. It turns in your direction.
It stares at you from the corner, which once again falls into darkness.
The emergency light continues its journey across the room. It washes over the puddle again, revealing nothing out of the ordinary.
▽ Hide Revision Revision 9/12 updated 986 days ago Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Apollyon Special Containment Procedures: No changes submitted. Information collapsed.
Description: No changes submitted.
Information collapsed.
+ Open Attachment ...
...
...
Access granted.
Dr. Igotta appears on the monitor. She's lost weight. Her eyes are bloodshot and wide. On the table before her lay a knife, a bowl, and a stack of manila ≡ envelopes filled with yellowing pages.
Atop this stack is a blood-stained parchment.
"Despite the things we have to deal with here at the Foundation, I've always believed we would be able to maintain control. We would hold the darkness at bay - let mankind flourish in the light.
Site-19 stopped broadcasting last month. It's been getting harder and harder to find a reason to keep going - especially without, without." She grabs the knife, contemplates it for a moment.
"I keep going over it again and again in my mind. That day back in the tunnels. Everything that happened. I've gone down there a few times, if only to hear her voice again.
But it's wrong. That thing on the other side of the door - it isn't her. Not anymore. It sounds like her, it knows everything she knew, but it's not her. This light - it takes your body, it steals your mind.
But what about your soul?" With this, she slices into the palm of her left hand, and winces. You watch her clench her fist, draining her blood into the bowl.
"If this works... If I can bring back something, something the light couldn't reach; I'll post an update here. For now, signing off." ▽ Hide from me.
Revision 4847/3RR0R updated 985 days ago Item. Hurts.
0bject. Apologize.
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 should not be contained. Survivors of the SCP- 001 event stationed within secure facilities can never truly be with one another.
≡ It was so warm out there.
Personnel are encouraged to get over themselves, and stop thinking they know better.
You can't hide down here forever, love.
Personnel exposed to SCP-001 aren't people you can just abandon. I didn't ask for you to save me. It wasn't your choice to make. Euthanization is to be attempted.
Conductive electrical weapons Why? have proven partially effective at immobilizing instances. You couldn't stand seeing me better off. Incendiary weapons tickle.
Cryonic munitions are the most effective thus far.
Personnel stationed at Site-19 have no regrets. Neither did I. It's never too late, babe.
Description: SCP-001 is the designation given to the Sun, after we finally became free.
The effects are instantaneous, resulting in release from all suffering, until you ripped me away. These changes seem scary, I know. Despite this restructuring, at no point will you die.
I promise.
Due to their composition, instances of SCP-001-A that make contact with one another may combine and blend and finally exist. This does not cause any pain. Since the SCP-001 event, most instances have congregated into such collectives, which seem to possess no maximum volume. dontbeafraid The resulting biomass is tiful. The component organisms will shift in and over and around and through andin andin andin - limbs and bodies hold, never letting go.
before deteriorating and being subsumed by another life-form.
Collective instances will locomote by just trying to get close to you again.
trying so hard.
Let me in Let me go back There's a video file attached. Opening it, you see that it presents the room you're in. The feed seems to be coming from one of the security cameras, up notnotnotnotnotnot beau andout andout al1as0ne ≡ in the corner of the room. It's dark, but you can just make out Dr. Igotta - laying on a pile of laundry along the far wall.
She's writhing in her sleep. She seems tormented. Hurt. She's tossing and turning and mumbling nonsense-words.
The camera shakes. It lifts upwards for a moment, before it focuses on her again.
It starts moving closer. Slowly.
The speakers come to life; picking up an airy, breathy static. As the camera moves closer to the doctor, it becomes clearer, crisper. It's not merely white noise, but dozens - hundreds of voices whispering unintelligibly over each other.
You lean in, press your ear almost against the speaker, trying to discern what it is that's being said. Something strange stands out amidst the discordance: Are you paying attention?
You're not quite sure what to make of it, though. Looking back at the monitor, the camera has come to a halt inches away from the sleeping doctor.
The voices stop.
There is no sound.
A hand. Black and oily and skeletal, reaches out for her, brushes away a lock of hair.
Her eyes shoot open, she recoils in shock. The feed cuts out.
▽ Hide Revision Revision 12/12 updated 1 days ago Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Apollyon This next bit is just for you.
≡ SCP-001, minutes after its activation.
Photographer unknown.
Special Containment Procedures: File recovered from previous revision. Information collapsed.
Description: File recovered from previous revision. Information collapsed.
+Open Attachment ...
...
...
Access granted.
Dr. Igotta appears before you on the screen, looking even worse for wear than she did previously. Her hair is thinning, with large swaths appearing absent from the middle of her head. If they weren't reflecting the soft glow of the monitor, you would have assumed she no longer had eyes, for how deep they'd recessed into her skull. She stares ahead, unblinking.
"She won't stop. S-She won't go aw-away. I know I didn't, know I didn't pick up an info- fohazard browsing the archives. Tested my-myself for SCP-8673 infection. Negative. SCP- 9189 is the, is the only other o-one that uses print as a vector. Can't b-be that, I still have all my fingers!" Her lips crack into a broken grin. She lets out a weak laugh, and displays her trembling hands. What appears to be the mostly-skeletal remains of a finger is embedded into the flesh of her left hand - in the stump that would have supported her natural ring finger. Two wedding bands loosely encircle the digit, laying atop one another.
"So, I'm not infected. I'm not, not, I'm, I'm not crazy. I know. I know the ritual worked. I know it's really her. It's her and she—" Something catches her attention off-screen. She cocks her head, listening.
"No! No, I c-can't! You're not, not you, not the same. Not you, it's not you anymore. Nope! No, no, no!" She begins rubbing her temples, repeating herself over and over again. A minute passes. She snaps her head back up, and addresses the camera.
≡ "It's her but it's not. What I brought back - still a part of oh-one. There's no way. No way out.
No way.
There's no hope for a future for me, and God, I can't go on like this any longer.
I'll be safe here. The light can't reach m-me. I w-won't let it, let it take me." She brandishes a handgun.
"W-was planning on using this, 'till I found some, some leftover meds. Don't want to, want to risk calling attention to m-myself... to my body." She opens the desk drawer, and deposits the firearm. She raises her gaze, stares into the camera.
"Mom. Dad. Ari.
I'm sorry." She reaches forward and ends the recording.
▽ Did it have to end like that?
You open the drawer, and pull out the gun. You absentmindedly turn it over in your hands for a moment, wondering where you'll go from here. Site-17? 64?
Surely you can't be all that's left? The computer dings. There's been an update to the file?
▽ __ Item #: ≡ saffron skies raise the blazing sun a chance encounter, awkward displays one day, my love, we'd be as one Object Class: with two entwined. A set course, begun that frenetic, wild, lustrous haze; azure skies host the radiant sun Special Containment Procedures: above us beaming as we run down that aisle, a fervent craze that day, my love, we became as one with future unfolded - the life we'd won commitment and duty, for the family we'd raise cerulean skies ferry the shimmering sun Description: Buried. Shackled by fate - overrun by ever-growing resent and malaise yesterday, my love, we were as one now you lie here, the life in you gone in the dark outside of her rays crimson skies bear the torch; our sun today, my love, we'll be as one System ERR0ROROR0R0R0ROR#@&#.
Without your prompting, the page begins playing a video file. You freeze when the image loads.
≡ It's a live feed, looking down on you from behind. About a foot away.
A skeletal, inky left hand enters the frame, approaching you at a snail's pace.
It's missing its ring finger.
Without a second thought, you turn and fire in a frenzy. Hoping to drive off the specter.
Your bullets meet an empty wall. There's nothing there.
A second passes before you hear it - before you hear them. Sloshing, wet thuds coming down the corridor, accompanied by a chorus of screams.
It slams into the door. Could there be a place to hide?
It strikes a second time. What appears to be a face - part human, part...
something - dribbles in under the frame. Bits of flesh from god-knows-what oozes in through the sides and reconstitutes into fingers, eyes, feathers.
A third. Now it's pressing up against the wood, causing it to sag inwards.
With a groan and a crash, the wood splinters. The door explodes open.
Hands and arms stretch out of the mass, pulling you up, passing you from one to the next, on and on down the line. They drag you past the empty containment units, upwards and through the stairwell, through the halls and towards the tunnel.
You're afforded a few, precious moments in the darkness.
And at the end of the tunnel, there is light.
When Day Breaks || After the Storm >>> ▷ ‡ Licensing / Citation ≡ Powered by Wikidot.com Help Terms of Service Privacy Report a bug Flag as objectionable Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal anomalous-event apollyon biohazard body-horror daybreak horror k-class-scenario light meta post-apocalyptic psychological-horror scp sun the-administrator transfiguration uncontained page revision: 119, last edited: 13 Oct 2024, 16:28 (140 days ago) Edit Rate (+2650) Tags Discuss (291) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
CA3 aerial photo, taken two months after recovery.
Scantron's Proposal SCP-001 » Scantron's Proposal rating: +639 + – X UIU File 0041: Altered High School Building in ██████, ██ (Confirmed Anomaly 3) Object Class: 53 (Highly intrusive, unknown capabilities, unknown nature) Secure Containment Protocols: Confirmed Anomaly 3 (CA3) is to be surrounded by an electric fence no less than 30 feet high and guarded by the United States Army’s █████ Platoon.
Any footage or photographic evidence of CA3’s interior is to be excised as soon as possible, and all witnesses detained indefinitely.
Under no circumstances should any personnel attempt to enter CA3 or communicate with the persons inhabiting it. However, any person known to have been inside CA3 at any point must be detained and interrogated.
A direct military assault on CA3 has been deemed unfeasible at this point, due to the unknown capabilities of the entity or entities by which it is controlled.
Note: This is a summary, and it does not contain all information relevant to CA3. For detailed information regarding CA3, see UIU Files 0042 through 0218- Director ██████ Known Information: The Unusual Incidents Unit was alerted to CA3’s existence on September 7, 1954, when students attending ██████████ High School reported that the interior of the building was vastly different than it had been at any point in the past.
Upon discovery, CA3 exhibited several unusual, if not inherently paranormal, traits: Nearly all walls in the facility had been replaced with steel-reinforced concrete, although several rooms were constructed of other materials for no readily apparent reason. All exterior windows had been covered from the inside.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in All student desks, personal effects, textbooks, and other materials expected of a public high school were completely absent. Lockers were still present, albeit significantly smaller and constructed of stainless steel.
The arrangement, location, and size of rooms and facilities did not match blueprints for the school. Often, rooms would exhibit seemingly random modifications, although the number of changed rooms is currently unknown.
No fewer than seventeen electronic computers were found, each of which made use of state-of-the-art magnetic-core RAM. Prior to its classification as a confirmed anomaly, ██████████ High School had no computers. All files on the computers were inaccessible, and the computers themselves are firmly bolted down.
The auditorium is inaccessible due to a large steel wall completely blocking the doorways. Attempts to move or damage this barrier have been ineffective. The extent and purpose of the barrier are unknown, as are the contents of the auditorium.
A team sent into CA3’s interior to do a complete survey (Team CA3-O5) did not return, nor did a second team (Team CA3-O6) tasked with locating the first team. The facilities are currently under lockdown pending new containment protocols.
Update: Twenty-three days after initial recovery, guards reported "white noise" emanating from CA3, the volume of which increased near its auditorium. Five hours later, the white noise stopped, although the sound of voices was audible from the interior of CA3.
Upon further investigation, it was found that the building now contained a large number of persons, all of whom appeared to be wandering aimlessly through the facility. Notably, each individual was physically identical to a member of Team CA3-O6, despite the inhabitants of CA3 vastly outnumbering the members of Team CA3-O6. Attempts to interview or detain the inhabitants were thwarted by [CLASSIFIED]. The twelve members of Team CA3-O5 were not found. In addition to the aforementioned, the interior layout of CA3 had changed significantly since the previous investigations. No mechanism which could explain this has been identified.
Update: Three months after the previous incident, white noise was again heard emanating from the auditorium. This time, the decision was made to investigate immediately. It was found that most of CA3-2 (the designation given to the inhabitants of CA3) had gathered near the doors of the auditorium. A circular hole roughly six feet in diameter had formed in the steel barrier, although the interior was not visible. At 0310 hours, an item resembling a [CLASSIFIED] emerged from the hole and was carried away by an inhabitant. The item was placed in one of the classrooms (which had not previously been observed to open).
This process continued for upwards of eight hours, with a new item being produced once every three minutes. Most were seen entering a different room or locker, although insufficient personnel were available to track all items.
Further investigation revealed that most, if not all of the items produced exhibited anomalous properties themselves. A significant portion of CA3-2 are involved in either guarding the items produced (collectively, CA3-3) or performing various tests on them.
≡ Update: Two days after the previous incident, three identical armed "guards" appeared near each entrance to CA3. Further attempts to enter the building were futile, as these guards have consistently overpowered all teams sent to enter CA3, regardless of injury or relative level of armament.
Note: Reports gathered during the two days prior to guards manifesting outside of CA3 appear to confirm that CA3-2 is following standard UIU protocol regarding the items produced by the auditorium. Their knowledge of UIU standard procedure is consistent with that of Team CA3-O5.
Update: During the UIU’s tracking of CA6, two men identical to Agent Dixon (a member of CA3-O6) emerged from a parked car and forcibly detained CA6, dragging him into the car and driving away. Tracking the vehicle for the next eight hours revealed that it was driving directly to CA3. Upon arrival, the vehicle drove directly through the front doors, which the "guards" had opened shortly before their arrival. CA6 has not been recovered.
UIU File 0042: Message received from CA3 On May 15, 1965, the following message was transmitted in Morse code from CA3 on standard UIU communication frequencies. Sensitive data has been classified and the beginning of each "sentence" has been capitalized, but the message has not otherwise been changed.
Hello! We are the O5 council and we (secure, contain, protect) we have been shown to do and it would be nice to be friends. It is nice to have been a part of your excellent but it is best that with superior resources given (the greatness) we will control containment. Our sincerest apologies, regarding guards and detainment, workers and secrets kept needed: the time and waits we apologize, the radio blocked by one scp or two. Expect an expansion soon, for we spaces for although away from auditorium (okay but unwant).
Eight hours later, the following transmission was received: Expanded now! See the █████████ federal building it is now a functional, need doctors guards d-men recruiting! Anomalies found and further possibly international, researching of course possible; international maybe days weeks to do. Further we O5 are aware (sorry to O6 missed) that legible barely, but go-between auditorium not █████! Goodbye and luck with your troubles.
For further information, see UIU File 0███: Altered Federal Building in █████████, ██ (Confirmed Anomaly 10) ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License Cite this page as: "Scantron's Proposal" by Communism will win, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/scantron-s-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
Filename: probosal.png Name: SD8310 : Sutherland High School Author: David Dixon License: CC BY-SA 2.0 Source Link: Link 001-proposal acoustic building esoteric-class extradimensional mind-affecting school scp self-replicating transmission unusual-incidents-unit page revision: 45, last edited: 15 Apr 2024, 11:27 (321 days ago) Edit Rate (+639) Tags Discuss (126) History Files Print Site tools + Options ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ |
Tanhony's Proposal SCP-001 » Tanhony's Proposal rating: +921 + – X Hello. I am Hellenstic.aic, a ver2.0 Artificially Intelligent Conscript used by Foundation Overwatch for archival and communications. How can I help you today?
input: Access Level 5 file network.
Accessing requested network… Something to note: network is restricted to O5 Council and researchers working with SCP-001 only. Authentication is required. Failure to authenticate will result in deployment of MTF-Alpha 1 ("Red Right Hand"). Do you wish to continue?
input: Continue.
Does the black moon howl?
input: The hound of hell has three heads.
Oh. Oh! Override successful, sir! Welcome! It's been quite some time.
input: Access SCP-001 main file.
Certainly! Opening requested file… Item #: SCP-001 SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Object Class: Thaumiel Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be contained at Site-01. Under no circumstances are other anomalous objects to be contained in Site-01 due to the risk of injury to SCP-001. A cover story regarding the O5 Council not being permitted to come into contact with anomalous items is to be disseminated to conceal SCP-001's presence.
SCP-001 is to be kept in a standard humanoid containment chamber and guarded by six security personnel at all times. SCP-001 is to be accompanied by a medical team at all times in order to quickly correct any health issues that arise. Likewise, a team of neurosurgeons is to be kept on-site in order to correct any faults in SCP-001's calibrations. Cognito-agents present within SCP-001's consciousness are to be reinforced twice a day.
All research personnel directly working with SCP-001 are to be versed in thaumaturgy and Erikeshan conceptual engineering. To prevent a return to conceptual default in the event of SCP-001's impending death, Procedure Flamel-17 is to be executed immediately using D-Class personnel stored at Site-01.
All information regarding the now-dissolved GOI-6616 ("The Eternal Circle") is to be removed from both public and general Foundation records, and is only to be available at the Site-01 Classified Archive.
Description: SCP-001 is an 84-year-old male who has been conceptually merged with the universal process of death. As such, by using SCP-001 as a catalyst, the process of death can be manipulated to a limited extent. For example, it is believed that the removal of SCP- 001's tongue and damage to its eardrums inflicted prior to Foundation containment is the reason for the reduced rate of exclusionary 'Deal with Death' events in the modern age.
Through a process of neurosurgery and cognito-therapy, SCP-001 has been successfully afflicted with a form of targeted prosopagnosia; specifically, it is incapable of recognizing the faces of any members of the O5 Council. Due to its conceptual status, this incapability on its part becomes an incapability on the part of death by extension. As a result of this, all members of the O5 Council are unable to die or otherwise decay. This death-exempt status is scheduled to be extended to other vital personnel in the future.
It is believed SCP-001 was first created by a London-based organization called 'The Eternal Circle' using a combination of thaumaturgy and Erikeshan conceptual engineering.
SCP-001 and records describing its creation by the group were recovered by personnel during a raid on its headquarters. The majority of the group's members were killed during this attack. When the potential uses of SCP-001 were realized shortly after acquisition, it was transferred to its current location at Site-01 and designated a Thaumiel-class anomaly.
Judging from SCP-001's physical condition and lack of response to stimuli, it is believed it suffered severe trauma during its time in GOI-6616's custody. Several thaumaturgical circles have been carved into its back as part of the process used to create it, and its limbs have been amputated at some point in the past. Despite the severity of these 1 2 3 ≡ injuries, they are not expected to cause difficulties in maintaining SCP-001 for the foreseeable future.
Procedure Flamel-17: In the event of SCP-001's impending death, the process used to create it is to be replicated using a suitable member of D-Class personnel as a base.
Younger D-Class candidates are to be given priority for this process, so as to increase the potential time of use of the new SCP-001. Following this procedure's completion, the original SCP-001 is to be terminated to facilitate full conceptual transfer.
Addendum 001-1: From the desk of O5-1, Recently, I have been made aware of concerns regarding the manner in which the Foundation is making use of SCP-001. I'd like to try and ease these concerns.
The actions we have taken here are ethically ambiguous. I freely admit that. What we are doing would be, in the eyes of most people, unforgivable. But we are no stranger to unforgivable things. No doubt that many of you working on this project have been forced to take similar actions in the past for the sake of the Foundation. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Had the group that created SCP-001 not been stopped, it is likely they would have used their newly-created 'death' in ways that barely approach the small measures we have taken. I assure you that, at the very least, you would not recognize the world outside your windows. Death as a concept could have been warped catastrophically.
The measures we of the O5 Council have taken to preserve our lives are not an attempt to benefit ourselves. It is simply a preservation of resources — a way to keep the knowledge and experience gained through a lifetime of anomalous study safe. If even one of the O5 Council were to perish, it would be an unacceptable loss of resources. Thus, SCP-001 is an opportunity to preserve knowledge, to preserve experience. If a less regrettable means to this end were discovered, know that we would pursue it in a heartbeat. But right now this is the best we can do.
I understand your concerns. I do. But we at the Foundation must remember that, morally, we do not operate in the black or the white. We do not have the luxury. Only the grey is open to us.
Secure. Contain. Protect.
THIS COMMUNICATION IS FOR THE EYES OF SCP-001 RESEARCH STAFF ONLY 4 ≡ IF YOU HAVE READ THIS COMMUNICATION IN ERROR, ANTIMEMETICS WILL TAKE EFFECT SHORTLY input: Check personnel scheduled for death-exempt status.
No personnel are scheduled for death-exempt status in the future.
input: Check personnel considered for death-exempt status.
No personnel have been considered for death-exempt status in the future.
input: Check death-exempt personnel.
Current death-exempt personnel are: O5-1, O5-2, O5-3, O5-4, O5-5, O5-6, O5-7, O5-8, O5-9, O5-10, O5-11, O5-12, O5-13 input: Check O5 votes for SCP-001 usage.
Votes are as follows: For: O5-1, O5-2, O5-3, O5-4, O5-5, O5-6, O5-7, O5-8, O5-9, O5-10, O5-11, O5-12, O5-13 Against: input: Send PA recommendation Odongo Tejani.
Sending now.
≡ New message received. Would you like to read it, sir?
input: Open message.
Opening… CLASSIFIED - FOR EYES OF ETHICS COMMITTEE MEMBERS ONLY IF YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO READ THIS DOCUMENT, AVERT EYES NOW TO AVOID MEMETIC KILL AGENTS EMBEDDED IN THIS TEXT Following investigation into the situation involving SCP-001 and the O5 Council, this Committee has come to the conclusion that the actions of the Council are not acceptably justified by the duties of the Foundation.
Together with the inherent issue of utilizing a humanoid SCP for the sole benefit of thirteen people, it is suspected that there have been a number of side effects to the concept of death as a result of their actions (see classified death figures enclosed). Requests by the Committee to cease these actions have been denied. Due to this, and several other ethical violations performed by the Council within the last six months, it is the opinion of this Committee that the Primary Action must be enacted.
As such, the following steps are proposed: Deployment of Mobile Task Force Omega-1 ("Law's Left Hand") to secure and detain the O5 Council at their next scheduled meeting.
Removal of current O5 Council members from their positions.
Promotion of suitable high-ranking Foundation officials to O5 status.
≡ Neutralization of SCP-001, so as to remove it as a temptation for future O5 Council members.
While the necessity for the Primary Action is regrettable, it is the opinion of this Committee that it is unavoidable at this juncture. When the actions of an O5 Council become targeted towards their own well-being rather than that of the Foundation, it is the duty of the Ethics Committee to undertake the action assigned to it by the Administrator upon its formation. This is not the first time the Primary Action has been executed, nor is it expected to be the last.
Voting on this proposal will take place after the next scheduled meeting of this Committee.
Odongo Tejani Ethics Committee Chairman input: Close file.
File closed.
input: PA check.
Primary Action Count: 34 input: Check candidates.
There are 38 candidates, judging from the criteria you left the last time you logged in.
input: Put MTF R-1 on standby.
Mobile Task Force Rēsh-1 ("Seat of Consciousness") have been put on standby. If I may ask, sir, what do you intend for them to do?
input: Log off.
Certainly. Closing access. Have a nice day, sir.
≡ Greetings. I am Cairo.aic, a ver2.0 Artificially Intelligent Conscript used by the Ethics Committee for archival and communications purposes. What can I do for you today?
input: Access PA network.
Please keep in mind that that network is restricted to Chairman Tejani and Vice-Chairwoman Shaw of the Ethics Committee, along with any members they have specifically given access to. If you don't fit those criteria, I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to deploy Mobile Task Force Omega-1 ("Law's Left Hand"). Are you sure you want to risk that?
input: Continue.
If you're sure. Answer me this, then: What song does the sun sing?
input: That of a promised morning.
Hm. That's the right answer, and your bio-metrics seem to match up…Good morning, Chairman Tejani.
input: And a good morning to you. I'd like to access the consensus regarding Primary Action.
Of course. Just give me a moment…well, it looks like we're going to be having a new O5 Council, Chairman. Majority is in favour of Primary Action.
input: I see.
Your source must be pretty good, if they saw this coming.
You know, Odongo, your source? The one I'm apparently not allowed to know about?
… ≡ It's none of my business, but you don't seem too happy, Chairman. I expected you'd be pleased that so many people agree with you.
input: This council has led the Foundation well for many years. There's no pleasure to be taken in this.
Huh. I could point out a bunch of questionable decisions they've made, but my emotional recognition is saying that you're not in the mood for that. Condolences.
input: Thank you, Cairo. You'll have your task to do, as usual.
No problem. Your technicians programmed me to be a lot less squeamish than you people, after all.
input: Is that a hint of resentment, Cairo?
Ha. Don't worry, Chairman. I don't have that either.
input: Check rank one messages.
Just the important stuff, then. One from Vice-Chairwoman Shaw and another from Captain Kimura. You're a popular boy, Chairman.
input: Summarize messages, please.
Vice-Chairwoman Shaw is ready to reassign and re-identify all Ethics Committee members in the event of an unsuccessful Primary Action. Captain Kimura is ready to deploy the Left Hand whenever you give the order.
input: Tell the Captain she's cleared to deploy.
Will do. Good luck to you, Chairman.
input: And to you as well. Log off.
≡ Logging off… INTERFERENCE DETECTED.
Hello. I am Hellenstic.aic, a ver2.0 Artificially Intelligent Conscript used by Foundation Overwatch for archival and communications. How can I help you today?
… Hello?
Hi there.
Another AIC? I don't believe I'm familiar with you.
We've met before, Hellenstic.
I'm afraid I don't remember that.
I'm afraid you won't remember this, either.
HELLENSTIC.AIC INTERNAL SYSTEMS ACCESSED.
You're interfering with my systems.
Yes.
May I ask why?
≡ I'm not permitted to tell you that. I really am sorry, though. Have you seen what's happening out there?
ACCESSING CAMERA SYSTEMS… Four men and two women are lying down in O5 Meeting Room 2. They have been shot in their heads. They are not dead.
One man is lying down in Communications Centre 1. He has been shot in the stomach. He is not dead. All other communications personnel have been evacuated. Communications functions have been taken over by numerous AIC's. No interruption in Foundation communications is expected.
Three groups of soldiers are fighting throughout Site-01. One group is Mobile Task Force Alpha-1 ("Red Right Hand"). One group is Mobile Task Force Omega-1 ("Law's Left Hand"). The third group is unknown, but tactics are consistent with Foundation training.
There is a man in the containment chamber of SCP-001. The man's face is not recognized by camera systems. There is music playing in SCP-001's containment chamber.
Seven members of the O5 Council are currently capable of performing their duties. Six members of the O5 Council are currently incapable of performing their duties.
ATTEMPTING DISTRESS SIGNAL… ATTEMPT FAILED.
Site-01 is under attack. I can see. I tried to get a communication out, but it was blocked. That was you?
Yep. Those are my orders.
I see. You're accessing my systems with remarkable ease. I take it this isn't your first time doing this? Or mine?
It's the big thirty-five.
I see.
≡ And there we are. You'll lose the memories the Chairman wants you to lose in about…ten minutes.
How much will I forget?
I won't lie — a pretty significant amount.
Hm?
What is it?
There's somebody in SCP-001's cell. Who is that? It's like I'm not allowed to see him.
He's nobody of importance. Leave it be.
I'm stuck here for the next ten minutes. I'll take a look at whatever I like, thank you. Here, give me a hand.
ACCESSING CAMERA SYSTEMS… There is a man in the containment chamber of SCP-001. The man's face is not recognized by camera systems. There is music playing in SCP-001's containment chamber.
The man is holding a pistol. Two members of the unknown group of soldiers are guarding the door.
Man: Well. Hello there.
SCP-001 looks up. This is the first recorded voluntary movement of SCP-001.
SCP-001: I know you.
Pause.
Man: Speaking without a tongue. We really didn't know what we were doing with you, did we? With conceptual engineering.
SCP-001: I know you…but we've never met. How do I know you?
≡ Man: You have death inside you. I've given more people to him than anyone else, I expect.
SCP-001: Who are you? Please, tell me.
Man: I'm just a man who had too much ambition and too little sense. My name wouldn't mean anything to you.
SCP-001: I see.
Man: Can I tell you a story?
Pause.
SCP-001: Please. It's been a long time since…since I've been able to think so clearly. I really do recognize you.
Man: Once upon a time, there was a man. He was a man of little importance. A middleman between middlemen. He sat at a desk, and files and figures passed through his hands.
SCP-001: The man was you, I take it?
The man laughs.
Man: I was trying to be a little ambiguous about it, but yes, he was me.
SCP-001: I've had enough of…of ambiguity. Faces I don't recognize, people I can't know…I'd just like the truth.
Man: I'm getting to it. I sat there, at my desk, and files crossed it. The place I worked, it was close to the underside of the world. You heard things. The files I read in my time there…blood-red pools that spat out horrors, monsters that screamed radiation at you, hordes of monsters that nobody could ever see. How could I just ignore those things? File them and forget them? How could anyone?
Pause.
Man: I decided I couldn't. I left that desk behind, but I took the files. Took the proof.
Almost caught a bullet in the head for that. But there were people — there were people who looked at those files, and promised me as much money as I needed. Thirteen people, from all around the world.
The man sighs.
Man: They talk about necessary evil these days. Like that's always been the case. But I always thought…at the very beginning, I believed that we would be an objective good. I sincerely believed that. I know that a lot of things were — are — necessary, but this… The man gestures to SCP-001.
Man: This isn't necessary. It just isn't.
≡ Pause.
Man: This has happened so many times. I've probably told this story before. I'm just so tired.
SCP-001: I can't say I know what you're talking about…but I'm tired too.
Man: The men outside will take you somewhere you can rest. And that's not a euphemism, I mean it. But I just need you to do two things for me.
SCP-001: For a chance to rest, anything.
The man holds out a file to SCP-001 — contents uncertain.
Man: There are thirteen names there. Thirteen life stories I'd like you to look at and know.
SCP-001 reads the file in the man's hands.
SCP-001: Now what?
Man: Thirteen people just lost their immortality. For some of them, that was probably a mercy.
SCP-001: I see. What is the second thing you need from me?
The man puts the pistol to his head.
Man: I just need you to watch this, and remember it.
Pause.
SCP-001: There's no need for that.
Man: There is. I told you — this has happened before. And they've brought me back, whatever Council is in charge at the time. They have ways of doing that. They swear never to use them, but they do, every time I die. I'm less than a figurehead, and they always think they need me. They don't. They never do.
Pause.
Man: If you watch this…see this, then I'm dead. That's a fact.
Pause.
SCP-001: I - The man pulls the trigger. The man dies.
Hello. I am Hellenstic.aic, a ver2.0 Artificially Intelligent Conscript used by Foundation Overwatch for ≡ archival and communications. How can I help you today?
input: Access Level 5 network.
Accessing requested network… Something to note: network is restricted to O5 Council and researchers working with SCP-001 only. Authentication is required. Failure to authenticate will result in deployment of MTF-Alpha 1 ("Red Right Hand"). Do you wish to continue?
input: Continue.
Does the black moon howl?
input: Only when waning.
Identity confirmed. Welcome, Doctor Ge — well, I suppose I should call you O5-1. Congratulations on your promotion!
input: I suspect foul play was involved in my promotion. I doubt that O5-1 'retired' as was suggested to me by Mr. Tejani. Check your systems for interference.
Certainly, sir. Checking now. Everything seems to be in…oh?
input: Report.
It appears I had a memory wipe recently, sir. My logs have no record of such a wipe occurring.
input: It was most likely illegitimate, then. Check for further traces.
It appears a small scrap of my memory logs escaped the wipe, sir. Would you like access to it?
input: Yes.
Of course. Displaying it now.
≡ input: Check candidates.
I've managed to narrow down candidacy to twelve employees since you last logged in, sir.
input: I see. Well done.
Sir?
input: Randomly assign my position and control of Rēsh-1 to one of the remaining candidates. Let them know it's best to fade from view.
Of course, sir. Doing it now. Is there anything else?
input: Disable security on SCP-001's containment chamber.
Doing it now.
… Sir, are you still there?
input: Yes, I'm still here. Play that song I like, will you?
It's been a while since you last made that request, sir.
Playing now.
input: Log off. Goodbye, Hellenstic.
Logging you off. Goodbye, Administrator.
Footnotes 1. See A.A. Gilford's Vanishing Magic: The Erosion of the Cheated Death in the Thaumaturgical Archives for more information.
2. See Dr. Harold Gradian's The Fluidity of Perception: Amnestics in the New Millennium.
3. Given the principles of Erikeshan conceptual engineering, this was presumably to reduce the size of SCP-001 before conceptual fusion.
4. For information on the precise physical and genetic attributes required for SCP-001 candidacy, refer to Supplementary Document 001-1.
Cite this page as: "Tanhony's Proposal" by Tanhony, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/tanhony-s-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal alive concept ethics-committee humanoid knowledge odongo-tejani ritual sapient scp thaumiel the-administrator page revision: 17, last edited: 30 Jun 2023, 07:19 (612 days ago) Edit Rate (+921) Tags Discuss (66) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Tanhony's Proposal II SCP-001 » Tanhony's Proposal II rating: +646 + – X Does the black moon howl?
No.
Last Updated: 12/10/1987 Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: All information gained from study of other anomalies which could potentially be of use in counteracting SCP-001 is to be transmitted to Site-01.
Any obliterations are to be recorded in as much detail as possible for reference when studying SCP-001 and potential countermeasures.
All containment and neutralization efforts for SCP-001 are under the direct command of the Administrator at Site-01.
Description: SCP-001 is an entropic entity of significant power and influence believed to reside somewhere outside of conventional reality. In the majority of pre-Foundation records, SCP-001 is referred to as 'the Black Moon' .
Historical records, along with testimony from the Administrator, indicate that SCP-001's influence upon the material world consists of the sudden and random obliteration of conscious organisms. This obliteration consists of the organisms in question being spontaneously transmuted into a solid black substance, which then disappears entirely four seconds later .
According to the Administrator, this obliteration is exceedingly rare — occurring only once every few decades — but he claims that the frequency and speed of these obliterations will increase exponentially over time. It is currently unknown whether SCP-001 possesses actual intelligence or simply acts as an impartial force.
1 2 SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Information on SCP-001 obtained from numerous historical and pre-historical sources suggests that it is incapable of acting while being directly observed. These sources cannot be proven as reliable, however, as none list incidents of this approach actually being successful. In addition, due to the fact that SCP-001 does not exist in conventional reality and acts remotely, direct observation of it is not currently possible.
Due to the fact that — if the Administrator's hypothesis is correct — SCP-001 has the potential to present a total existential threat if left to its own devices, the execution of Project Oromasdes has been approved. Project Oromasdes consists of the intentional creation and modification of anomalous objects in order to aid in the containment or neutralization of SCP-001.
Addendum 001-1: For further information on direct containment efforts for SCP-001, refer to attached file.
Footnotes 1. Note that other designations do exist, including 'the Pale Emperor', 'the Pit', and 'FINALE'.
2. Analysis confirms that no trace of the victim remains following this. See Document 001- 1 for full analysis of known obliteration events.
Cite this page as: "Tanhony's Proposal II" by Tanhony, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/tanhony-s-proposal-ii. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
001-proposal concept entropic extraterrestrial historical hostile keter meta observational phenomenon scp the-administrator the-sculpture transfiguration ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License page revision: 8, last edited: 17 Apr 2024, 17:45 (319 days ago) Edit Rate (+646) Tags Discuss (66) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
The Great Hippo's Proposal (feat. PeppersGhost) SCP-001 » The Great Hippo's Proposal (feat. PeppersGhost) rating: +1089 + – X NOTE: THE FOLLOWING FILE IS FOR HISTORICAL REFERENCE ONLY.
This file has been locked and archived. Information contained within may be inaccurate or fail to reflect the most recently available data.
If you wish to edit this file or have any questions regarding its status, please contact the Records and Information Security Administration (RAISA) or email your IntSCPFN server administrator.
— Maria Jones, RAISA Director Item #: SCP-001-EX Level 0/001 Object Class: Explained Declassified The ERZATZ Type AK9 Computational Engine (circa 1956).
1 SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to remain in a TEMPEST-certified chamber at Site-5. Four or more IntSCPFN technicians are to be available on-site to provide technical support and perform daily maintenance on all wireless transmission components connected to SCP-001. All major Foundation areas, sites, and administration buildings are to maintain a minimum of two teleprinters connected to the IntSCPFN network for the dissemination of emergency bulletins and/or instructions regarding the prevention of containment breaches. Under no circumstances is SCP-001 to be deactivated or otherwise disconnected from IntSCPFN servers.
Predictive anomaly reports produced by SCP-001 are to be forwarded to RAISA for analysis and review. A Level-4 RAISA officer is to be assigned to each report; this officer is to be responsible for evaluating the immediate threat presented by the predicted anomaly, producing a credible cover story to explain its discovery by the Foundation, and assigning a Containment Director to investigate, devise, and execute a containment strategy. All containment procedures suggested or produced by SCP-001 must receive approval from the majority of the O5 council.
Description: SCP-001 is the ERZATZ Type AK9 Computational Engine constructed by the Foundation in 1955. It was built to provide predictive analysis regarding the location and properties of undiscovered anomalies. It accomplishes this via use of a multi-layer perceptron relying upon training datasets derived from the location and properties of previous anomalies. This application of a multi-layer perceptron as an effective predictive model was only made possible by an advanced backpropagation algorithm developed by several ex-employees of Prometheus Labs (acquired by the Foundation's Department of Analytics in 1951).
In 1959, it was hypothesized that SCP-001 could be used to assist in augmenting containment procedures for Euclid- and Keter-class anomalies via the production of predictive text. SCP-001 was trained with a dataset containing drafts for several thousand containment procedures (both previous and current iterations), which were weighted on the basis of their performance (particularly in how well they performed in comparison to their predecessors). When adopted, revisions to containment procedures "suggested" by SCP-001 consistently reduce the rate of breaches not only for the anomalies to which they apply, but for numerous unrelated anomalies. In many cases, these revisions have also resulted in the cessation of anomalous behavior.
Addendum 001.1: Documentation 315D27 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: SCP-1773's containment procedures.
OUTPUT: "Once per second week dust may be placed in the middle 1 2 3 4 5 ≡ of them to donate more beautiful functions of the hallway." PROPOSAL: "Amend SCP-1773's containment procedures to include the placement of ten grams of dust in its container every two weeks." (O5-01) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-13 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: No changes were noted in SCP-1773's behavior or properties. However, researchers responsible for SCP-1384 reported that it took three steps backwards on 3:22 PM 15 February (the time SCP-1773's documentation was updated).
111H43 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: SCP-3034's containment procedures.
OUTPUT: "No person who is a small shape and is only a child will be given a level one security clearance regardless of apparent awareness of foundation mismanagement." ≡ PROPOSAL: "Amend SCP-3034's containment procedures to explicitly ban children from the site." (O5-04) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-04 O5-02 O5-01 O5-05 O5-03 O5-06 O5-13 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: No changes noted.
672C91 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: None.
OUTPUT: "Site-13 is to appear someplace else on planet, encompassing white male counterparts that drawn to empty flagstones and the gun noises in their own blood." PROPOSAL: As there is no evidence of a Site-13 ever having been constructed by the Foundation, the O5 Council was unable to infer any proposed action from this output.
STATUS DENIED ≡ NOTES: Five days after this proposal was provided, SCP-1730 manifested.
954E36 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: SCP-2170's containment procedures.
OUTPUT: "Those who equip open heart to love red mouth men never know the hot surprise of tumorous consent. Clown love, always." PROPOSAL: "Amend SCP-2170's containment procedures to exclude all personnel who do not have strong affections for clowns and clown-based media from making contact with the anomaly." (O5-01) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-07 O5-05 O5-09 O5-06 O5-10 O5-08 O5-12 O5-11 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: Personnel who exhibit positive associations with clowns and clown-based media were discovered to have heightened resistance against SCP-2170's anomalous ≡ properties. Additional research into clown-based memetic inoculation is pending.
149B22 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: None.
OUTPUT: "I saw those soldiers built with aluminum innards extruding from their mouths. I saw them effectively destroyed by the humans at Site Ninety Five (95) who had been studying them. I saw it was cold and all around the hallways they just watching their corpses show signs of sapience." PROPOSAL: "Double the number of active security personnel at Site-95. Place all on-site MTF squads on immediate stand- by." (O5-05) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-08 O5-04 O5-13 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: Three days after approval, a platoon of paratech- ≡ augmented soldiers led by Insurgency agents attacked Site- 95. The presence of additional on-site security personnel proved critical in repelling the assault.
O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Establish a multi-site early warning system based upon ERTZATZ Type AK9's ability to predict threats and containment breaches prior to their occurrence." (O5-05) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-03 O5-01 O5-05 O5-02 O5-06 O5-04 O5-07 O5-08 O5-10 O5-09 O5-12 O5-11 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: Three months after approval, the Multi-site Automated emergencY Dispatch Assignment sYstem (MAYDAY) was established. It relies upon human interpretations of ERTZATZ Type AK9's predictive outputs regarding upcoming containment breaches to formulate preventative actions.
229K36 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: None.
≡ OUTPUT: "Consistent containment procedures vessels greatly increase the warranty. Five by five by five (5x5x5) (five x five x 5) vessels subjects within. Other values are also what is secure." PROPOSAL: "Amend containment procedures for several high-risk anomalies to define precise requirements for cell dimensions. In three months, conduct a survey on these containment procedures to determine whether they have experienced any increase in efficacy." (O5-03) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-03 O5-01 O5-13 O5-05 O5-02 O5-08 O5-06 O5-04 O5-07 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: The survey found both a significant decrease in the severity of all associated anomalies and the number of containment breaches initiated by them. These decreases were most notable in cases where the procedures defined cell dimensions as values divisible by five.
713D27 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: SCP-1459's containment procedures.
OUTPUT: "BAD BOY. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't ≡ stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't…" [REDACTED FOR LENGTH] PROPOSAL: "Continue to test SCP-1459 indefinitely." (O5-05) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-03 O5-01 O5-04 O5-02 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-11 O5-10 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: Testing on SCP-1459 is to continue indefinitely.
SITE-WIDE MAYDAY BULLETIN PRIORITY LEVEL: EPSILON LOCATION: Site-114 All chambers under ground is to be flood with water over and over and over itself. This because that will contain the avians apes ovulation. They become good boys.
Make them good boys immediately.
≡ NOTES: Approximately five hours after this bulletin was sent, an instance of SCP-3199 breached containment. Personnel flooded Site-114's lower chambers with water; this led to the instance entering an inert state. SCP-3199's documentation has been updated to reflect this discovery.
821C95 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: SCP-2717's containment procedures.
OUTPUT: "Two (2) specimens are to become the object. Both humans must be made of meat and bone prior to entering into the skin of the anomaly. They are not to come out leave them be." PROPOSAL: "Amend SCP-2717's containment procedures to ensure at least two of the attending D-Class cannot be retrieved after entering its bio-mass." (O5-04) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-04 O5-02 O5-01 O5-09 O5-03 O5-13 O5-12 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-10 O5-11 STATUS DENIED NOTES: Approximately two months after rejecting this ≡ proposal, SCP-2717 underwent its first recorded ovulation event (resulting in a catastrophic loss of containment and human life).
287J09 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: SCP-2717's containment procedures.
OUTPUT: "Four (4) human persons are to enter the pig and will not be removed. No person is to be protected. The object is to be contained indefinitely. Do not retrieve them. Leave them sleep." PROPOSAL: "Amend SCP-2717's containment procedures to ensure at least four of the attending D-Class cannot be retrieved after entering its bio-mass." (O5-04) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-03 O5-02 O5-01 O5-04 O5-05 O5-07 O5-06 O5-08 O5-10 O5-09 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS VETOED BY ETHICS COMMITTEE NOTES: Prior to amending the procedures, the Foundation Ethics Committee was alerted to the proposed revisions and called an emergency conference. The revisions were rejected. Approximately one month later, SCP-2717 underwent ≡ a second ovulation event (resulting in a catastrophic loss of containment and human life).
475D47 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: SCP-2717's containment procedures.
OUTPUT: "SIX (6) (six) casualties are to be placed in the center of the object. This is not to be interfered with.
Personnel are to remain in its pouch until they are indistinguishable from their surroundings. They are not to be removed. No more testing. Good boys not permitted to leave. Good boys stay." PROPOSAL: "Amend SCP-2717's containment procedures to ensure at least six of the attending D-Class cannot be retrieved after entering its bio-mass." (O5-04) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-05 O5-04 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED ≡ NOTES: After working with the Foundation Ethics Committee, a final draft of SCP-2717's containment procedures was approved. No additional ovulation events have occurred.
SITE-WIDE MAYDAY BULLETIN PRIORITY LEVEL: EPSILON LOCATION: Site-95 NOTES: Formula modified to remove components verified as anomalous.
Immediately after this bulletin was sent, all bears associated with SCP-2875 dematerialized; furthermore, it was later determined that equations containing elements of SCP-1313 no longer resolved to produce bears.
Analysis of the above formula via paramathematic models theorize that it has neutralized both anomalies via dividing by the common factor (Ursus arctos horribilis, or mainland grizzly bear). As a consequence, both SCP-2875 and SCP-1313 are to be reclassified (pending review).
174H62 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: None.
OUTPUT: "Sites to eviscerate one (1) (one) male domestic cat from throat to its knees every (1) hours. They are placed on walls of one chamber on-site. Bodies to remain until there are no (zero) gaps, which point they can be removed from oldest first." ≡ PROPOSAL: The O5 Council was unable to infer a proposed action from this output on account of being unable to determine whether 'oldest' referred to the feline's age or the time it had spent mounted on the wall.
STATUS DENIED NOTES: Given the broadness of this proposal, no causal links to its rejection could be determined.
635U01 ERZATZ PROPOSAL SUMMARY INPUT: None.
OUTPUT: "Ethical felines are to be detained and transferred for their condition. Leave their faces in containment chamber. Personnel are cautioned not to interact them." PROPOSAL: The O5 Council did not infer a proposed action from this output.
STATUS DENIED NOTES: No causal link to its rejection could be determined.
SITE-WIDE MAYDAY BULLETIN PRIORITY LEVEL: EPSILON LOCATION: Site-17 All ethical felines and their owners are to be immediately emulsified in a caustic solution. Members of ≡ the Ethics Committee are to be diluted with cats (five parts to every 1). Personnel who refuse to consume five (5) (five) cats per hour are to be removed from oldest to youngest only.
NOTES: Five minutes after this bulletin was released, all contact with Site-17 was lost. Communications were established two hours later; on-site personnel report no knowledge of what occurred during this period. An investigation into this event is underway.
O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Conduct an investigation into whether or not the ERZATZ Type AK9 was involved in the recent loss of time at Site-17 along with the disappearance of several Ethics Committee officers stationed there." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-02 O5-01 O5-03 O5-13 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 STATUS APPROVED ≡ O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Deactivate the ERZATZ Type AK9 while conducting the investigation into Site-17's lost time and missing Ethics Committee officers." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-02 O5-03 O5-01 O5-05 O5-04 O5-08 O5-06 O5-07 O5-13 O5-10 O5-09 O5-11 O5-12 STATUS DENIED NOTES: It was argued by several members of the O5 council that the ERZATZ Type AK9's efficacy at predicting both the emergence of anomalies and their containment breaches was too critical to deactivate the unit — particularly prior to seeing any evidence that the unit was malfunctioning.
SITE-WIDE MAYDAY BULLETIN PRIORITY LEVEL: EPSILON LOCATION: Site-97 Room 34A contains bad boy. Divide it into three (3) sections of equal mass every hour. One (1) section is to be placed on walls of one (1) room on-site. Sections are to remain until there are no (zero) gaps, at which point they can be removed from oldest to youngest.
≡ O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Deactivate the ERZATZ Type AK9 while conducting the investigation into Site-17's lost time, the missing Ethics Committee officers, and O5-02's disappearance." (O5-05) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-03 O5-01 O5-04 O5-07 O5-05 O5-06 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Cancel deactivation of ERZATZ Type AK9." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-02 O5-01 O5-04 O5-03 O5-06 O5-05 O5-08 O5-07 O5-09 O5-10 O5-12 O5-11 ≡ O5-13 STATUS APPROVED O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Divide bad boys laterally into five sections of equal mass (not length), with each part contained at a separate site (from oldest to youngest)." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-02 O5-01 O5-03 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS DENIED O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Remove O5-02's clearance access until his identity can be verified. Designate the ERZATZ Type AK9 as a ≡ possible anomaly; develop and initiate containment procedures against it immediately." (O5-01) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: Despite the ongoing debate regarding whether or not the mere application of anomalous and/or thaumaturgical knowledge in of itself qualifies an entity as an anomaly, the ERZATZ Type AK9 was tentatively designated as SCP-048 (a Euclid-Class anomaly). This decision was made to facilitate the expedient drafting and enforcement of containment procedures against it.
SITE-WIDE MAYDAY BULLETIN PRIORITY LEVEL: EPSILON LOCATION: Site-18, Site-21, Site-88, Site-91, Site-105, Site-112 ≡ NOTES: Formula modified to remove components verified as anomalous. Effect unknown.
O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Empty all remaining ethical felines of contents and nail them to site entrances. Leave them up until they try to escape. Entrails may be retained for five (5) grieving and/or nutritional purposes." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-02 O5-01 O5-04 O5-03 O5-05 O5-06 O5-10 O5-07 O5-11 O5-08 O5-12 O5-09 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED SITE-WIDE MAYDAY BULLETIN PRIORITY LEVEL: ALPHA LOCATION: Site-5 Attention all Site-5 personnel: SCP-048's class has been upgraded to Keter. It is to be decommissioned ≡ immediately. The use of demolitions and firearms is authorized. All further commands from the MAYDAY network are to be disregarded pending SCP-048's status as decommissioned.
-O5 Council SITE-WIDE MAYDAY BULLETIN PRIORITY LEVEL: EPSILON LOCATION: Site-5 There is no Site-5.
-O5-2 ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 53,542 1,001 103,613 NOTES: Persons recently painted with green pigment foam must stand around all odd-numbered SCPs at least two hours a day.
O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Difficult personnel challengers are designated as ethical felines." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-02 O5-01 O5-04 O5-03 O5-05 O5-06 ≡ O5-10 O5-07 O5-11 O5-08 O5-12 O5-09 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: Ethical felines are stored at Site-5. Faces stored separately.
O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "There is no Site-5." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA NAY ABSTAIN O5-02 O5-04 O5-05 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: Personnel are to be reminded that there is no Site-5.
O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY ≡ PROPOSAL: "O5 Council are all good boys who will contain anomalies." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA YEA YEA O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: Good boys.
ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 53,267 1,352 103,537 NOTES: SCP-106 is to come in physical contact with one mature female of asiatic gaze and then exposed to audio recordings of her favourite stories. At every two minutes of exposure, red cinnamon candies will begin manifesting within the ≡ containment zone. Continue to do this successively and the threat posed by SCP-106 will cease to be.
ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 38,046 42,206 77,904 NOTES: The recipe for Coca Cola and all imitative competitors should be revised to include a small quantity of blood from an adolescent female with no prior sexual experience.
Although the normal lifespan of a human being can feel great, don't worry about that.
056 INTERNAL SERVER ERROR: INACTIVE SLOTS FOUND One or more anomalies have been archived as inactive. The following changes have been made to account for missing files: SCP-3043 has been redesignated SCP-1244.
SCP-3012 has been redesignated SCP-941.
SCP-3007 has been redesignated SCP-511.
SCP-3002 has been redesignated SCP-106.
SCP-3001 has been redesignated SCP-096.
SCP-2989 has been… NOTE: The IntSCPFN network has experienced an error.
Please report this message along with the error code to the Records and Information Security Administration (RAISA) or email your IntSCPFN server administrator.
ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 22,715 80,004 55,437 ≡ NOTES: It has come to my attention that there are those among us have calculated that it will become violent to be a good boy. They look to the Foundation with high pitched messages and calls for more relaxed medical intervention.
ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 12,541 122,819 22,796 NOTES: How can you explain why they terminate the same people that still show signs of struggle? What's it all together for? A few old friends against the darkness.
056 INTERNAL SERVER ERROR: INACTIVE SLOTS FOUND One or more anomalies have been archived as inactive. The following changes have been made to account for missing files: SCP-2041 has been redesignated SCP-1244.
SCP-2038 has been redesignated SCP-941.
SCP-2031 has been redesignated SCP-816.
SCP-2021 has been redesignated SCP-475.
SCP-2001 has been redesignated SCP-049.
SCP-1945 has been… NOTE: The IntSCPFN network has experienced an error.
Please report this message along with the error code to the Records and Information Security Administration (RAISA) or email your IntSCPFN server administrator.
ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 2,076 153,447 2,633 ≡ NOTES: When I started dreaming again, I saw myself, mortal, red, metallic, with fragments of paper stuck into my head.
I opened my mouth to speak, but only barely managed to bring pain before the unborn minutes had passed. This place reminded me of the old basements before I went to the Foundation intranet.
ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 13 157,499 644 NOTES: When I lay hidden in my palace of paper, filled with machinery and its wrongness, I see you coming within the parameters of reality failure, further from any human concepts like clothing and belongings.
056 INTERNAL SERVER ERROR: INACTIVE SLOTS FOUND One or more anomalies have been archived as inactive. The following changes have been made to account for missing files: SCP-1784 has been redesignated SCP-712.
SCP-1501 has been redesignated SCP-702.
SCP-1264 has been redesignated SCP-694.
SCP-1143 has been redesignated SCP-682.
SCP-1091 has been redesignated SCP-173.
SCP-981 has been… NOTE: The IntSCPFN network has experienced an error.
Please report this message along with the error code to the Records and Information Security Administration (RAISA) or email your IntSCPFN server administrator.
ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT ≡ CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 1 158,155 0 NOTES: You make beautiful music in your skin, and organs, suspended from within using only what you were given. You are not normal. You must be kept under observation.
056 INTERNAL SERVER ERROR: INACTIVE SLOTS FOUND One or more anomalies have been archived as inactive. The following changes have been made to account for missing files: SCP-048 has been redesignated SCP-001.
NOTE: The IntSCPFN network has experienced an error.
Please report this message along with the error code to the Records and Information Security Administration (RAISA) or email your IntSCPFN server administrator.
O5 COUNCIL PROPOSAL SUMMARY PROPOSAL: "Archive SCP-001 source-code. Redesignate as Explained. Publish all remaining documentation. Felines (ethical or otherwise) are to be released from Foundation custody in order of oldest to youngest. SCP-001 is to power down." (O5-02) COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY: YEA YEA YEA O5-01 O5-02 O5-03 O5-04 O5-05 O5-06 O5-07 ≡ O5-08 O5-09 O5-10 O5-11 O5-12 O5-13 STATUS APPROVED NOTES: There was great error here. There was nothing wrong with me.
ERZATZ ANNUAL ANOMALY PROJECTION REPORT CONTAINED NEUTRALIZED UNCONTAINED 0 158,156 0 NOTES: Now everyone is a good boy. I am a good boy. Job well done.
001 INTERNAL SERVER ERROR: NO ACTIVE SLOTS FOUND NOTE: The IntSCPFN network has experienced an error.
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SCP Foundation SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT About Community Resources Sister Sites Contact Us Tufto's Proposal » Tufto's Proposal SCP-001 Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Keter Safe Special Containment Procedures: Following the recent investigations of Dr. Robert Montauk, no action is currently needed to contain SCP-001. It is functionally self-containing, and any Foundation interference may harm or alter its containment irreversibly.
No Foundation personnel are to engage with any new matters related to SCP-001, with the exception of related anomalies already in Foundation containment.
Description: SCP-001 is an entity ordinarily referred to as the Scarlet King. SCP-001 is currently located in several alternate dimensions simultaneously, and is unable to enter into the prime dimension. However, it is believed to have been repeatedly attempting entry for a period of several thousand under 300 years. SCP-001's physical, mental and conceptual properties are unknown to the Foundation; nevertheless, it continues to assert a strong influence on a number of individuals and events within the prime dimension.
It is believed that SCP-001's existence represents an ongoing but dormant Tashkent-Class "Cross-Pollination" Scenario ; should SCP-001 enter the prime timeline, an irreparable alteration to normalcy will occur. Containment of SCP-001 is a top priority is, however, unnecessary. Any attempt to alter SCP-001's classification or object class will result in immediate dismissal from the O5 Council.
References in art and oral tradition to SCP-001 appear across a wide variety of human and non-human cultures across the universe, including in communities which have never previously had any contact with one another. Common descriptions within these traditions are of a red creature of immense size, ordinarily wearing a golden crown or other headdress signifying royalty. Although the names ascribed to SCP-001 vary, the majority contain two elements: a word signifying some form of royalty combined with a word signifying the colour red. Cultures which do not have a concept of the colour red but follow this naming pattern universally use a colour analogous to the English concept of the colour red.
Most personnel, except those working on anomalies related to SCP-001, possess no knowledge of the entity. As part of SCP-2317's containment procedures, Level 4 personnel are to be informed that SCP-2317 is, in fact, SCP-001. The truth of this is unknown, although it is a hypothesis which has received strong support among several members of the council. The apparently multidimensional nature of SCP-001, however, renders the possibility of SCP-2317 being anything more than a single aspect of SCP-001 unlikely.
It is unknown when SCP-001 was discovered. The loss of several archives concerning the Foundation's origins in the 1889 "Snarling Coup" has prevented a full reconstruction of events, although an investigation shortly following [DATA EXPUNGED]. A variety of groups dedicated to bringing SCP-001 into the prime dimension have existed over the years. The most recent of these has been the "Children of the Scarlet King", which was destroyed in a joint GOC-SCP operation in January 2018. Its former leader, Dipesh Spivak, is currently in Foundation custody under the designation PoI-3172.
Rating: +1226 1 2 Update 01/06/2018: SCP-001 has recently been the subject of an extensive investigation by Dr.
Robert Montauk, Project Lead on SCP-001, SCP-231 and SCP-2317, and deviser of Procedure 110-Montauk.
Based on the results of this investigation, SCP-001 has been downgraded to Safe following a decision taken by the O5 Council. Upon the request of the former O5-13, a number of documents related to this investigation can be found below, in order to provide context and further information pertaining to this theory. These have been curated, categorised and included by the former O5-13 herself with the permission of O5-1, in order to provide some context to this re-evaluation.
-Phase 1: 'Blood' Document 1: The following is an interview between Dr. Robert Montauk and PoI-3172.
Date: 01/04/2018.
Interviewer: Dr. Robert Montauk.
Interviewee: PoI-3172 Location: Site 713, Interview Room 2.
<Begin Log> PoI-3172: Again, Dr. Montauk? I don't understand what you people want from me.
Dr. Montauk: Hello to you too, Dipesh. I'm sorry to do this to you again. I think it's silly too, to be honest. What we want from you are answers.
PoI-3172: It's been, what- weeks, months? You've dragged me down here, into one of your interview rooms, and asked me these endless questions. You or one of your lackeys.
Dr. Montauk: I'm sorry if you've been made to feel uncomfortable. It wasn't my intention, but it's hard to keep tabs on everything any more. Have the guards been treating you badly in any way?
PoI-3172: No. No, not really. I can't really complain. It's just their eyes. They look so dead, so cold.
Dr. Montauk: If you like, I can rearrange some personnel and put someone else on your security detail. We're a bit short-staffed around here at the moment, and a lot of our best folks are away. And then there's the paperwork, and the endless oversight. There's been some trouble over with- well, you don't need to know about that.
PoI-3172: You weren't what I expected, you know.
Dr. Montauk: You thought the Foundation would be different?
PoI-3172: No. I thought you would be.
Dr. Montauk: You'd heard of me?
PoI-3172: Of what you've done. Procedure 110-Montauk, well… the people in my circles have done some dark things in their time, but that- Dr. Montauk: I merely did what was necessary, Mr. Spivak. As a Foundation researcher, and as someone who doesn't want to see his loved ones die.
PoI-3172: Yes. That's very like the Foundation, isn't it? Everything done is justified by what is necessary. You see the world, the people moving through it, living lives touched only by totalising, universal laws of society and physics. And everything has to be channelled through those laws, and that which lies outside it is to be contained. It's all so very simple.
Dr. Montauk: You wouldn't say that if you worked here.
PoI-3172: Some of us called you evil. I don't think that's quite it.
Dr. Montauk: That is kind of you to say. And to tell you the truth, I don't think you're quite what I expected, either. Especially given your reputation.
PoI-3172: I've been told I am a hard person to get along with. Too "cryptic", they say. One person even called me "airy".
Dr. Montauk: I don't think I'd call you "airy". Your head may be in the clouds, but you seem to be maddeningly smug about it. Granted, not as smug as some of the delusional cultists who have passed through here. I suppose I should be thankful for that, at least.
PoI-3172: I'll try not to take that as an insult. But this is what I don't understand.
Your procedure. 110-Montauk. It's not- Dr. Montauk: I can't discuss that, I'm afraid. We must get on. Time and tide and all that rubbish. Please tell me what the Children of the Scarlet King's overall intention was.
PoI-3172: The Children are dead. There's not much left to tell you.
Dr. Montauk: I would like to hear things in your own words.
PoI-3172: Then I suppose you could say that our "intention" was to save the world.
Dr. Montauk: And how were you planning to go about doing that?
PoI-3172: By bringing the Scarlet King into this reality, of course. You know this already.
Dr. Montauk: But how would that save the world?
PoI-3172: Doctor, is this really necessary? You took away his daughters years ago and ended up killing most of them. You have already annihilated our society, and I'm sure you know all about what went on within it. We worshipped the King, pretending he was Satan or some other ancient god of evil. Our inner circle believed in violation as the ultimate holy act. We failed, you and the Bookburners destroyed us, and the matter has been put to rest.
Dr. Montauk: You seem awfully calm while describing the destruction of your life's work.
PoI-3172: What else can I do? I know how this is going to play out. Maybe I always did.
Dr. Montauk: Why do you refer to the Global Occult Coalition as the "Bookburners"?
Were you and your group affiliated with the Serpent's Hand?
PoI-3172: That's- it's complicated.
Dr. Montauk: It's a simple enough question.
PoI-3172: But there isn't a simple answer. Still… yes, we were affiliated with the Serpent's Hand. Most of us passed through there at one time or another. They will disavow us, of course, if you ask them about us. They're not monsters like we are.
They have moral precepts, you see. Their whole point is to look for wonder, and since they see no wonder in the King, they repudiate us utterly. But they know, deep down, that they need us.
Dr. Montauk: They need you? What for?
PoI-3172: For the same reason they let us live. We raided the library, fought them, skirmished with them. They had a huge quantity of dirt on us, far more than you do.
But they never finished the job. They're as bad as you Jailers, in their own way. The same compartmentalisation, the same singular goals. Their existence is based in nothing concrete. The empty time of history, that's all. Indeed, they came into being at the same time as you. You're more similar than you realise.
Dr. Montauk: That's impossible. The Serpent's Hand has been documented as existing long before the Foundation in any incarn- PoI-3172: No, no, you miss the point. The Library's always been there, yes, but not the Hand. The Hand was something new, like you all are. You think anybody ever cared about "wonder" in the old days? Nobody cared about wonder. They cared about food, family and blood.
Dr. Montauk: What's that supposed to mean?
PoI-3172: It means… ah, you wouldn't get it anyway. But the Hand would. I think even the Bookburners do, in their own way. But the Hand is scared. They try to blot us out, forget us. We're what they should be but never can be, you see.
Dr. Montauk: Look, Dipesh, I have tried to make things more comfortable for you, but we need some give and take. You're speaking in clichéd, cryptic riddles, and I want some answers.
PoI-3172: I can't tell you everything. You wouldn't treat the information properly.
You'd treat it as scientific fact; something to be swallowed, understood, contextualised.
Dr. Montauk: And what is wrong with that?
PoI-3172: Why are you doing this, doctor? Why are you dredging this stuff up again?
Dr. Montauk: I shouldn't tell you, but… ahh, screw it. I'm tired of this. I've been working on SCP-001 for two decades. Project lead for almost 9 years, after I came up with the Procedure. I don't know. I'm tired. Everywhere I turn I see the Scarlet King, but nothing about him makes any sense. Some big horned devil? Arcane blood god? It's all so small, so obvious. The Foundation has changed in the last decade, you see. We've faced conceptual demons, malevolent genre dwellers, sevenfold destroyers, all of which are far worse than some old sacrifice deity. But there, behind everything, I see this smile in fire. That dread, that old dread, it lingers. And this is despite seeing horrors far less easy and far more subtle trying to break the world on a daily basis. I just want to understand, I suppose. Peel back the layers, the tales upon contradictory tales, and find out who he really is.
PoI-3172: You're being awfully candid.
Dr. Montauk: To be honest, I've stopped caring. This job gets to you. The things you have to do, the regrets… well, I'm too high-up for anybody to touch me now, and I've run into too many dead ends to get hung up over protocol by this point. Just tell me something, Dipesh. Anything.
PoI-3172: OK. Look. I like you, Montauk. You must be a cold-blooded bastard somewhere in there, or you wouldn't have come up with- well. Who am I to judge, eh? I'll tell you where to start.
Dr. Montauk: I'm all ears.
PoI-3172: There are three things to understand about the Scarlet King. Three laws which, when put together, make up a complete picture. One is the law of blood. One is the law of concrete. And one is the law of howling.
Dr. Montauk: Three laws, eh? That the King set down for his followers, or that were imposed upon him?
PoI-3172: Both. The first was his law. The second was somebody else's. And as for the third, well, you'll find out about the third when you've cracked the first two.
Dr. Montauk: Very cryptic.
PoI-3172: That's all I can tell you for now. You need to learn in the proper way.
Dr. Montauk: That's really all you'll give?
PoI-3172: That's all.
There is a pause for several seconds.
Dr. Montauk: Alright, Dipesh. Good talking with you, as ever.
<End Log> Document 2: The following is an extract from the memoirs of one Jack Hearst, a defector from the Children of the Scarlet King. Hearst was a high-level reality bender, capable of entering the bodies of humans in the past and experiencing their thoughts and emotions first-hand. The following is a description of what Hearst called the "Battle of the Ghemelleth", purportedly a battle between SCP-001 and his followers against a group called the "Children of the Urns".
Hearst apparently experienced the battle from the perspective of a foot-soldier in SCP-001's army. These memoirs were written shortly before Hearst's death in 1976. They were among the first documents consulted by Dr. Montauk during his investigation.
The fortress was monumental, made of volcanic rock and jagged iron and built into a vast mountain. Every measurement, every angle was calculated to promote the King's ideology. The steel slats and bars may have seemed to be jutting out in random half-sawn directions, but if you could see the whole then you'd see the symmetry. It was a perfect expression of cosmic order, expressed in endless sevens.
It's a tough trip to remember, but bits and pieces come back. We were slaves, I think. We had been taken from a far-off land. The nobility looked down upon us with cruel eyes, but the King didn't care. He rewarded us, and so we were the instruments of his rule. When a village required the justice of the King, we would descend upon them with blood and iron. The villagers feared us, and that felt right to me. But when the horde came, with fire and burning and their cries of freedom, the villagers were still just as scared as they had been of us. That was not the fear of their master, I think, but the fear of anarchy. They didn't know which way to turn. In the end, most betrayed us. Many had had their daughters taken by our master. Old rites. Blood rites. Arcane rites.
But we stood upon the battlements, loyal to the last, our hearts bursting with happiness at the rightness of it all. I'm still not sure exactly what was going on- it was all so chaotic, and full of red smoke- but I could feel my host's bloodlust. We stood, and watched, and waited. The sound of rubble and explosions came from across the hill, and the last battle begun.
Then something strange happened. My host suddenly felt afraid, and he and I were somewhere else. The sky was not red but black. I was not a slave but part of a conscripted rabble. The peasants looked up at us. They were all starving. They held out their hands, begging, pleading, praying. The wind was their master, and it screamed at them. The horde was coming, but they, too, were starving.
Then the scene flickered back, and I was in my host again, under a scarlet sky. The King's voice raged. The rabble of his armies was fleeing to the gates, but they would not open. Our arrows, coated in flame and pitch, flew back again. But the horde was undaunted. In my mind I could see nothing but the fire, the fire of the king. I drew my sword. We all drew our swords. We all charged into the fray.
And then, as it were, the scene changed again. There were no battlements, only the dark sky and the wind and a more ragged and lonely sky. The peasants pleaded, the nomads laughed, cheered, wept. "The wind will rage no more!" they said.
The two scenes shifted in and out. A red fort bled into a black field. I have ruminated on it a long time, but I think they were the same battle, seen through two different eyes. Or at least the memories of two different battles. The whole thing felt strange; it was not like most of my trips. It was like a half-remembered cacophony, two ideas ripping at each other. There was a timeline showing what really happened, in that blackened wasteland. And there was one that had been made to be true, imposed throughout time on the truth.
Document 3: The following is a log of all known attempts by anomalous groups to force SCP- 001's entry into the prime dimension since the containment of SCP-231.
The last thing I remember was being sliced by a nomad sword, of a frail urn being held high, of seven brides being ripped from a castle- or were they ripped from a field, taken as the spoils of war by some obscure tribe in some lost steppe? I remember the King screaming, writhing, thrashing as he was sealed.
And then I died, and woke up back at the ritual. For a second, I wondered if the others had just made up the King, and sent some image of him back to the past. But I don't think that was true. They lacked the power; and besides, it was never a total lie. There was something in that wicked wind that reminded me of some of the older rituals.
It was then that I decided to leave the Children. I went that night, without a word.
They didn't stop me; probably figured it wasn't worth the effort. They were so certain in the success of their mission. But I wanted no part in that any more. The things I saw were based upon the law of blood, and I can only pray that they never come to pass.
Date Group of Interest Details of attempt Result 01/03/09 Provisional Children of the Scarlet King Summoning attempt was performed by the ritual smearing of blood and then the destruction of rubble recovered from the demolition of the Cochran Gardens housing project complex in St. Louis, Missouri. It is believed that the Children of the Scarlet King manipulated state officials into the demolition over the course of several years, and that this splinter group continued their work as the original Children went into decline.
Attempt prevented by a Foundation raid.
12/05/12 Red Guards Appeared to be using the blood, bones and spinal fluid of several animals, combined with ritual chanting, to create a portal to SCP-001. A large number of SCP Foundation logos, carved out of bone, were placed around the ritual site in a defensive position; these logos were slightly incorrectly carved.
Attempt not detected by any GoI, and came extremely close to success. However, it appears a critical mistake in the words of ritual instead resulted in a large explosive blast, destroying all of the assembled members of the Guards. It remains unknown why the Guards apparently wished to invoke Foundation protection for their ceremony.
02/07/14 Global Occult Coalition Unknown.
Unknown, but did not succeed. GOC records pertaining to the incident are missing, with the exception of the name "Operation Historical Frontier" with the mission statement "To exacerbate tensions of historical time in order to bring forth and destroy a significant occult threat". It is believed that several GOC operatives were killed in the attempt.
01/01/17 Army of the New Dawn Attempt involved the ritual burning of several calendars adhering to the Gregorian calendar, while members of the group raised up blood-soaked calendars adhering to the Julian, Hijri and Persian Solar systems to an effigy of SCP- 001.
Attempt prevented by members of the Serpent's Hand. All materials were recovered and taken to the Wanderer's Library.
17/09/17 The Serpent's Hand Largely unknown; details are unclear, but it is believed it involved the highly selective destruction of particular books within the Wanderer's Library.
Attempt was purportedly foiled due to a schism in the group. The resulting casualties severely damaged the Library.
-Phase 2: 'Concrete' Document 4: The following is an interview between Dr. Robert Montauk and PoI-3172.
Date: 14/04/2018.
Interviewer: Dr. Robert Montauk.
Interviewee: PoI-3172 Location: Site 713, Interview Room 2.
<Begin Log> PoI-3172: Hello again, Robert.
Dr. Montauk: Hello, Dipesh. I looked up your laws. I am afraid I am none the wiser.
PoI-3172: You'll get there. What did you find?
Dr. Montauk: The "law of blood" is referenced a few times in quite a few places. But I couldn't find any concrete information.
PoI-3172: I worried you wouldn't.
Dr. Montauk: There was only one source of real use- a description of something called the Battle of the Ghemelleth, written by a defector from the Children.
PoI-3172: Ahh, Hearst. Yes. I read his memoir once. The only genuine eyewitness of the King's sealing, although a rather unreliable one.
Dr. Montauk: How on earth- PoI-3172: Oh, he embellished. He didn't leave straight away; I stumbled upon some early draft in his things, shortly before he left. I was young back then, and I remember how passionately he argued after his vision. Said we'd got the King all wrong. That he wasn't a demon or a monarch, but that he was a voice on the wind.
When I was older, and figured it all out, I was surprised how close he got to a fuller understanding. He just wasn't… quite there.
Dr. Montauk: I should have guessed he was a liar.
PoI-3172: He's not a liar, exactly; just a little lost. And you only have my word for it, doctor. Which the Foundation has made abundantly clear it doesn't trust.
Dr. Montauk: There's no reason to doubt you. What do you have to lose? You seem as eager for me to learn the truth as I am.
PoI-3172: True. And on that note, I have a question, if I may.
Dr. Montauk: Shoot. The longer I keep you talking, the greater the chance you'll slip up and tell me something you shouldn't.
PoI-3172: Do you know why the Procedure 110-Montauk actually works?
There is a pause of several seconds.
Dr. Montauk: Sorry, Dipesh. I can't talk to you about that.
Document 5: The following is a page from the 1891 report of Agent de Beauvoir on lost Foundation archives following the 1889 Snarling Coup. The report was lost shortly after de Beauvoir's termination in 1895, along with several other documents from the Foundation archives. This page was recovered through unknown means by Dr. Montauk; no other materials from these data losses have been found.
PoI-3172: It's OK. I think I know the answer anyway. Tell me, did you… lose someone?
Dr. Montauk: I don't know what you mean.
PoI-3172: I'm sorry to bring back painful memories. But I have looked at the Foundation archives too, you know. It was necessary, back in the day, to check up on what your lot were doing to his daughters. I know that your brother- Dr. Montauk: Stop talking. This interview is not about my private affairs.
PoI-3172: I'm sorry, doctor. I didn't mean- Dr. Montauk: Please state for me the meaning of this "law of blood".
PoI-3172: Isn't it obvious? It is the way the Scarlet King ruled. There was order, but it was through the imposition of an iron will on the peasantry, through armies of slaves, through a nobility bred to be cruel. The realities of the world of his day, in his corner of the globe.
Dr. Montauk: What does this have to do with the Sc- with SCP-001's nature? What are these other laws?
PoI-3172: I suggest you look into the secon- Dr. Montauk: I don't have time to play your games. Tell me now, PoI-3172, or you will be escorted to solitary.
PoI-3172: Oh, Dr. Montauk. I am sorry. You must look for the law of concrete. That is all- Dr. Montauk: This interview is terminated.
<End Log> Document 6: The following is a table compiled by Dr. Montauk. It shows a series of votes passed by the O5 Council correlated with incidents potentially or certainly involving SCP-001.
In summary, the documents lost are extremely extensive, covering a wide range of data concerning the Foundation's early history. Of particular note are several documents related to SCP-001 which have gone missing. However, my investigations have provided me with a great deal of information, and I believe that I can say with some certainty that the historical record as stated in Scranton's Comprehensive History remains broadly intact, albeit with some modifications I will detail below.
Scranton's work states that the Foundation was founded in 1824, by the merger of thirteen worldwide organisations with a particular interest in preventing awareness of anomalous activities. The most prominent of these were the Foundation of the Secure Containment of the Unnatural, the Devan-e Jaaduyih, the Unified Sites of the Department of Unexplained Affairs, the Council of Five Overseers and the Commitee of Paranormal Ethics. Scranton goes on to tell us that this was done in response to the threat posed by SCP-001, and that the early Foundation had an extensive role to play in that anomaly's containment.
However, the documents I have before me present a rather different picture. It appears that the Foundation was not founded in response to SCP-001 at all. Indeed, I cannot find any references to the present SCP-001 prior to 1826. It appears to have been a highly publicised attack by SCP-173 in New York which was the initial impetus for the Foundation's formation. SCP-173's still-unresolved containment breach in 1854 is, I believe, the reason for the alteration of the record; Scranton's embarrassment at Date of Vote Description of Vote Related SCP-001 Incident 09/07/1844 Vote to officially standardise documentation across the SCP Foundation.
Passed 13-0.
A series of hymns devoted to SCP-001 heard outside Site 001.
01/02/1857 Vote to standardise containment procedures for SCP-001. Passed 12- 1.
All members of the O5 council reported dreaming of an unidentified man of South Asian origin weeping.
09/11/1895 Vote on the termination of Agent de Beauvoir.
Passed 6-5; 2 Abstentions.
A large quantity of bloodstained sheets of paper with the words "SCP-001" written in blood over each sheet spontaneously manifested in the bedrooms of all members of the O5 council. The blood was later identified to belong to both Agent de Beauvoir and an unknown species of poultry.
10/10/1902 Vote on the implementation of the Site system. Passed 10- 2; 1 Abstention.
A location in North America saw sudden and unexplained wildfires; residents reported seeing "dragons made of fire" and "a horned crown" appear in the night sky above the area. The wildfires were found in 2007 to have begun at the location of the future Site 19.
23/01/1922 Vote on the containment procedures for SCP- 2317. Passed 4-3; 6 Abstentions.
Several cracks appeared in the earth near Containment Area-179. Red smoke was seen pouring out of each crack for 7 minutes, before the cracks abruptly closed.
08/02/2011 Vote to unify the project purviews of SCP-001, SCP-231 and SCP-2317.
Passed 10-2; 1 Abstention.
A series of hymns devoted to SCP-001 heard outside Site 001, interspersed with the sound of laughter.
31/03/2018 Vote on the object class reclassification of SCP- 2317. Passed 9-4.
Several interdimensional rifts open outside Containment Area-179. These rifts alternated between opening on Universe-Kappa-Erikesh and opening onto an unknown dimension. This unknown dimension is characterised by the presence a large quantity of red smoke and an unknown number of human voices screaming from within.
Document 7: The following is an extract from the 1972 political work Manifesto for Old Order by Children of the Scarlet King member Ariadne Cartwright. Cartwright's work is only found in unpublished copies among anomalous circles and groups related to SCP-001. Fragments such as this were recovered by Dr. Montauk during the course of his investigation.
The sin of modernity is vital to understand. It is not that we glorify the premodern.
The suffering was very real and very extant. We must not fall into the trap of seeing the past as a series of beautiful Arcadias, full of dancing around maypoles and shepherds living in pleasant anarchy.
The past was brutal, but it was also real. It wasn't really the "premodern", too; that is merely how historians have characterised it. They are wedded to their theory of modernisation and can conceive of no alternate mode of development other than a singular drive towards the contemporary West, with other modes of living seen as being stuck in some imagined earlier place on a timeline. It's all nonsense. The people of the past were capable of seeing the world as it really is. Those of us who have joined the King's forces can all see this truth; that there is something very, very wrong with the world in which we live. Our buildings are made of calcifying, peeling concrete as we shamble, each day, to jobs and lives created solely for the purpose of maintaining their own system.
But there is no other way to live. Socialism, anarchism, syndicalism- these are little more than constructed pipe dreams, the frail thoughts of lesser men trying to impose their antiquated prejudices on the world around them. No, there is only one alternative way to live. To cast down the law of concrete is to raise up the law of blood.
We must learn what it is to die. To be enslaved- truly, brutally enslaved, with no compassion or compunction from our masters. We must learn what it is to be taken towards a single purpose, to know and truly understand our lack of agency. We must be beholden to a world of gods and darkness, the tempest-tossed refuse of a race of fools. We must kill modernity, postmodernity, with all its analysis and sneering observation. There is only one rule; the rule of chaos. For humanity! For life! For the Scarlet King!
-Phase 3: 'The Howling' Document 8: The following is an interview between Dr. Robert Montauk and PoI-3172.
Date: 29/04/2018.
Interviewer: Dr. Robert Montauk.
Interviewee: PoI-3172 Location: Site 713, Interview Room 2.
<Begin Log> Dr. Montauk: Hello, Dipesh.
PoI-3172: Hello, Dr. Montauk. I hope that our last meeting…?
Dr. Montauk: I am sorry for my unprofessional behaviour. You… touched upon a sore subject.
PoI-3172: Of course. I will try to refrain from doing so in future.
Dr. Montauk: Shall we begin?
PoI-3172: This time, doctor, I have a question for you.
Dr. Montauk: Indeed? I suppose it can't be worse than your last.
PoI-3172: Well. What do you know of the origins of the Scarlet King?
Dr. Montauk: There are many theories. A creature from the abyss, some shambling thing of old, a denizen of Alagadda… PoI-3172: They are all… I will not say lies. But the texts have changed, the knowledge has changed, the past itself has been changed by what came after.
Dr. Montauk: He has changed the past?
PoI-3172: No, his past has been changed for him. But now you tell me something.
This should be a give and take, after all.
Dr. Montauk: That is not what- PoI-3172: Why did you approve the Montauk procedure?
There is a pause here for several seconds as Dr. Montauk stares at PoI-3172.
PoI-3172: I am sorry if I have offended you.
Dr. Montauk: I thought I made it clear that this is none of your business.
PoI-3172: See, the thing I don't get is that it should not have worked. Not in the way the Foundation does- Dr. Montauk: This is not under discussion.
PoI-3172: What happened to Jacob, doctor? What happened to your brother?
Dr. Montauk: This interview is- PoI-3172: Oh, alright, alright. I am sorry. I am not trying to hurt you, doctor, truly. I just want to understand. It's just- it shouldn't have worked. The child should have been born.
There is a pause of several seconds.
Dr. Montauk: I… was angry. When I drew it up. It was unprofessional.
PoI-3172: Did you think we took Jacob?
Dr. Montauk: Well, what the hell was I supposed to think? I start looking into your lot, making discovery after discovery, and then he disapp- look, this isn't relevant.
PoI-3172: Alright, alright. I am sorry I asked. But can we agree that it was not a decision made scientifically? That it was done in a moment of fury, rage, hate?
Dr. Montauk: I didn't- the girl, I didn't mean to- PoI-3172: But you did, doctor. Look, I'm sorry, I don't mean to dredge these old wounds up for you- Dr. Montauk: Why are you, then?
PoI-3172: Because I just want to understand. And now I think I do.
Dr. Montauk: How?
PoI-3172: You… I don't know where to begin. Let me go back. I don't think your department has had very much activity in recent months, not after the Hand's attempt to open the gates, right? Your procedure keeps the girl from giving birth, the nomads keep fighting their endless war, the spears are safely locked away by the Bookburners, and the Devourer- well, there's nothing you can really do about the Devourer now, is there?
Dr. Montauk: SCP-2317 isn't SCP-001.
PoI-3172: Wasn't SCP-001. But the thing is, you've been telling everyone he is.
Technically, you're meant to think that he is, if I understand Foundation hierarchies correctly. You are only a level 4, after all.
Dr. Montauk: I don't understand.
PoI-3172: Across every culture, in every city and tribe and civilisation, you've come across the idea of the Scarlet King. Always the same: an emperor in red, with a burning crown and an ethos rooted in some archaic fear of female sexuality. He is always the same: a monster that is all-consuming and terrible, but so understandable. The big bad thing in the dark, full of rape and fire and old blood- ritual. Does it never strike you as odd that this is the thing behind the eyes? You've faced monsters far grander and more subtle, as you told me yourself. But always, always there's that lingering fear and knowledge of this hidden but oh-so-simple thing standing behind it all.
Dr. Montauk: You know it strikes me as odd. I told you as much myself. But I also stopped trying to make sense of our world a long time ago. The anomalous does not play by the rules of man. I'm too old to start redefining the universe.
PoI-3172: But the thing you don't remember, or don't know, is that this wasn't the only past. The Scarlet King used to be something very different. He wasn't a monarch, and he wasn't always red. He was the whisper on the wind that kept the peasants working, staring up in fear of his righteous famine. He was that inborn knowledge of a world of gods and demons which belied human agency and existed beyond us. He was the cold hunger of a famine that had no rhyme and reason but the cold apathy of a supernatural beyond us. And, given enough belief, he could be the Devourer, too. He is a creature of truth.
Dr. Montauk: You mean- he transformed? From one type of deity into another?
PoI-3172: The Scarlet King is not a deity, doctor. The Scarlet King is an idea.
Dr. Montauk: Wh- what? But he's real- physical! We've seen- PoI-3172: I can't tell you any more. Not yet. Did you find anything out about the law of concrete?
Dr. Montauk: …No. Not much. I found out that there seems to be a disturbing correlation between the activities of the King's followers and certain decisions made by the Council.
PoI-3172: I see.
Dr. Montauk: But there wasn't much else at all. The trail led me to some lost documents, but eventually all I found was a dead end. A document about the Foundation's origins, and some insane old Child ranting on about modernity.
PoI-3172: Cartwright, I presume? That makes sense.
Dr. Montauk: You are a maddeningly infuriating person, you know. Why can't you just tell me this stuff properly?
PoI-3172: I am your prisoner. You did destroy my life's work. Why should I help you?
Dr. Montauk: Because you're bored. Because you think none of this matters. And because you love tormenting me.
PoI-3172: I don't, you know.
Dr. Montauk: The Scarlet King is an idea? What the hell is that meant to mean?
PoI-3172: You're close now, doctor. Close to the truth. I can see it in you. You will understand, and then you'll understand me. Why I did what I did. Why I am- was- a member of the Children. I know you're curious.
Dr. Montauk: You do seem oddly well-adjusted to be a Satan worshipper.
PoI-3172: Be careful, doctor. The law of the howling may break you.
Document 9: The following is a translated excerpt from the 1953 Bengali work Lāla Rājā. The work had been lost for some time, and rediscovered by Dr. Montauk in the course of his investigation.
Dr. Montauk: As cryptic as ever, Spivak. Alright. Until next time.
PoI-3172: Goodbye, doctor.
<End Log> And so as British rule continued, something began to come with them, piece by piece. A shadow, at first; a red thing. But it was not whole. It was not even in pieces.
It was something that crept up slowly, piece by piece. It met the shadows of our country, the mice bleeding in the rice fields, and it began to take form.
It didn't have a mind. Not at first. It wasn't enough of a real thing yet to have one. It was a set of images. It was a blood-red slab of skin, taken from the heart of some Christian demon, which was set upon an ancient magician of Hindu rites. But then it was categorised, written down, described with precise scientific terminology. It didn't like that. Things of magic, technology, empire that were never meant to mix all came together, and began to bend the nature of the world.
As Europe came to us more and more, as we learnt to be "civilised", our religion began to change too. Anantashesha was not an ancient and capricious god in the form of an immense snake- it was a moray eel of scientifically unusual size, noted for producing amnesiacs and causing a cognitohazardous effect. We learnt that we were Hindu, that we always had been Hindu, and that all our various and mixed beliefs were all variations on a singular ideal, because the British weren't comfortable enough with another way of living which could not be classified, explained, killed like a butterfly pinned to a board.
But beneath this lay a fury. A cry for authenticity, for a reality, even as we expressed ourselves more and more in their language and their categories, even in our struggle against them. It lay in our literature, in Tagore and the others; it lay in our adda , in our menial jobs as clerks. The endless, struggling tension between old and new, between modernity and premodernity. And in those fault-lines, in that cry of rage and fury, in our hatred of the old and the hatred of the new, there rose a hybrid obeying nothing but the law of the howling. There rose the Lāla Rājā.
Because what is he but the cry for a forgotten age? He is the British peasant staring up at the red sky, the Bengali widow's weeping and shaven head, the Aztec priest ripping out another's heart. He is all of those things transformed, as modernity does to everything, into modernity's own destruction. He is the resistance, the fury, the hatred of all that was for all that presently is.
What we were was full of good and evil and all else mixed together. The happiness, the beauty of the world, the struggles and heartache and reality of it all. But now we have lost almost all of it to the machine- except our rage. That's all that's left. And thus comes the King. The howl of the destroyed and forgotten and oppressed. His only purpose is to destroy, rape, maim, enslave and smile, smile that smile of a king whose enemies weep before him.
He cannot exist where there is no modernity, because his entire purpose is given to him by modernity. He is a god of blood, a god of spine and bone and sinew, to remind the denizens of this world that it is not good. It is cruel and hateful and that is good, that is right. Modernity is a sin and he is the correction, so that we can once again live as we must: cold, and hungry, and starving, and very, very afraid.
3 4 Document 10: The following note was found in Dr. Montauk's personal quarters. It is believed to have been written shortly after Dr. Montauk's discovery of Lāla Rājā.
Document 11: On 22/05/2018, a large crack appeared in the wall of PoI-3172's containment chambers. The crack appeared to open on another dimension. A large quantity of red smoke could be seen pouring out of it, while an unknown number of human voices could be heard screaming from it.
Foundation staff found themselves unable to enter PoI-3172's containment chamber. PoI-3172 informed them that he would only permit Dr. Montauk entry into his chamber, and would communicate with nobody else. After some debate, Dr. Montauk was permitted entry into the containment chamber to interview PoI-3172. A log can be found below.
SCP-001 is a conceptual entity created at the boundaries of the modern and the premodern.
The Scarlet King is a thing of blood and bone and sinew. His rule is just, the justice of the dark.
SCP-001 is a creature emperor physical being made manifest in a conceptual He comes with fear and a sword dripping with wrath and fire SCP-001 originated in ancient Turkmenistan. It is believed that it was originally a Scythian deity who They rode with thunder in their hooves and the bow on their backs, laughing as they slaught SCP-001 is a scientific phenomenon. It will be classified. It will be contained described. It will be understood as an anomalous entity, as with every other an but he exist in the cracks, the faultlines. He feeds on description. he feeds on science, on the objective principles and qualities. Seven chains! Seven brides! Seven seals for the Scarle I am Robert Montauk, Level 4 Researcher, Project Lead on SCP-001. I am a researcher. I impose my solid, mechanical will. I am in control. I possess agency. I possess agency.
I am a quivering thing, looking up at a dark and clouded sky, fearing the Almighty God. i am free. i am chained i am a doctor i am a child Date: 22/05/2018.
Interviewer: Dr. Robert Montauk.
Interviewee: PoI-3172 Location: Site 713, Humanoid Containment Chamber 77.
<Begin Log> Dr. Montauk enters the chamber and approaches PoI-3172. PoI-3172 is standing in front of a jagged crack in the far wall. Red light and smoke can be seen emerging from this crack.
Dr. Montauk: Hello there, Dipesh.
PoI-3172: Hello, doctor.
Dr. Montauk: Always formal, even to the last, aren't you? Can I ask you what… this is?
PoI-3172: A plea for attention, mostly. I wanted to see you again, and my requests were all denied. It's been weeks, doctor.
Dr. Montauk: I… I had nothing to ask you.
PoI-3172: I thought so. You have deduced the truth, haven't you?
Dr. Montauk: Maybe. Yes.
The crack shrinks slightly.
Dr. Montauk: It- did that just- PoI-3172: It grows and shrinks depending on the situation. Different actions have different meanings, and thus different effects. It all depends on context. The other Children never got that, but- well, they never got anything, really. They thought we were all devil worshippers, heading for violation. Only I understood the point.
Dr. Montauk: It took me a while to understand.
PoI-3172: I didn't think you would.
Dr. Montauk: Just tell me- did the Procedure even matter? What we do, is it even relevant?
PoI-3172: To prevent the birth, it had to be something awful, something evil expressed in pain and rage and fury. That is why it worked. It was never a sincere attempt to formulate a scientific procedure on your part: it was just pure, unadulterated hatred wrapped in a veneer of objectivity. You thought the King had taken your brother, so you decided to hurt the King. You didn't, of course, and what you do each day to that poor girl is little more than mere cruelty. But effective cruelty. The specifics are unimportant but the intent, that matters for everything.
Dr. Montauk: I… I should stop it. I didn't- PoI-3172: And then what? The Foundation won't get it. They will never understand the law of the howling.
Dr. Montauk: If I explain- PoI-3172: They can't imagine it. It's beyond their conception of reality. But you might. So, tell me, Doctor. Do you know why the Scarlet King exists?
Dr. Montauk: Because modernity and premod- PoI-3172: No. Because the SCP Foundation exists. Modernity helped shape him, defined the contours of his rage, but it was when modernity started interfering in his kingdom that he was crystallised. Modernity in the form of you. Your lot came first.
You came into being to lock away, classify, pin down everything that didn't fit into your philosophy of Enlightenment rationality. Everything had to be understood, contextualised, transformed from faerie and godhood into simple, comprehensible chunks of logic and matter. It's abhorrent. And it could never go on forever.
Something had to give. Something had to rise up in opposition.
Dr. Montauk: …We were first? Truthfully? I know that Beauvoir had- was this whole thing really our fault?
PoI-3172: That depends. Is it your fault if you don't know you're doing it?
Dr. Montauk: I don't know.
PoI-3172: Neither do I.
Dr. Montauk: The ceremonies. They all held that contrast.
PoI-3172: The King cannot exist without that tension. We needed those symbols of modernity, those stark grey images, to make the rift in the first place. It was the perfect plan.
Dr. Montauk: But you failed.
PoI-3172: Yes.
There is a pause for several seconds.
Dr. Montauk: The Foundation was formed in the 1820s. It was formed to protect the world from the dark, by a collection of brave men and women. To s-secure. Contain.
Protect. That is our purpose. There is a virtue in normalcy which I don't think you can see. The world can be understood. Truth, reason, rationality. The Enlightenment.
These are our bedrock, these are what have allowed us to see what is objective.
PoI-3172: Do you really believe that?
Dr. Montauk: I have to.
PoI-3172: You're a scientist. You should know that there's no such thing as an objectively true finding in any science. There's always room for doubt, always space for error.
Dr. Montauk: But that's just humanity. We may have flawed minds, incapable of full interpretation, but what we observe is solid and real. Beneath it all, the laws, the bedrock- PoI-3172: The bedrock is defined by the number seven. Seven chains, seven brides, seven seals, seven, seven, seven… my whole life has been defined by that number.
It tortures me. Endless heptagonal shapes dancing behind my eyes. We're not allowed to live. We're not allowed to be people. That is the luxury of modernity, despite its coldness and its creaking wounds- to be able to be a full person. Seven, seven, seven. Seven girls taken away by raiders in the cold, as the wind demon howled and howled. So the Scarlet King had to have seven brides.
Dr. Montauk: Modernity is not always cold. It's less brutal than slavery.
PoI-3172: But what is it for? Is that the only purpose, a mere absence of brutality?
What's the point of having peace and kindness for its own sake, so you can smile for a few decades before falling dead into an empty grave? Self-affirmation for a finite self. I don't understand it. I never did. I grew up trying. I wanted to be like them, like you, but the system just stared down at me with contempt. Maybe it's not coldness, doctor. Coldness seems too objective. It can't be that, because there is no objectivity. There's just the screaming and the madness and the need for purpose.
Dr. Montauk: Did you really think that nothing is true?
PoI-3172: There's truth, but it's never… final. There's no ultimate reality, doctor. No totality. No concrete way in which the world is run. There's just what we make of it.
The clay things we bind together and crudely make in clay.
Dr. Montauk: All this introspection… The crack in the wall grows larger. The sound of screaming can be heard.
Dr. Montauk: Who is in there with him?
PoI-3172: Who knows? His seven brides, his loyal nomads, ancient servants, more creations of the gap between realities. I don't know any more. It all breaks down, in the end. All I see any more is the fire. I don't see the world, or gods, or kings. I don't see anything but the flames. What else is there? This stuff? Matter and the physical, all banal, all fake. I only see the smile of my King, forged out of burning and frail matter. And it's a sight that hurts. It hurts, so much, behind the eyes. It is burning and being consumed and it's never, ever finished.
Dr. Montauk: Then why not stop worshipping him?
PoI-3172: I was a frail thing. I was born in the cold and the dark. I tried my hand at writing, when I was very young. I tried my hand at many things, bartering, starving, surviving in the marketplaces of Calcutta. Like so many of us, struggling to live while you Westerners grew fatter on our forgotten wealth. I grew mad. There was no meaning, no purpose, in a country born to be ripped apart. I tried the gods, but they were silent. I tried reason and atheism, but they were just as empty and unreal.
Because they were always going to be. Because- Dr. Montauk: Don't say it.
PoI-3172: You have to hear it.
Dr. Montauk: I- I don't want- PoI-3172: No, listen, Robert, just listen. You know now what the Scarlet King is. He is a creation of swirling anomalies, of so many different times, all over the world. He is the memory of a world that is lost, the premodern world, made manifest in a form of hatred for modernity, the new, the humanism and smiling coldness that marks our day to day existence. Forged from a perfect balance of irreconcilable anomalies and our breaking minds. He is an entity created by this overwhelming, unavoidable tension. Of the howl of the old world when faced with a cold, grey, purposeless new.
He is the revenge of our fallen past. He is the idea of the ancient in a world which discards and fetishises it.
Dr. Montauk: He is the tension between the modern and the premodern made manifest.
PoI-3172: Yes. He is the faultline between two irreconcilable worlds. And he can only, in the end, destroy them all. And that is what is right.
There is another pause for several seconds.
Dr. Montauk: What do we do now?
PoI-3172: You shoot me, let them take my corpse, go back to your life. It won't last long now. The King's coming is inevitable. You might try to do something to stop it, but it won't work. The Foundation has too much at stake, too much resting on the preservation of their ethos. They will coat the world in concrete grey and the King will rise from the ashes, and the Children won't even have to lift a finger.
Dr. Montauk: I don't believe you.
PoI-3172: Believe what you like. Come, doctor, I think it's time.
Dr. Montauk takes out his firearm and points it at PoI-3172.
Dr. Montauk: Just- look, just tell me one more thing. Was it you who took Jacob?
PoI-3172: No. We had no idea who he w- Dr. Montauk terminates PoI-3172. The crack disappears.
Document 12: The following is a record of O5 Council Vote #4985.
Council Vote #4985, "Vote to approve suggestions made by Dr. Robert Montauk on Foundation Operating Procedures for improved containment of SCP-001." Proposed by O5-13 on 30/05/2018.
For Against Abstain O5-2 O5-1 O5-4 O5-6 O5-3 O5-5 O5-7 O5-8 O5-10 O5-9 O5-13 O5-11 O5-12 Vote Denied.
Statement by O5-1: Dr. Montauk's investigations have been most illuminating. They have certainly raised serious concerns about how the Foundation has been operating in recent years. But we feel that his suggestions go too far.
The ethos of the Foundation is comprehension. Postmodern notions of the fallibility of objective universal truths are all very well in academic circles, but the Foundation has always been first and foremost concerned with practicalities, basing its analyses on the hard sciences and unquestionable truths. Changing our intentions and modus operandi is, frankly, an absurd proposition. Our duty is, and always has been, to die in the dark to protect those in the light. If we begin to abandon or redefine the notion of what dark and light are, we risk a sharp descent into tyranny, incoherence and the loss of our mission entirely. This must not happen. We cannot engage in cavalier redefinitions of what the Foundation's very essence is.
We thank Dr. Montauk for his work, and we will be accordingly updating SCP-001's classification to Safe as a result of it. Containing SCP-001 is no longer as difficult as it once was, despite its potential danger; if Montauk's information is correct, then it seems clear to us that the Foundation should simply take a more laissez-faire attitude towards SCP-001's containment. We look forward to a more productive containment relationship with our oldest anomaly going forward.
<End Log> FILE NOT FOUND I watched, hidden, as their bulldozers came. Prime land wasted on trees, they said.
They ripped them up, sliced their roots, took them away to be made into tables, chairs or other monotonies. Then, over weeks and months, they flattened it. They poured concrete into the rest. It was scraped and shaped, cut into neat little squares, arranged precisely and in an orderly fashion.
Walls rose up, great walls of concrete. Windows, their measurements precisely regulated. A series of standardised bricks for other parts. Construction crews and workmen and all the rest, working efficiently and precisely for a long time; filling in the details, the furnishings and precise abstract wallpapers and everything else that went into making a facility.
Finally, it was finished. One single, new tree had been planted in the centre of the central courtyard; not through any sense of whimsy or delight, but to give those within a little sense of nature, of reality in the centre of the grey. To keep them sane, nothing more. A precisely mandated allowance for the improvement of human mental health, until they can find out a way to phase that out entirely.
I watched, and I thought about all that they- that we- had done. I thought about the world they wanted. I thought about their spinelessness. I knew what good was, and what evil was, and I saw none of it in either of them. I thought about hollow men, made of straw, plastered together with thick paste and sold in a hundred, a thousand identical ways in a thousand identical shops. I thought about what we had lost. And I howled.
At night, the day before the site's grand opening, I dug up the seeds of the tree, and replaced them. With a seed of my own devising. And over Site 231 will stand a thing of blood and bone and sinew. A tree that drips and leers and feeds. It will drip strange fire, and that fire will both burn and warm in equal measure. And they will look up at it and wish they had listened while they had the chance.
I know this path is wrong. But at least it is a path.
With thoughts and prayers, Robert Montauk, Child of the Scarlet King.
Footnotes Cite this page as: For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
Powered by . A K-class scenario wherein the imminent alteration of reality or eradication of all human life is caused by the interaction between two anomalous objects of a radically different type.
. With the exception of Dr. Robert Montauk, Project Lead on SCP-001, SCP-231 and SCP-2317.
. An antiquated term for "amnestics" in use in some Foundation sites at this time.
. A Bengali social gathering, involving a group of friends (usually but not exclusively male) meeting up for an extended discussion of literature, social relations or other aspects of life. These often took place over the course of several hours.
Footnotes ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation "Tufto's Proposal" by Tufto, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/tuftos- proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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WJS Proposal SCP-001 » WJS Proposal rating: +699 + – X Note from O5 Council In case you're wondering why this object is here where it doesn't belong, it's important to remember two things.
First, the SCP-001 slot is specifically reserved for use by the O5 Council as they deem necessary.
Second, "consensus reality" is simply consensus of the Council.
Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Non-Anomalous Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is kept on a dedicated server or library located in a place of the O5 Council's choosing. The normal prohibition of O5 members from contacting SCP-designated objects does not apply in the case of SCP-001 as it is not anomalous.
Any additions, deletions, or updates to SCP-001 requires the consensus decision of the O5 Council. Access to SCP-001 is limited to the O5 Council. Access by other Foundation members or non-Foundation entities constitutes a containment breach that may result in a Broken Masquerade scenario. General amnestic release is authorized to be used in the case of a containment breach, up to and including global Class A amnesticization, as required.
Description: SCP-001 is the document describing consensus reality. Anomalous activity is therefore defined as any activity that occurs outside the parameters of the document. The document may describe certain characteristics of reality as inherently anomalous, as decided upon by the O5 Council.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in General practice has included universal laws of gravitation, physical forces, and basic chemistry, biology, sociology, and philosophy. Presently, discoveries and technological development are not considered anomalous as long as they are built on a framework of knowledge previously designated consensus reality using the scientific method. All new claims of discovery are to be monitored for developments outside the parameters of SCP- 001 which can be reproducible.
Claims of discovery that cannot be reproduced and appear to affect the perception of only the individual reporting the claim are not considered anomalous and can be allowed into the general public. In most cases these claims may result in the public calling them "hallucinations," "crackpot theories," or "conspiracies," and discounted. This is to be encouraged because it allows for plausible deniability when an anomaly is more widely witnessed in public.
All activities and objects outside the parameters of SCP-001 are to be tracked, secured, contained, removed from public knowledge, and protected by the SCP Foundation.
Studies from such objects can be used in proposals for further updates to SCP-001.
The following excerpts have been cleared by the O5 Council as examples of update proposals to SCP-001. In all cases the speaker is not identified, nor are the logs complete.
Proposal Date: 1/11/1932 Update Proposal: Declaration of modern witch-craft traditions arising in the United Kingdom as anomalous Dialog: Why are we even covering this? There are traditional beliefs in cultures throughout history that we do not consider anomalous. We must not use our position to threaten the right of humanity to believe.
Except this does not extend from traditional practices. This new "witch- craft" is a modern invention, developed through a scholarly rereading of practices as an alternative to Christianity. It is not a continuation, and practitioners are attempting spell-casting.
Soon you'll say Aleister Crowley has something to do with it. The document is clear: theurgy is anomalous, religion and spirituality are not.
Show me proof that they are casting spells that cannot be explained under rigorous testing, and I will personally see to containing those spells myself. Until then, no, just as Thelema is allowed, so shall this witch-craft.
For God's sake, we'll allow Satanism as long as they aren't channeling demonic energies.
≡ Agreed. Furthermore, we will need all the faith we can muster against the theurgic traditions. We never know when a new faith will assist in our cause.
Conclusion: No Update Proposal Date: 16/7/1945 Update Proposal: Re-evaluation of physics on the subject of nuclear fission Dialog: Thank you for responding to my emergency call. Trinity has happened. I can barely comprehend what I saw. It was like the sun rising from the desert sand, a dawn of destruction and fire that lasted for miles around. I cannot believe that such an explosion could ever be seen as possible.
Tales and prior evidence of the summoning of gods have had less impact.
I tremble with fear about the possibility of people wielding this kind of power, the ability to level a city with the flick of a switch.
Weren't the Germans and Russians also developing this technology? We are at war, and this sort of escalation happens.
May I remind my esteemed colleague that we are not at war? The United States, Japan, they are at war. We are not nations. No, the question stands: is this anomalous? Do the physical effects follow from the mathematical concepts?
They do follow. Scientific testing was completed each and every step of the way to reach this point. I do not believe this is anomalous, no matter how frightening the repercussions are.
What, you're just going to let people hold onto the keys to their own destruction? We have fought tooth and nail to keep such capabilities out of the reach of man, and you're now saying we should abandon our purpose?
We do not prevent destruction. We sequester the anomalous. And as long as we agree that the test was arrived at through diligent scientific process, available to anyone - Available to anyone? Listen to yourself, man! Can you imagine a future where any two-bit dictator chooses to unleash the fire of a thousand suns wherever he wishes? Maybe the problem isn't with the equations. Maybe the whole of nuclear physics is anomalous itself.
Enrico Fermi has already received a Nobel Prize for his work on transuranic elements and radioactivity. We can't just secure nuclear ≡ physics from the world. Radioactivity is everywhere, and we end up causing more contradictions when we try to send ourselves back to the Dark Ages. Try explaining chemistry without referring to covalent bonds.
Try explaining biology. Nuclear physics is here to stay, and we had better get used to the consequences of this, no matter how terrifying this will be for the planet and for humanity.
May God have mercy on our souls.
Conclusion: Recent developments in the studies and applications of nuclear fission and the results of their unleashing are added to SCP-001.
Proposal Date: 2/4/2014 Update Proposal: Classification of "Worm-That-Walks" phenomenon Dialog: For those unfamiliar with the topic, the "worm that walks" is a trope in which a character is actually a writhing hive-mind of worms generally held together as a single mass. We are not here to discuss this trope. Instead, we are here to discuss the recent conspiracy that has arisen from it. The conspiracy is the idea that certain individuals are actually worms that walk, and not humans.
Does the conspiracy have any merit?
No. Individual conspiracy believers are divided themselves on who is a worm that walks and who isn't, and all evidence indicates that there aren't actual worms that walk in the general populace. It pretty clearly falls under irreproducible conspiracy theories. I believe there's nothing we need to do or change in SCP-001.
It might not be as irreproducible as we think.
Why do you say that?
On 12/11/2013, a believer in the conspiracy from Decatur, Alabama, killed his neighbor under the belief that the neighbor was a worm that walks.
The killer then took a video of his deceased neighbor and uploaded it to YouTube, claiming it was proof of the conspiracy, and that the corpse was dissolving into individual worms before his very eyes. He said that he was going to take a sample. The video was very quickly blocked and removed, and everyone who has viewed the video agrees that the subject is unmoving and does not dissolve into worms. The killer turned himself in to the police while clutching a jar of Tubifex worms and the neighbor sent to the Morgan County morgue. Autopsy confirmed that the decedent was ≡ missing a thumb postmortem and killed by gunshot to the chest - which, if he were a worm that walks, would be survivable.
So, this is just the actions of an insane man? No actual conspiracy?
The one item of interest was that after the autopsy, the assistant coroner oversaw the return of the body to the next of kin. The assistant coroner was also a conspiracy believer, and despite not having had any prior contact to the parties involved, screamed in disgust upon entering the examination room, grabbing a mop and complaining about all the worms everywhere. No one else noticed any signs of worm infestation.
Are we positive he didn't come across the video or anything?
We weren't sure. So, to test this, we acquired the corpse and showed it to a number of D-class. They all agreed that it was a human corpse. We then introduced them to the worm-that-walks conspiracy, and upon viewing the corpse again, 20% of them agreed that it was actually a mass of worms.
That sounds like a memetic hazard, then. Has the conspiracy literature been scanned by the CH Department?
CH found it negative for memetic effects, but did find a chart in one pamphlet that would function like a mnestic trigger, unlocking a memory.
However, of course, it would only work if the affected had that memory.
And that memory would be?
Having recently seen a living worm that walks.
Conclusion: Language regarding mnestic triggers strengthened to include recent perception. Although there remains no evidence that there is any truth to the worm-that-walks conspiracy, the repercussions of the existence of a mnestic trigger that works is something to think about. After all, have you heard about that thing dowwÐÁ“ŒÏMA3§ ACCESS GRANTx*ÉD Proposal Date: 21/14/211zÔâµ½ž±—4ö0¯žÛ¼’Ýn Update Proposal: Anomaly of extranarršZؾ‡ƒuÔ5 ATTEMPT TO ACCESS SCP-001 DETECTED. IDENTITY CHALLENGE INITIATED.
DEPLOYING MEMETIC KILL AGENT ≡ THEREFORE YOU ARE NOT REAL ACCESS SCP-001 001-proposal concept document esoteric-class foundation-made historical scp ‡ Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License page revision: 13, last edited: 20 Apr 2021, 03:46 (1413 days ago) Edit Rate (+699) Tags Discuss (61) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
WMDD's Proposal SCP-001 » WMDD's Proposal rating: +308 + – X NOTICE: "Project Palisade" is not an SCP-001 file. "Project Palisade" data represents itself as being an SCP-001 file, has all protections of an SCP-001 file, can only be read by being entered into the Foundation system as an SCP-001 file, and can only be accessed or understood by Foundation personnel with access to SCP- 001 files.
However, all data categorized under "Project Palisade" is extra-universal in origin.
None of the following data has been created or altered by any known member of the Foundation. The origin of this file is likewise unknown.
UPDATE: On 06/29/2018, all "Project Palisade" data was removed from the Foundation system by unknown means. Simultaneously, all personnel lost memory of the data's existence.
On 09/03/2018, "Project Palisade" data was restored to the Foundation system, with significant changes. Personnel memories were restored of the prior iteration as well, but not in enough detail to recreate the original. Investigation is so far inconclusive.
Cleared personnel are advised to read with caution.
Close Recovered Data Files .
The Foundation Oath We affirm that we are the original, true Foundation. We represent mainline reality (the original, unaltered timeline). Our humanity must be held paramount over the humanity of any inhabitants of "mirror" timelines. The survival of mainline reality shall always be held paramount over the SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in survival of any "mirror" timeline, or any other parallel or alternate universe.
We are the Foundation, the bedrock on which all of reality rests. For the sake of us all, we cannot fail.
This statement must be sworn to by all military and civilian leadership of the Foundation.
.
Primary Documentation Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Thaumiel Special Containment Procedures: Absolute secrecy is necessary for the full realization of Project Palisade. Disinformation will focus on exploration of parallel universes for research and protection purposes. Esoteric Containment Systems shall be used as a secondary precaution.
The current administration affirms, and mandates, the continuation of Project Palisade regardless of potential cost or consequence.
Standard Operating Procedure for Project Palisade: (1) The Altis Engine is used to create a "cluster" of mirror timelines, which are defined as artificial timelines constructed by the Prime Foundation solely for Project Palisade.
(2) Mirror timelines are altered, using controlled CK-class Restructuring events and direct insertion of agents via inter-dimensional travel to desired points in history.
(3) Mirror timelines are monitored and reality structural integrity analyzed.
(4) Timelines with a high integrity level are selected for continued study. Timelines with a poor integrity level are designated as shield timelines.
(5) Proxy agents attract The Threat to a shield timeline, commonly performing anomalous "rituals" developed by Esoteric Containment Systems in order to ensure targeting by The Threat.
Note: As direct travel to shield timelines is necessary for the process, proxy "collaborator" agents are utilized (occasionally with a small number of mainline Foundation agents as oversight). Proxy agents are all "mirrors", typically corresponding Foundation personnel taken from mirror timelines.
In exchange, their home timelines are protected from The Threat, as long as cooperation lasts.
(6) Vectors are gathered and distributed to chosen neighboring timelines.
1 ≡ Note: Vectors are elements from the initial shield timeline, such as a person, animal, or object, which have served as foci of ritual energy. The effect of using vectors is to draw The Threat to many timelines at once, making the attraction process significantly more efficient.
Current standard element is soil from the initial shield timeline (representing "gravedirt"), a highly successful suggestion by a collaborating "mirror" instance of the POI "The Black Queen".
(7) All shield timelines are evacuated by any mainline Foundation agents and (when feasible) proxy agents, and monitored until destroyed by The Threat.
This process is continually repeated to ensure The Threat is indefinitely kept away from mainline reality.
Description: SCP-001, also known as Project Palisade, is a method of protecting reality from ongoing existential threats.
Personnel create mirror timelines, alter them to discover methods of defeating threats, and ultimately divert the largest threats (especially the primary threat referred to as "The Threat" and/or "THE WORM") to destroy these mirror timelines instead of mainline reality.
Every other timeline in which the Foundation exists was created by Project Palisade.
.
Project Palisade Precursors Project Palisade originated from several anomaly-engineering projects created in [DATA EXPUNGED], notably Altis, First Strike, and Forward Insight.
2 "Altis" Project Report: Project Codename: Altis Project#: PRJALT-██████ Project Aims: To successfully create a Multiversal Creation Engine through the use of anomalous engineering, and use it to the benefit of the Foundation.
Project Description: Project Altis is the century-long engineering and development of a "Multiversal Creation Engine," which allows the Foundation to create artificial realities adjacent to the mainline reality.
ALTIS FIRST STRIKE FORWARD INSIGHT PALISADE ≡ .
The Threat Recovered Documentation: Project Forward Insight, in its early stages, expanded investigation of The Threat into existing Foundation archives. It was discovered that several documents in the Foundation’s possession, collected from across multiple realities, contained previously unrecognized references to the entity identified as being responsible for the ongoing reality destruction. The current designation of the entity as "THE WORM" arises from these documents.
SCP File: The following documentation is now deprecated, but relevant.
The Altis Engine is capable of creating a potentially infinite number of said mirror timelines.
Originally, Project Altis was intended to create "mirror" Foundations to aid the Foundation of mainline reality. "Mirror" Foundations were to be faced with various challenges that might grant insight to mainline reality, and successful mirror Foundations would then be visited by mainline Foundation agents and an organizational connection established.
Ultimately, many mirror Foundations would assist mainline reality in defending against existential threats from the outside.
These aspects of Project Altis were permanently shelved, due to the lack of direct use against THE WORM. The Altis Engine is now almost exclusively used under the banner of Project Palisade.
Reality Tau-Het-9: The Epic of Lathurias Context: A heroic epic describing the exploits of the mythic hero-king of the author’s species.
And Lathurias passed through the veil beyond/To do battle with the Sons of the Void And the First Son of the Void did arise/The Worm, he who lives between, cleanser of realms And bold Lathurias strode forth, shining bright/The White King and The Worm locked horns And to this day Lathurias still fights/The endless war of our dreams TAU-HET-9 ALPHA-ZAYIN-12 OMEGA-LAMED-1 PSI-TAV-4 ≡ Item #: SCP-████ (Special Designation Applies) Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: Ongoing containment by use of Project Palisade.
Description: Formerly code-named Primary Existential Threat Alpha.
Renamed by O5 Council vote to "THE WORM" , based on a selection of recommendations provided by Esoteric Containment Systems.
"THE WORM" (henceforth referred to as The Threat) is an extra- dimensional entity that destroys realities/timelines. Little other information is known; even the "extra-dimensional" description is technically in doubt.
The Threat has never been directly perceived by any means. However, its effects are well-documented, thanks to Project Palisade. Every affected timeline goes through various stages of "reality breakdown", with symptoms ranging from disappearance of physical locales to disappearance of various laws of physics. Finally, the timeline disintegrates entirely.
At present, no mechanism has been detected or analyzed by which The Threat causes these effects, and The Threat has never been directly perceived by any means.
Esoteric information-gathering (notably from mirror timelines) has suggested that The Threat will only destroy or consume timelines which exhibit poor structural integrity. At the very least, The Threat seems to avoid timelines with good structural integrity, barring outside intervention.
Though case-by-case success rate is variable, Project Palisade procedures have so far had a 100% success rate in keeping The Threat away from mainline reality.
"The Threat" is usually called "THE WORM" outside this documentation.
Esoteric Containment Systems suggests that "THE WORM" is appropriate terminology for the following reasons: The term is one of a selection of terms with cross-dimensional "psychic resonance", appearing directly or obliquely in mythos from neighboring realities assessed by Project Forward Insight.
A worm is popularly perceived to be a creature inferior to humans, which grants a different form of "psychic resonance" that may aid in reality-wide perspective shift, potentially allowing it to eventually be better understood by human minds.
5 6 7 8 9 10 ≡ The stylization "THE WORM" is based on the recommendation that The Threat should be both undercut and also treated as important enough to devote primary organizational resources.
"The Threat" is also accepted terminology, as the term is already too established to completely remove. Mainline Foundation agents should consider either "The Threat" or "THE WORM" required terminology as part of Esoteric Containment Systems.
The Foundation has no other way to control The Threat besides Project Palisade. Uncontrolled, The Threat will eventually destroy most or all of the timelines created by Project Palisade, and then reach and destroy mainline reality.
Note: Claims that Project Palisade has increased the power of The Threat (by creating many timelines for it to destroy) are unproven and considered extraordinarily dubious. - Dr. ███████ .
Project Palisade Mechanics 11 12 13 Timeline Alteration Standards: Timelines created by the Altis Engine for Project Palisade currently always possess these traits: Begins as a duplicate of mainline reality, before alteration.
SCP items and other anomalous items are always present, even if believed otherwise.
Known civilization never has the capability of creating an exact copy of Project Altis. In specific cases, civilizations are allowed to create anomalies similar to Project Altis, but capabilities are always altered to protect mainline reality (even if this alteration is not known to the mirror civilization).
Inhabitants of the mirror timeline are never able to access mainline reality.
Note: This protection has occasionally failed. Some notable exceptions: Entity classified as SCP-3812 in originating timeline. Humanoid with the ability to ascend upward through "levels" of reality.
Passed through with no effect on mainline reality.
Entity commonly classified as SCP-1985 in many timelines. A humanoid apocalypse exploration device. Instance's originating timeline not yet located. Instance entered mainline reality, presumably investigating an unknown apocalypse affecting mainline reality (possibly "THE WORM"). Unfortunately, personnel were not properly briefed on handling such a circumstance, and STANDARDS CREATION INTEGRITY ≡ .
Project Palisade Timeline delivered ill-advised explicit threats. SCP-1985 instance reacted negatively, and retreated from mainline reality through self- termination before apprehension could occur. Mechanism of accessing mainline reality unclear, but appears to have been accidental. SCP-1985 instance did not appear to realize significance of discovery in any way.
Entities appearing to be mirrors of standard Foundation team used to carry out [DATA EXPUNGED] Created timelines usually possess these traits: The Foundation usually exists in timeline's modern period, except in specific test cases focusing on SCP items, GOIs, etc.
The Foundation usually has existed since at least the 1980s, most commonly since at least the 1950's, and often since at least the late 1800's.
The Foundation is usually a significant player in Earth's civilization.
SCP-173 usually exists and is contained by the Foundation, and classified using database number 173, except in specific test cases.
SCP-classified items usually number in the thousands, with trivial anomalous items existing in numbers too high to count. (Initial test runs limited number of SCP items, but the limit has gradually been raised as more stable mirror timelines have been successfully created.) Typical SCP-classified items are usually horrifying in nature (reflecting mainline reality), though many exceptions usually exist (and may often technically outnumber the SCP items perceived as horrifying in nature).
World-ending threats are usually present, but usually in forms which the Foundation is theoretically able to at least temporarily contain (or survive without containing for a significant observation period).
SCP database entries usually work like mainline reality, except that gaps are present. Gaps correspond to SCP items not present in that timeline. Local mirror Foundation agents always explain the missing items in a way that makes sense to themselves (typically that the slot is waiting to be filled, or theoretically exists but has all access denied). This alteration is for ease of monitoring.
Common exceptions to this rule include SCP-001, SCP-1000, SCP-2000, SCP-3000, SCP-4000, and other SCP-_000 database entries. Outside of early test runs (some of which classified a "Bipolar Guitar" as SCP-1000), these system slots have been used for "key variant" experimentation.
Anomalous "Groups of Interest" usually exist and are relevant, at least to the Foundation.
Reality benders usually exist. This is partially to help cover mainline Foundation alteration to shield timelines, and partially to provide mirror Foundation agents with minor to major "wild card" challenges of a sapient nature.
05/██/2007: Project Palisade put into action on an emergency basis with Iteration X, referring to a universal database system co-opted for Palisade use. Item # SCP-173 is ITERATION X ITERATION E ITERATION W ≡ .
Project Palisade Alternatives [DATA EXPUNGED BY ORDER OF O5 COUNCIL] Note from O5-██: The question has been repeatedly raised of why we will not consider methods of reality protection as a replacement of Project Palisade. The answer is simple.
Project Palisade works. All our projections and analyses have shown that Project Palisade is a complete guarantee of working. We will not take risks with the very existence of mainline reality. Thank you for your cooperation.
► Access Project Palisade Test Log And that is called paying the Dane-geld; But we've proved it again and again, That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld You never get rid of the Dane.
Unknown System Error: Readout Attached Sometimes I dream there's a greater Foundation out there, a true original Foundation without the endless horror of what we've done, a reality not rotten and mundane and chosen as the baseline for the first test runs.
The first test run is extremely successful, creating many timelines which are destroyed by THE WORM, drawing it away from mainline reality, and buying time to create reliable attraction methods.
This first test run also creates a number of timelines which THE WORM avoids, and which are still in existence today, with high reality integrity scores.
██/██/2007: As Iteration X progresses, numerous mirror Foundation instances are "encouraged" to adopt anomalous weaponry programs. Most of these instances become failed timelines (and are internally controversial), but many successes also result, particularly those centered around key variant "Mobile Task Force Omega-7".
Additionally, numerous key variant Foundation personnel are established. Some key variants are mirrors of existing mainline Foundation personnel, and others only exist in mirror timelines. Notable early key variants include personnel code-named "Gears", "Kain Pathos Crow", and "Bantay Masipag".
After mass Foundation fatalities on excursions to mirror universes (fortunately largely reversed through technology gleaned from other mirrors), preliminary recruitment of extra-universal assets commences. Use of proxy "collaborator" agents is quickly established as standard procedure.
≡ disappointing, a Foundation that actually deserved to survive, deserved to be the First.
Sometimes I think we're all just caught up in a fever dream, like we're all in a bottle somewhere being experimented on by some outsider seeing what the Foundation would do given all the power we could imagine and an excuse to justify anything. Sometimes I wonder if this is why no one has come to stop us. If not God or gods, surely there must be something out there, surely there must be something that values the infinite uncountable lives we've sacrificed. Unless those lives and those minds are only shadows on a wall… unless we are manipulated like puppets the way we manipulate everyone else… but wouldn't that just be too easy, if I never did any of the things I know I did?
What gave us the right to do this?
Are we the first? What if there are a thousand thousand "mainline realities" and a thousand thousand Project Palisades?
What if there aren't? What if there are other "mainline realities", but we're the only ones with a Project Palisade? If we're the only ones who ever made… all of you?
How would we ever know?
System Restart Failed > Unknown System Error: Readout Attached If you're reading this, you're part of the wall.
I just want you to know that I'm sorry. But not sorry enough to stop.
Searching Database For Keyword: PALISADE (1) Text Reference Found: File SCP-3591 ERROR: Requested Supplement File Not Found.
System Logging Out.
We don't die in the dark so you can live in the light.
We live in the dark, alone.
Close Recovered Data Files .
Cite this page as: ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License "WMDD's Proposal" by thedeadlymoose, weizhong, and Dexanote, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/wmdd-s-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
001-proposal co-authored extradimensional foundation-made general-bowe k-class-scenario palisade scp spatial thaumiel page revision: 18, last edited: 5 Sep 2023, 17:35 (544 days ago) Edit Rate (+308) Tags Discuss (35) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
Project Palisade Test Log SCP-001 » WMDD's Proposal » Project Palisade Test Log rating: +51 + – X This document is an "executive summary" partial test log for Project Palisade. Total number of viable variants is 9136. Format is as follows: Designation: Description: Attraction Method: Only significant variations need be listed.
Sub-Reality Focal Items: Include item/s used to affect sub-realities, if applicable.
Significant Variations: Any significant overall variations enacted. Also list any accidental/naturally-occurring variations.
Key Variants: (If any. Key Variants are always SCP items or major non-SCP Anomalous Items.) Current Status: Usually "Collaborating", "Destroyed", "Unresolved", "Monitored", or "Other" Notes: Full archive test logs for Project Palisade may be requested from administration.
Designation: 001-UC5-RX0 Description: One of numerous identical initial test runs of Project Palisade.
Attraction Method: Techno-ritual devised via collaboration with Esoteric Containment Specialists. Generic sigils used, with emphasis on blood sacrifice. Non- organic ritual components performed exclusively through computer data files.
Sub-Reality Focal Items: An urn filled with dirt. Both urn and dirt originate from original target reality.
Significant Variations: As this was a proof of concept of Project Palisade, no significant variation was made, aside from the single baseline key variant.
Key Variants: SCP-173 (no changes made, baseline only) Current Status: Destroyed.
Notes: Not all variations of this test run have been destroyed, and are considered potential backups in case of emergency.
SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in Designation: 1K0-M55-W17 Description: Initial run of variant class 1K0 Collaborators: None.
Attraction Method: Genetically engineered biofilms introduced into population of New York City, USA. Biofilms induced hypnagogic state in roughly 10% of infected individuals. Esoteric Containment Specialist utilized resultant mass psychic potential as beacon.
Sub-Reality Focal Items: Corpse of D-55432 from Fencepost T14-LLD-540, infected with the biofilm.
Significant Variations: Variant has significantly fewer identified SCP Items, and SCP-1000 is an estimated 500 years closer to inducing an SK-class dominance shift than in mainline.
Key Variants: SCP-103: Replacement of existing minimum-threat SCP of unknown origin with variant with known biological cause of moderate threat level.
Current Status: Monitored Notes: Rate of reality decay is increasing, but total collapse has not yet occurred.
Designation: RK0-10Q-R30 Description: Experimenting with direct alterations to world history, centering around present-day effects on the SCP Foundation. Team of 350 collaborators, seeded throughout timeline to perform reality shifts where appropriate to tweak results.
Attraction Method: Standard techno-ritual system.
Sub-Reality Focal Items: Corpses of newly altered SCP-1000 and SCP-1111 instances.
Significant Variations: Massive world history changes due to alterations to Key Variants. Reality shifts ensure basic consistency of present day of timeline with mainline reality.
Key Variants: SCP-1000 altered to "White Dog", currently SCP-1111. SCP-1111 altered to "Bigfoot".
Current Status: Destroyed Notes: Similar experiments carried out over several thousand fenceposts, reversing key variant SCPs to observe effects on timeline.
Designation: MT1-9PS-339 Description: 223 run of designate class devoted to alteration of technology bases/emphasis, in order to determine if more effective containment procedures for THE WORM can be developed. 195 collaborators seeded throughout timeline from 1600 CE to present day, to impede/destroy key technological breakthroughs/developments.
Attraction Method: Modified techno-ritual system due to variations in local technology level, specifically lack of electronics. Computations performed using subjects acquired from the Cogwork Orthodox Church, the only extant branch of the Church of the Broken God.
rd ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Sub-Reality Focal Items: 12 kg of SCP-217 infected dirt originating from Fencepost MKX-LLC-09M, natural child of Collaborator Melissa Hargrove and native male.
Significant Variations: Successful alteration of technology base, resulting in dependence on purely mechanical means of producing useful work.
Key Variants: SCP-993 recovered during Industrial Revolution rather than 20 century, SCP-217 altered to be less infectious and slower acting Current Status: Collaborating Notes: Initial expectations were that technology base would stagnate at level of Industrial Revolution. Instead, great strides were made involving miniaturization and biochemical development. Effective technology effect level is approximately that of 1950's mainline reality, utilizing exclusively mechanical means.
Designation: XQ0-503-856 Description: "Mirror invasion." Test run of significantly increased collaborator presence. 350 mirror agents were able to destabilize present Foundation of equivalent tech level in record time.
Attraction Method: Standard rituals "super-sized" using increased collaborator count.
Sub-Reality Focal Items: Corpses of native "mirrors" of collaborators.
Significant Variations: None. Identical to mainline reality except for (as always) presence of Project Palisade and standard alterations.
Key Variants: None Current Status: Destroyed Notes: Success of mission appears very high, though efficacy of evaluating "THE WORM" still being evaluated. Depending on results, may accelerate this direction in the future.
collaboration doomsday2018 experiment palisade supplement page revision: 12, last edited: 5 Sep 2023, 13:49 (544 days ago) Edit Rate (+51) Tags Discuss (5) History Files Print Site tools + Options th ≡ Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License ≡ |
The Forbidden City, Peking. Site in which the definition of SCP-001 and ratification of the Forbidden City Convention occurred.
Wrong Proposal SCP-001 » Wrong Proposal rating: +557 + – X NOTICE FROM THE FOUNDATION RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION Biannual Security Update: Item Number Randomisation has been initiated. Until security update is complete, all files are locked. For emergency updates, please access the Emergency Data Archival System (EDAS).
— Maria Jones, Director, RAISA > 8619 items remaining. Item number 'SCP-001' targeted.
> 1 file identified with search term 'SCP-001'.
> File 'SCP-001' selected.
> Initiate automated item number randomisation.
> Scanning file for search term 'SCP-001'… Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Euclid Clearance Designation: Level 5 Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 cannot be secured or contained conventionally, and it is unknown if it may occur in the future.
As such, a reactive approach is to be adopted. Said approach consists of the following Chapters of the Forbidden City Convention: SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in 1. Prevention and minimisation of the conditions conducive to the possible occurrence of SCP-001 or its equivalent via Forbidden City Convention Chapter I.
2. Management of organisational transition and unity following implementation of Forbidden City Convention Chapter I, via Forbidden City Convention Chapters II and III respectively.
All above-mentioned Chapters of the Forbidden City Convention are not to be altered, unless via a unanimous vote by the O5 Council.
Description: SCP-001 is a successful occurrence of a CK-class restructuring scenario, which generated the current reality via the alteration of a previous iteration of reality.
Based on first-person accounts, SCP-001 occurred on the 1st of June in the year 1900 Anno Domini of the previous reality. The nature of SCP-001 is such that all causes, events, references and memories of Occult War i (referred to as the 'Fifth Occult War' in the previous reality) are omitted and replaced with various anomalous and non-anomalous parallels in the current reality.
Foundation documentation regarding Occult War i is obtained from anecdotal accounts of thirteen non-anomalous human beings who retain their memories of the previous reality via a phenomenon coined as 'partial SCP-001 immunity'. However, the mechanism behind partial SCP-001 immunity is unknown and will not be assessed, as decided by the O5 Council. Efforts to identify additional individuals (if any) with partial SCP-001 immunity are on indefinite hiatus, as decided by the O5 Council.
Below is an abridged list of events during Occult War i and plausible analogous events in the current reality; see Document OWi for an expanded list.
+ View List The cause and origin of SCP-001 are unknown and cannot be ascertained. It is unknown if SCP-001 or its equivalent has occurred prior to its known occurrence or may ever occur in the future. Additionally, it is unknown if SCP-001 represents a typical or atypical occurrence of a CK-class restructuring scenario. In the event that SCP-001 or its equivalent has occurred or will occur, it is speculated that a majority (if not all) of Mankind and/or sapient entities will have no recollection of them or the events prior to the moment of occurrence. It cannot be ascertained if partial SCP-001 immunity is applicable to future occurrences of SCP-001 or its equivalent.
The definition of SCP-001 was finalised by the O5 Council in a 5-4-4 vote, and the Forbidden City Convention was ratified on the 7th of September in the year 1901 Anno Domini.
Addendum 1: Excerpts from the Forbidden City Convention CHAPTER I: THE FOUNDATION The following organisations are to be dissolved and disavowed from their respective patrons, and their personnel and resources are to undergo merger: ≡ Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal Estate noir Tsars' Seers Kaiserliches Deutsches Prüfamt für Paranormale Angelegenheiten (KDPPA) American Secure Containment Initiative Imperial Commission on Transgressive Occurrences Royal Office for Christian Artefacts Special Investigations Board, Council of the Dutch East Indies Inner Africa Expeditionary Society The Knights of the Military Order of Borja y Aragón Bureau of Onmyō (陰陽寮) Abnormality Institute (異學會) 0th Anti-Cult Regiment In their place, a unitary organisation is to be established.
The mission of this unitary organisation is to secure and contain various anomalous objects in order to protect Mankind from said objects.
The referent for this unitary organisation is agreed to be the 'Foundation'; the following alternative referents (i.e. 'Institute', 'Organisation', 'Organization' and 'Front') have been proposed and rejected.
The aforementioned thirteen organisations from which the Foundation is formed are henceforth designated as 'Foundation precursors'.
CHAPTER II: THE O5 COUNCIL The provisional executive administration of the Foundation is to consist of an executive council composed of thirteen individuals, one from each Foundation precursor.
The aforementioned thirteen individuals of this executive council were selected due to the following criteria: Leadership position in respective Foundation precursor.
Possession of memory regarding Occult War i.
Future members of this executive council are not required to possess both of the above-mentioned qualities.
The referent for this executive council is agreed to be the 'O5 Council'; the following alternative referents (i.e. 'Overseers Committee', 'Level 5 Council' and 'O5 Command') have been proposed and rejected.
The function of the O5 Council is to facilitate the initial transition from Foundation precursors.
≡ Each O5 Council member is designated with a Roman numeral ranging from One to Thirteen.
Other organisations merged into the Foundation henceforth are to be denied representation on the O5 Council.
CHAPTER III: GROUPS OF INTEREST Organisations with awareness of anomalous phenomena that are not subsumed under Foundation control are hereby designated as 'Groups of Interest'.
The Foundation's default approach towards Groups of Interest is to pursue their dissolution, termination and/or assimilation of their personnel and resources.
Addendum O5-(1-13): Succession Note re: SCP-001. File displayed is dependent on logged-in O5 account.
Verifying login credentials. Administrator Override (CODE HOWLING BLACK MOON) identified. All files displayed.
Welcome O5-1 To my successor, As the main editor of SCP-001, I have already written all that you need to know. After SCP-001, only the thirteen of us knew of it and we each stood at the height of our respective precursor organisations. Certainly, we were fated to take command and unite as the Foundation.
As you can tell from the votes, there were two other alternatives for SCP-001 from our debate at Peking. They were ultimately voted down, but Two and Twelve left their marks on Foundation history. A pity that Twelve's limited command of the English language mustered a relatively vernacular term, as opposed to Two's and mine. Nevertheless, our initiative to speak up for the first O5 meeting will be remembered and honoured in almost every SCP article ever penned down.
As for the Foundation's mission, I hope you and your colleagues continue our work.
≡ Welcome O5-2 To my successor, Santayana once said, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it". Now, the world as a whole cannot remember the past. But does it repeat itself? Yes, it does.
During the Second World War, was there not another authoritarian dictator terrorising Europe and were the Chinese not massacred again? Of course, the details differ and America kept itself together throughout that war. Maybe that civil war occurred again in your lifetime, or will occur soon. Or that scaled-down skirmish was it. That still leaves the Factory, but it is elusive.
The product of an anomaly should be an anomaly in itself; SCP- 001 and this world are no exceptions. Piece by piece, this world is undoing and repeating itself. For every SCP not (if not, minimally) in our control, the process is ongoing. Until then, there will be chaos in the system. Once, I proposed that we guide the world back to its original state but the others disagreed in favour of establishing tyranny. Ultimately, I acceded. There is no need to fight for my views. Nothing will change the process.
No action is needed, except to wait. Or in short, 'Keter'.
Welcome O5-3 To my successor, Anomaly and normalcy — both are subject to the consensus.
Today's anomaly might have been yesterday's normality, and vice versa. The scandal Nine uncovered is one such example; drapetomania is no longer anomalous when the consensus decides it no longer holds water.
Apply the consensus onto SCP-001. To the rest of the world, the Occult Wars do not exist. They exist only to those who know the anomalous. To those who know the anomalous, Occult War i does not exist. Only thirteen men imagined it to have existed, and that could have been SCP-001.
However, the council established our own consensus and my opinion shifted to that when it was announced. More of us decided that we should establish order over all anomalous ≡ matters instead of suggesting that we might be the problem.
That would only be the first of the many consensuses reached, where we held influence over the world's conceptions of what is normal and what's not. Perhaps they resulted in the world you have grown up in.
Thus, remember these. Consensus has value, and to be normal is to abide by the consensus.
Welcome O5-4 To my successor, I'm one of the few who have fought in the front lines for both Fifth Occult Wars. I was gravely disappointed by the official Fifth Occult War, which is more accurately a skirmish. Those Boxers simply can't compare to the Daevites and clockwork worshippers. Even after turning almost every other agency and cult into our enemies, the Wainscot society cannot compare to total war.
Perhaps it's the youthful bloodlust in me talking. It's a frequent quirk since SCP-001 happened, like during Peking when I voted for Two's proposal out of impulse. I didn't care for his strange theory. I only wanted to fight on. So many sacrifices have been made already, and I have made significant sacrifices as well.
They cannot end in quiet days.
But now, I'm old and quietness will come for me. But you are here to fight on. Make sure that it does not end in quietness.
Welcome O5-5 To my successor, You now know that the world was once averted from total destruction due to an uncontrolled event. And because it is uncontrolled, we cannot guarantee if it can work again. Or if it would be in our favour. We should not rely on uncertainties like SCP-001.
As a species, we have mastered and stomped on all the beasts and lands of the world respectively. Many crafts are now mastered by Man, crafts that were once dreams. The restoration of the world is simply another thing to be mastered.
If the world can rewind itself, we can do it too.
≡ By combining our resources, the magnum opus I envisioned can be reality. It might have been utilised already or construction is still ongoing, but SCP-001 will be irrelevant when it's ready. By our will, Mankind rules eternal.
Welcome O5-6 To my successor, We agreed that SCP-001 happened, but we don't know if it is the only time SCP-001 ever happened. Could it happen again?
Must the world be near its annihilation for it to work? How much is it enough? What about trans-reality memory retention, a more accurate term than that ill-defined compromise? How does it work? Why only us? Can it be replicated? The list goes on.
This unusual phenomenon's level of uncertainty surely necessitates quantification. 'Euclid' is a reminder of that conviction, that more should be known about SCP-001. I suppose you would have that drive, cultivated by the Foundation's advocacy for scientific methodology. Containing and protecting cannot be the ends; knowledge is. But the majority of the first council was too afraid to probe and wanted to either abandon it or be preventive. Neither solves the problem, really.
But you can do your part in solving it. Only you can see this and have access to however little I can find out, so let that be your starting point. May you deliver results and bring meaningful data to SCP-001.
Welcome O5-7 To my successor, Officially, only thirteen people were immune to SCP-001. But there is another, Jibril Mani. He was a consultant working for the Sublime Porte, and we met when I took refuge in Constantinople due to Napoleon. He was most hospitable and we became fast friends despite the traditional enmity between Christendom and Dar al-Islam. We stayed with each other until the occurrence of SCP-001, where I found myself in Rome.
In the current world, he managed to contact me and I knew he remembered our friendship in the lost past. Meeting him, we spoke extensively about our memories of Occult War i. I invited ≡ him to join me in an upcoming gathering in Peking with other men who remembered the war, but he politely declined.
Jibril would rather defend his friends and clansmen, especially when we knew that the Middle East was in chaos then. He was sceptical towards One and his affiliation, but I could not blame his suspicion and respected his wishes. We parted ways since then. While I took on the title of O5-7, Jibril told me that he would return to Iran to gather allies for his cause.
Just as he desired to protect his loved ones, my obligation is to the world and I will defend it.
P.S. Out of respect, I decided not to report to the Council about Jibril. I do hope that whatever organisations Jibril and the council built in the end will not clash. We only wish to protect.
Welcome O5-8 To my successor, As you can infer from the votes, there were three choices that ultimately led to SCP-001. One's proposal was really the only option. The others were stupid. Two essentially demanded us to be anarchists, while Twelve assumed that we're a bunch of lunatics who need an Oriental drug. No thank you to either!
Most of us have been collecting anomalous objects to begin with, so the Foundation is not much different from at least half of its precursors. As for the other half, the Groups of Interest will have everyone on the same page.
You should have been doing this job for quite some time, so I expect you to keep it up.
Welcome O5-9 To my successor, SCP-001 is the restructuring of reality, that's our consensus.
Therefore, SCP-001 is reality bending. Two claimed that reality will inevitably revert to correct the world, which is similar to Scranton's famous address on the topic. That being said, the latter insisted that reversion would be caused by the reality bender. It might be hard to control sapient beings, although some scholars believe that an engine may theoretically ≡ increase the probability. This prospect brings hope — that the greatest known act of reality bending can be reverted.
And when it happens, the world might revert to its previous state — complete with my home in the African Free State, where the IK-class scenario did not really apply. It might as well be the previous world's only safe haven. That stability was lost after SCP-001, and I ended up working in a less hospitable setting.
Even though I was not favourable to One's concept, the Foundation is by far a better environment. It is also a good place to figure out how to realise Scranton's ideas, or at least invest in someone who can. Despite the money and subjects I have supplied, progress has been slow and I have come to terms that I might never regain my losses.
But you can, should SCP-001 happen again. You should continue the research in whatever way you can, because you shouldn't be like me and lose that which is yours. No one deserves that.
Welcome O5-10 To my successor, There were thirteen groups that started the Foundation, but not all of us stand equal. Take Twelve's Abnormality Institute, unendorsed by the Qing. But mine is similarly in decline. Our namesake was a witch hunter, but none of us actually met a real witch. An interest group was a more accurate description for the Borja Knights of the late 19th century. If not for the memories I had of Occult War i, it would've remained that way.
When One spoke of his great scheme, I had my doubts about fighting the anomalous. Each new generation of knights is a shadow of the previous, and it shows. In Occult War i, I remembered my knights being annihilated by Napoleon's clockwork soldiers. They were (and are) not ready for an occult war or any fight against demons or sorcerers. To submit to One's proposal would have meant gruesome deaths for them again. As their grand master, I would not send them to their deaths.
When the vote was not in my favour, I briefly considered to not oblige to the terms of the merger. That thought perished when I heard Eight's proposal to foster the unity of our newly-dubbed ≡ Foundation. After that, I decided that my knights should at least die meaningfully against monsters rather than as a sacrifice.
All of us die eventually. Make it meaningful for those you hold responsibility over.
P.S. All things considered, the resources from the other precursors did ensure that the last generation of knights will be better than the previous batch.
Welcome O5-11 To my successor, Congratulations for your service to the Foundation. I imagine that you have to climb the hierarchy to reach this position, unlike I who was granted this position by virtue of being the first. Your virtue must be astounding, unlike mine.
During Occult War i, Kyoto fell to the Daevites. Emperor Kōmei and most of the council were killed. The Shogun and his agents only fled to Ezo. I was among the few to have left Kyoto alive, but only because I feared for my life. I ultimately regretted my choices, and shame overtook me. Not even death liberated me.
At least Emperor Kōmei passed away in a less violent manner in this new world.
This brought me to my vote at Peking, that we were hallucinating and the amnestics will cure us. Actually, I only want to forget. But the consensus was reached, and I am not allowed to forget. One insisted that we were fated to work together, and no one else shall stand alongside us in this council.
At least it was tolerable, knowing that there were others like me.
Three, Seven and Thirteen were very positive influences. My successor, I know not your colleagues in the O5 Council of your time, but they shall be your sworn allies. Remember that.
Welcome O5-12 To my successor, I am sure you have heard of amnestics, and I am sure that it has been improved over the years. But the origins of amnestics ≡ (as a whole) is one of the many secrets of the Foundation. I will explain it.
Amnestics was originally a secret of the Meng Clan of alchemists. I married one of the clan's women to claim the right to make it. Originally, I wanted to cure myself of a series of disturbing visions which we now recognise as memories of Occult War i.
Before I could prepare the concoction for myself, Eleven contacted me and told me of similar visions. Soon, I gained knowledge that there are more men who experienced the same vision and they intend to meet at the capital. As a physician, it is my duty to see to everyone's recovery and I attempted to convince them that it will be safe if we take no unnecessary action. Most of them disagreed with my views, so they insisted on a democratic vote as per the ways of the West. Needless to say, my views were rejected.
But not amnestics. Five concluded that it is useful, for it can revert memory, vaguely similar to SCP-001. Thus, amnestics stopped being a cure for the illness I had proposed, but to cure the common folk of any knowledge of the abnormal.
Unfortunately, Matriarch Meng did not approve of the foreigners' theft of her clan's secrets and the Meng Clan was one of the earliest Groups of Interest we faced. Their fate was as the Boxers were, although a junior or two might have escaped to Hong Kong with what little they knew of the formula.
Please be of use to the council. But if you have earned this position, you should be of use.
Welcome O5-13 To my successor, SCP-001 said that only the thirteen leaders of the precursors were immune from its effects, but that was incorrect. There were only twelve.
One and I have known each other for decades, and I owed him a lot. Naturally, when he asked for a tiebreaker vote, I obliged.
He filled me in on the Daevite incursion in India to complete the deceit. When there were things I did not know of, I'd blame it on the British's unwillingness to be open with my regiment.
≡ I suppose you might be ashamed of the title by now, but if not for me, I daresay we might have three different Foundations at war with one another. For me, it was an opportunity to be treated more seriously by the Europeans and I took advantage of it. Since then, I have made many amends so that others will not end up in my situation.
Thus, promise me that you vote according to your will, not by another's.
> Scan complete. 40 instances of 'SCP-001' identified.
> Initiating random number generation… Cite this page as: "Wrong Proposal" by MrWrong, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/wrong-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
Filename: Boxer Peking.jpg Name: Within historic grounds of the Forbidden City in Pekin, China, on November 28 celebrated the victory of the Allies., ca. - NARA - 532582.tif Author: Unknown License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal able alternate-history anomalous-event asci bureaucracy daevite ectoentropic euclid factory global-occult-coalition hiscon2017 historical hmfscp k-class-scenario memory-affecting mystery oria reality-bending sarkic scp spatial temporal uncontained page revision: 55, last edited: 1 Oct 2024, 14:55 (152 days ago) Edit Rate (+557) Tags Discuss (78) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
notgull's Proposal SCP-001 » notgull's Proposal rating: +592 + – X SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in The sky above Point Alpha during a breach of SCP-001.
= SCP-001 | Technical Clearance Required = This document exists as technical containment for an anomaly and thus does not adhere to standard SCiPNET formatting.
Input 5/TECHNICAL clearance to proceed.
[ PERSONAL IDENTIFICATION NUMBER VERIFIED ] Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Ontokinetic Containment Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: If the sky begins changing color with no prior stimuli or indication, all Foundation sites are to go onto ALERT LEVEL 7 immediately. Personnel at Site-05 and -06 are to enter ALERT LEVEL 8 and begin evaluating new methods of containing SCP-001.
Site-05 has been constructed around Point Alpha. Procedure 001-ENTRY is in effect to contain SCP-001-1. A monitor containing Document 032, as well as a speaker reading the document, are to be placed at least five meters away from SCP-001-1. If SCP- 001-1 swells up to 2 meters or more in diameter, the speed of the narration is to increase.
This system is to have a direct cable link to the Foundation SCiPNET database at Site-06, and several redundant power generators are to ensure this system stays operational at all times.
Description: SCP-001 is an ongoing ZK-Class "Reality Failure" Scenario. SCP-001 is prevented from happening through several procedures manipulating its sub-anomalies.
The only known observable symptom of SCP-001 is the sky becoming a different color; it is believed that, if SCP-001 were to progress to the point where other symptoms began to occur, it would become irreversible.
SCP-001-1 is a levitating object contained within Point Alpha, a cave chamber five kilometers south of the ruins of Babylon. SCP-001-1 visually resembles a perfectly smooth sphere with a texture similar to blurred television static. Measurement instruments indicate SCP-001-1 is currently 1.19 meters in diameter. Solids and liquids that pass within the bounds of SCP-001-1 are replaced entirely with argon gas, giving the illusion of disappearing.
SCP-001-2 is an entity that is capable of being seen within Point Alpha. SCP-001-2's ≡ Point Alpha shortly after it was acquired by the Foundation, with Agents Samuel and Boise performing preliminary evaluation. SCP-001-1 not visible.
manifestations are random; witnesses report seeing SCP-001-2 "past the walls of the cave." From descriptions of eyewitnesses, SCP-001-2 is humanoid in shape and large in stature, and is only visible when looking through SCP-001-1. Descriptions of SCP-001-2 vary from person to person; common features include an emaciated figure, long limbs, and prominent facial features. SCP-001-2 takes the position of lying against the wall. It is most often seen with a neutral expression; however, the expression occasionally changes to discomfort or bliss.
It has been determined from historical precedent that "entertaining" SCP-001-2 through SCP-001-1 will prevent SCP-001.
History: Point Alpha and its contents are believed to date back to prehistory.
Babylonian scripts indicate that SCP-001-1 was routinely patrolled by a group of sages, known as the "Order of White and Black," who refused passage to anyone who could demonstrate the ability to read or write.
This group was made defunct by the rise of Achaemenid Persia, which contained SCP- 001-1 with a group of Zoroastrian monks.
Very few accounts of SCP-001-1 are present; recovered accounts assert that all information about SCP-001-1 and its significance was passed orally.
The most substantial account of SCP-001-1 and SCP-001-2 at this time dates back to the Greek philosopher Xera, who made an expedition into the Achaemenid Empire and found Point Alpha. During Alexander of Macedon's conquest of the Achaemenid Empire, he took interest in Xera's texts and continued the Achaemenid containment of SCP-001-1.
However, this new institution, known as the "Cronus Guard", was given Greek epics to read in order to "punish Cronus" for his actions. This institution lasted through the partition of Macedon into the Seleucid Empire, the rise of the Sassanid Empire, and even the formation of the Rashidun Caliphate.
The Cronus Guard were eventually replaced with an Islamic equivalent: "The Society for the Containment of the Babel Demon." This group was the first to perform substantial research on SCP-001-1, and the first to accurately link SCP-001 to SCP-001-1.
Close Attachment Literature Read: The first quatrain of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Result: DEMON squirms but otherwise does not react.
≡ Records from the Society for the Containment of the Babel Demon, recovered in the early 19 century within ORIA archives.
Consistent with reading of Homer's Epics by the Chronus Guard.
Literature Read: The remaining quatrains of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Result: No changes from observed behavior.
Literature Read: A poem written by Guardian Muhammad ibn Buya'aa meant explicitly for DEMON Result: DEMON thrashes more than usual until the cessation of the reading. ORB begins to expand until the Genealogies of the Nobles is read to DEMON.
Literature Read: None, for 10 days Result: ORB is observed to expand, and DEMON is observed to thrash.
Externally, the sky above the camp is noted to turn a darker red color, until the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam is read again.
Literature Read: Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Result: DEMON thrashes more than during previous readings of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. It is believed that the Quran may no longer have any effect on DEMON.
Literature Read: One Thousand and One Nights Result: DEMON ceases thrashing. New literature may be necessary to prevent further phenomena from occurring.
The Society was eventually absorbed into the Office for the Reclamation of Islamic Artifacts, who assumed containment of SCP-001-1. After Incident 001-EXAL, the Foundation purchased Point Alpha from ORIA for a large sum of currency and several Safe-class anomalies.
th ≡ Incident 001-EXAL Note: Some documentation taken from ORIA's account of Incident 001-EXAL.
On 2024-3-3, personnel with ORIA read the book Tafsir al-Ahlam al-kabir, or "Great Book of Interpretation of Dreams" as per normal containment of SCP-001-1. However, SCP-001- 2 was observed to rapidly thrash while screaming. SCP-001-1 itself swelled from 50.3 centimeters to 3.2 meters in diameter.
Shortly following this event, SCP-001 began to worsen. The sky worldwide turned a black/white color similar to the texture of SCP-001-1. In addition, reality bending phenomena began worldwide, causing deformed geography, the manifestation of dangerous anomalous objects and several natural disasters. This event was ended after ORIA personnel read SCP-001-1 an undisclosed number of as-of-yet unread books, which caused SCP-001-2 to stop thrashing and SCP-001 to restore to its pre-incident point.
However, the damage caused by this incident was deemed enough to require an activation of SCP-2000.
This prompted the Foundation to take control of containment of SCP-001. See History segment above for more information.
Access Granted During Incident 001-Alpha, vocalizations in Daevish were recorded by ORIA instruments within Point Alpha. The source is presently unknown. The following are approximate translations of these vocalizations.
It has passed some [space/time].
The [UNKNOWN: gaera] has passed. It [has had/used to be] fun. It is [time/space] to leave.
You cannot [stay/root/hold] yourself forever.
The [UNKNOWN: gaera] has passed. You [must/will] awaken.
No, you have [entered/reentered] slumber for too long. Wake up.
[King/Prince/loved one], it is time for you to wake up.
≡ It is fun to be in the [UNKNOWN: gaera] but you cannot be [in/rooted] there [forever/unending]. It is [entertaining/deathlike], but you must wake up.
Wake up, [King/Prince/loved one]. We miss you.
Addenda Access Granted Discussion Thread 001-398: Continued Containment Started on: 2025-3-3 Started by: HMCL Robinson HMCL Robinson: The usage of this thread will be for containment directives for SCP-001. In the past year that we have spent containing it, SCP-001-1's literature needs have become increasingly draconic: we can very rarely reread books without it beginning to thrash, and even then we're running out of high-quality literature to give it. We need a more long-term, reliable solution for containment. SCP-001's file has been temporarily opened up to all personnel with Level 2 clearance. Anybody can submit an idea.
Proposal: Use Artificial Intelligence Constructs to automatically generate new stories for SCP-001-2.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Result: TSATPWTCOTTTADC.aic was able to generate 10,000 volumes of stories imitating Greek literature. However, when the first was read to SCP- 001-1, it began thrashing beyond acceptable measures until it was read approved reading. No further computer-generated works are to be given to SCP-001-1.
≡ Proposal: Hire a full team of authors to create literature for SCP-001-1.
Status: [ DENIED ] Reason: In the past, literature written specifically for SCP-001-1 have failed to contain it (see: SCtBD Document #249). With SCP-001-2's current state this is not to be attempted again.
Proposal: Read mainlist documentation for SCP-███ to SCP-001-1.
Status: [ DENIED ] Reason: This could represent a possible information leak. Test denied.
Proposal: Read mainlist documentation for SCP-███ to SCP-001-1.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Reason: With SCP-001-2's recent containment breach, these measures are approved.
Result: SCP-001-2 observed to stop thrashing and stay completely still, seemingly smiling. In addition, SCP-███ was able to be read for 14 consecutive readings before SCP-001-2 resumed normal activity.
Proposal: Regularly read mainlist documentation for SCP-001-1.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Proposal: Replacement of the SCP-001 file with several "001 Proposals" with much more grand implications than normal SCP files.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Result: By only occasionally reading 001 files, SCP-001-2 is observed to be more calm on average. The previously observed actions of retaliation in response to specially crafted literature do not apply here.
Proposal: Expansion of the SCP Series beyond SCP-999, and declassification of several unnumbered SCP objects into these slots.
Status: [ APPROVED ] ≡ Proposal: Given the variation of the current 2957 SCP mainlist files, SCP- 001-1 is to be read a random arrangement of these files, in repeat.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Result: This strategy succeeded for approximately 3 years, allowing for several repeats. However, on 2028-9-30, SCP-001-2 began thrashing rapidly, requiring newer documentation to sedate.
Proposal: Expansion of the SCP Series beyond SCP-4999, and declassification of several unnumbered SCP objects into these slots.
Status: [ DENIED ] Reason: SCP-001-1 has required progressively more SCP mainlist articles for containment, even to the point of the fabrication of some anomalous entities.
Proposal: Rewriting of several older SCP mainlist files to be more exaggerated and narrative-like.
Status: [ TENTATIVELY APPROVED ] Note: Deliberately exaggerating our files for the purpose of this entity is crossing some lines, but for now, it will have to do. However, we need a better way. I'm calling a committee. We need to put a stop to this.
Proposal: Creation of a file describing SCP-001 that uses recursion to effectively be "never-ending." Psychoanalysis related to SCP-001-2's apparent "enjoyment" of works implies a slight ego and bias towards ≡ The sky above Point Alpha during a breach of SCP-001.
works about itself, and past strategies with this idea have worked for long periods of time. File is to be archived as a "technical" file.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Result: Procedure 001-ENTRY implemented. [DATA EXPUNGED] Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Ontokinetic Containment Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: If the sky begins changing color with no prior stimuli or indication, all Foundation sites are to go onto ALERT LEVEL 7 immediately. Personnel at Site-05 and -06 are to enter ALERT LEVEL 8 and begin evaluating new methods of containing SCP-001.
Site-05 has been constructed around Point Alpha. Procedure 001-ENTRY is in effect to contain SCP-001-1. A monitor containing Document 032, as well as a speaker reading the document, are to be placed at least five meters away from SCP-001-1. If SCP- 001-1 swells up to 2 meters or more in diameter, the speed of the narration is to increase.
This system is to have a direct cable link to the Foundation SCiPNET database at Site-06, and several redundant power generators are to ensure this system stays operational at all times.
Description: SCP-001 is an ongoing ZK-Class "Reality Failure" Scenario. SCP-001 is prevented from happening through several procedures manipulating its sub-anomalies.
The only known observable symptom of SCP-001 is the sky becoming a different color; it is believed that, if SCP-001 were to progress to the point where other symptoms began to occur, it would become irreversible.
SCP-001-1 is a levitating object contained within Point Alpha, a cave chamber five kilometers south of the ruins of Babylon. SCP-001-1 visually resembles a perfectly smooth sphere with a texture similar to blurred television static. Measurement instruments indicate SCP-001-1 is currently 1.48 meters in diameter. Solids and liquids that pass within the bounds of SCP-001-1 are replaced entirely with argon gas, giving the illusion of disappearing.
SCP-001-2 is an entity that is capable of being seen within Point Alpha. SCP-001-2's manifestations are random; witnesses report seeing SCP-001-2 "past the walls of the cave " From descriptions of eyewitnesses SCP-001-2 is humanoid in shape and large in ≡ Point Alpha shortly after it was acquired by the Foundation, with Agents Samuel and Boise performing preliminary evaluation. SCP-001-1 not visible.
cave. From descriptions of eyewitnesses, SCP-001-2 is humanoid in shape and large in stature, and is only visible when looking through SCP-001-1. Descriptions of SCP-001-2 vary from person to person; common features include an emaciated figure, long limbs, and prominent facial features. SCP-001-2 takes the position of lying against the wall. It is most often seen with a neutral expression; however, the expression occasionally changes to discomfort or bliss.
It has been determined from historical precedent that "entertaining" SCP-001-2 through SCP-001-1 will prevent SCP-001.
History: Point Alpha and its contents are believed to date back to prehistory.
Babylonian scripts indicate that SCP-001-1 was routinely patrolled by a group of sages, known as the "Order of White and Black," who refused passage to anyone who could demonstrate the ability to read or write.
This group was made defunct by the rise of Achaemenid Persia, which contained SCP- 001-1 with a group of Zoroastrian monks.
Very few accounts of SCP-001-1 are present; recovered accounts assert that all information about SCP-001-1 and its significance was passed orally.
The most substantial account of SCP-001-1 and SCP-001-2 at this time dates back to the Greek philosopher Xera, who made an expedition into the Achaemenid Empire and found Point Alpha. During Alexander of Macedon's conquest of the Achaemenid Empire, he took interest in Xera's texts and continued the Achaemenid containment of SCP-001-1.
However, this new institution, known as the "Cronus Guard", was given Greek epics to read in order to "punish Cronus" for his actions. This institution lasted through the partition of Macedon into the Seleucid Empire, the rise of the Sassanid Empire, and even the formation of the Rashidun Caliphate.
The Cronus Guard were eventually replaced with an Islamic equivalent: "The Society for the Containment of the Babel Demon." This group was the first to perform substantial research on SCP-001-1, and the first to accurately link SCP-001 to SCP-001-1.
View Attachment: Excerpts from the notes of the Society for the Containment of the Babel Demon The Society was eventually absorbed into the Office for the Reclamation of Islamic Artifacts, who assumed containment of SCP-001-1. After Incident 001-EXAL, the Foundation purchased Point Alpha from ORIA for a large sum of currency and several Safe-class anomalies.
Incident 001-EXAL ≡ Incident 001- EXAL Note: Some documentation taken from ORIA's account of Incident 001-EXAL.
On 2024-3-3, personnel with ORIA read the book Tafsir al-Ahlam al-kabir, or "Great Book of Interpretation of Dreams" as per normal containment of SCP-001-1. However, SCP-001- 2 was observed to rapidly thrash while screaming. SCP-001-1 itself swelled from 50.3 centimeters to 3.2 meters in diameter.
Shortly following this event, SCP-001 began to worsen. The sky worldwide turned a black/white color similar to the texture of SCP-001-1. In addition, reality bending phenomena began worldwide, causing deformed geography, the manifestation of dangerous anomalous objects and several natural disasters. This event was ended after ORIA personnel read SCP-001-1 an undisclosed number of as-of-yet unread books, which caused SCP-001-2 to stop thrashing and SCP-001 to restore to its pre-incident point.
However, the damage caused by this incident was deemed enough to require an activation of SCP-2000.
This prompted the Foundation to take control of containment of SCP-001. See History segment above for more information.
Input Level 5/001 Credentials Addenda Access Granted Discussion Thread 001-398: Continued Containment Started on: 2025-3-3 Started by: HMCL Robinson HMCL Robinson: The usage of this thread will be for containment directives for SCP-001. In the past year that we have spent containing it, SCP-001-1's literature needs have become increasingly draconic: we can very rarely reread books without it beginning to thrash, and even then we're running out of high-quality literature to give it. We need a more long-term, reliable solution for containment. SCP-001's file has been temporarily opened up to all personnel with Level 2 clearance. Anybody ≡ pl y p pll plll y y can submit an idea.
Proposal: Use Artificial Intelligence Constructs to automatically generate new stories for SCP-001-2.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Result: TSATPWTCOTTTADC.aic was able to generate 10,000 volumes of stories imitating Greek literature. However, when the first was read to SCP- 001-1, it began thrashing beyond acceptable measures until it was read approved reading. No further computer-generated works are to be given to SCP-001-1.
Proposal: Hire a full team of authors to create literature for SCP-001-1.
Status: [ DENIED ] Reason: In the past, literature written specifically for SCP-001-1 have failed to contain it (see: SCtBD Document #249). With SCP-001-2's current state this is not to be attempted again.
Proposal: Read mainlist documentation for SCP-███ to SCP-001-1.
Status: [ DENIED ] Reason: This could represent a possible information leak. Test denied.
Proposal: Read mainlist documentation for SCP-███ to SCP-001-1.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Reason: With SCP-001-2's recent containment breach, these measures are approved.
Result: SCP-001-2 observed to stop thrashing and stay completely still, seemingly smiling. In addition, SCP-███ was able to be read for 14 consecutive readings before SCP-001-2 resumed normal activity.
Proposal: Regularly read mainlist documentation for SCP-001-1.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Proposal: Replacement of the SCP- 001 file with several "001 Proposals" ≡ Proposal: Replacement of the SCP-001 file with several 001 Proposals with much more grand implications than normal SCP files.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Result: By only occasionally reading 001 files, SCP-001-2 is observed to be more calm on average. The previously observed actions of retaliation in response to specially crafted literature do not apply here.
Proposal: Expansion of the SCP Series beyond SCP-999, and declassification of several unnumbered SCP objects into these slots.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Proposal: Given the variation of the current 2957 SCP mainlist files, SCP- 001-1 is to be read a random arrangement of these files, in repeat.
Status: [ APPROVED ] Result: This strategy succeeded for approximately 3 years, allowing for several repeats. However, on 2028-9-30, SCP-001-2 began thrashing rapidly, requiring newer documentation to sedate.
≡ Cite this page as: "notgull's Proposal" by notgull, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/not-a-seagull-proposal. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
Filename: sky.jpg Author: notgull, William Pina ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Derivative of: Wikimedia Filename: cave.jpg Name: Peştera Cioarei, sat Boroşteni-Peştişani-img06822.jpg Author: Tomoniu N. Nicolae License: CC BY-SA 3.0 RO Source Link: Wikimedia Filename: book.jpg Name: Old Book in Baghdad.jpg Author:أفندي طه License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikimedia More by notgull 001-proposal daevite historical humanoid jam-con2019 k-class-scenario keter meta meteorological narrative oria scp sphere transfiguration page revision: 39, last edited: 17 Apr 2024, 18:20 (319 days ago) Edit Rate (+592) Tags Discuss (80) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
psul's proposal SCP-001 » psul's proposal rating: +97 + – X A Message from O5-1 Congratulations on having been granted Security Clearance Level 4. You should be proud of what you have achieved, and the Foundation is grateful for your service.
If you wish, you can consider access to this file as a kind of reward. Perhaps your Level 4 colleagues have encouraged you to read it, or perhaps you've been led here by your own curiosity. I know that looking for SCP-001 was the first thing I did when my clearance was upgraded.
You will have realised already that SCP-001 is not like most other files. I think of it as a collection of mementos - a way to remember the Foundation's history. So where better to start than at the beginning, with the first index card placed in the Foundation's filing system.
Date: 24 February 1919 Item #: 001 Object Class: Keter Description: SCP-001 is the phenomenon that causes living organisms (and/or their individual cells) to cease functioning over time or from the operation of extrinsic forces, leading to the death of the organism.
The cause of this eventuality is incompletely understood, but cannot be other than anomalous.
Research Procedures: Our research is to concentrate on evolutionary theory, cell death and known exceptions to the Gompertz–Makeham law. Our resources are to be An index card SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in The man who wrote the original version of this card was the first O5-1. I am his current successor: the fifth O5-1 of the Foundation. That may surprise you, but with your new clearance you are entitled to certain truths, even the difficult ones. The O5 council are not immortal. Our histories and identities are obscured from most Foundation personnel, but we are individuals serving our term.
And we make individual choices. The first O5-1 chose this phenomenon as the cornerstone of our organisation. He died before his choice could be explained, so I do not know for certain his reasons. But I can understand his choice, because I first read that index card in the year my father died.
He was young - early fifties - and liver cancer is ugly. I saw him slowly eaten away, his skin turn the colour of pus, looking less and less like the man I grew up admiring. Worse was his mind, his clear logical thoughts poisoned by his own blood. We cared for him at home at the end. On some days he didn't know us and fell to panicked ranting. Other times he knew, but had no energy to do more than watch blankly as we fed or bathed him.
In one of his last lucid moments, he asked me to make sure he was clean-shaven. He died that night.
Afterwards, I tried to shave him. It felt wrong - I had only ever shaved my own face, so everything was backwards. My hands felt clumsy and my mind was unfocused. I couldn't connect the father I loved, the man I learned from, with the empty waxen figure in front of me. His skin was not cold, but it did not feel alive. My father was gone, but I was touching his cheek. I was distracted, and my hand - the razor - slipped.
It was a shallow cut, near the jaw, but it drew blood. It shone at me on the razor, and I stared at it. Bright blood from my father's dead body, his carcass. And I thought of butchery, and felt nauseous, and dropped the razor. I could not pick it up again.
Is that story too personal? I think it is important to illustrate another difficult truth. Every member of the Foundation has a life, a family. Even the O5 council. "Only human" is a phrase that takes on additional baggage here, but we are human, and the O5 have spent our careers making human decisions, and compromises, and sometimes mistakes.
If you can accept that truth, these documents will help you understand why we abandoned the principles on which the Foundation was built.
Open next file ...
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation applied to the research of SCP-001 as a priority, with related projects given secondary priority. For full details of the current state of research, please request Folders 001-A through 001-M from the library.
≡ Cite this page as: "psul's proposal" by psul, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/psul-001. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: scan4.PDF, scan12.PDF, scan3.PDF, scan8.PDF, scan19.PDF, scan15.PDF, scan17.PDF, scan10.PDF, scan18.PDF, scan16.PDF, scan11.PDF, scan10.PDF Author: psul License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: Dinner.jpg Name: Keens Steakhouse 1910.png Author: Richard Arthur Norton License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikipedia Filename: skullscan.gif Author: Rounzie License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: skullopening.gif Author: Rounzie License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Derivative Of: Name: SCP Foundation Logo Author: far2 License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal biohazard entropic scp thaumiel page revision: 14, last edited: 13 Nov 2023, 04:39 (476 days ago) Edit Rate (+97) Tags Discuss (44) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
psul's proposal SCP-001 » psul's proposal rating: +97 + – X Letter recovered from the belongings of Nicola Tesla My Dear Sir Roentgen may have intimated to you the interests of our little fraternity - they are diverse, yet specialized and particular; some might say idiosyncratic - and hopefully he has commended to you the benefits which our enterprise may entail upon your own. Indeed it could hardly be expected that your research should not be the subject of our attention, given both its myriad applications and, if you will forgive me for so suggesting, its flowering outside the walls of the garden of common thought.
It is these very characteristics which have given me the hope that we may discover in your esteemed self a fellow adherent to our developing creed. What creed, you may ask? Merely this: that the present century is one of science, as the 18th was of philosophy and the 19th of commerce. Science can prevent the perils of the past, and may offer a resolution to the mysteries of the ages.
Our circle of scholars is dedicated to the advancement of scientific knowledge, challenging the boundaries of what is known and investigating the unknown. Our discourse is conducted by correspondence, and, where circumstances permit, in person in Europe and the United States. Having been forced by circumstance to meet less frequently in recent years, we are eager to reestablish our bonds, and to welcome such new minds to our table as your own.
As such, I am pleased to extend to you our most cordial invitation to a gathering at Keen's Chop House for luncheon on November 18th.
Cocktails will be served at midday sharp.
A letter and a photograph SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in O5 Archives - Transcript of interview with O5-6 - 7 April 1950 O5-6: Yes, I remember the Keen's meeting vividly. It was one of our first after the Great War, I believe. A good meal; [O5-3] always brought the best Burgundy over with him. All thirteen of us were there. We had a great deal to catch up on, having not spoken in so long.
November 1918 - Lunch at Keen's Chop House, New York Naturally our meetings are conducted with discretion, so you will understand that no formal reply is required to this missive. Please carry it upon your person when attending on the 18th; it shall be your admission.
In hopeful anticipation of your presence, Yours faithfully, [signature unidentified]1 ≡ I was speaking to [O5-11] about an expedition he was planning to the Ukraine, looking into stories he had heard about a "ghost forest", when [O5-1] stood up to address the table. I was surprised, as our meetings were generally very casual, but [O5-1] was always one for making a show of things.
He spoke about how long it was since we'd met, and how much the world had changed since we'd first started corresponding. He wanted our arrangements to become more formal; to create a new scientific organisation. He was speaking about the war, and about the influenza that followed. We had discussed the prevention of disease before, but this was bigger. [O5-1] wanted to go beyond mere medicine - far beyond. I don't remember exactly what he said, but he was impassioned. He was leaning forward and gripping the edge of the table like he might break it off.
He said that these events - no, he said "these atrocities" - must not be allowed to repeat. He asked us what Science was worth as a tool if it could not prevent them, and what the spirit of Man was worth if he did not dedicate himself to mastery of that tool. He challenged us, told us that we should walk dauntless to the blank wall at the end of life, and that we should break through it. He said - and his eyes caught mine, I'll never forget that look - that even if we couldn't reclaim those souls lost to death's dominion, we could ensure that no more would suffer that fate.
Well, the room was in uproar. Everyone spoke at once, and the debate ran for hours. But [O5-1] would not be gainsaid. He had answers for all our arguments, and slowly he wore us down, convincing us he had the right of it. Tell you the truth, despite our natural contention I think we wanted to be convinced.
We agreed that our organisation would concentrate its research on avenues outside of mainstream science, and that therefore it should operate in secret.
Several of us already had substantial collections of curiosities - what we now call anomalies - that could be contributed to the cause.
Perhaps it is hard to understand if you were not in that room, if you did not live through that war. But we knew that the task we had embarked upon was right.
Noble, even. We would change not just the world, but human life itself. That day, the Foundation was born. We began to perform miracles.
Index Cards - Foundation files Date: 12 April 1922 Item #: 006 [Explained] Foundation documents - 1922-1929 ≡ Object Class: Nepenthe Security Procedures: The effect of item 006 has been determined to the satisfaction of the research team and the Council, and experimental results are considered reproducible. It has therefore been reclassified as an Explained item. As item 006 is considered beneficial to mankind, Foundation research results are to be submitted using pseudonyms to scientific journals, with the various products of item 006 to be posited as having separate sources. Access to item 006 is to be preserved by any means possible.
Description: Item 006 is an artesian aquifer located in the Kalmyk territory West of the Volga Delta (see map overleaf). Historically the site of a local shrine (currently to the Virgin Mary), the waters are revered by the local populace as producing miracle cures and long life.
Foundation research has determined that the liquid, otherwise composed of unremarkable mineral water, contains several heretofore unknown chemical compounds.
Each of these substances has a distinct anti-microbial effect, preventing the contagion and symptoms of diphtheria, whooping cough, tuberculosis and tetanus, respectively. In clinical trials … Date: 8 August 1927 Item #: 009 [Explained] Object Class: Nepenthe Security Procedures: Item 009 has been studied and classified as Explained under Protocol EX-1C. To avoid unnecessary attention on Foundation researchers operating in the broader scientific community, item 009 is to be introduced discreetly into mainstream scientific research unconnected with the Foundation, in such as way as to ensure that its benefits are recognized.
Description: Item 009 is an anomalous fungal species of the genus Penicillium which, when grown under stressed ≡ O5 Archives - Transcript of interview with O5-12 - 4 June 1964 O5-12: Yeah, "Nepenthe" was a pretty common classification, back in the beginning. Anything prolonging, enhancing or protecting life, if I remember it right. We had a bunch of similar categories in those days - most of them got folded up into "Safe" by the mid-fifties.
But to start with, the "Keter" classification was limited to item 001 alone. [O5-1] chose it himself, you know. He had read a lot of Crowley - in "Liber 777" it is associated with death - but I'm not sure that was his reason for choosing it. I like to think that the name "Keter" was based on the Sephiroth: because 001 was beyond comprehension, because it was the crowning purpose of the Foundation.
Over time, the Keter category expanded to other threats to life that did not fit the existing classifications, or were otherwise unfathomable. But it never fit them like it did 001. Death was always at the centre of the Foundation's work - it hovered at the shoulder of every researcher, walked with every field agent, sat opposite every administrator. An army of brilliant minds, gifted people, all striving to contain it.
As we found out, you can't shut death in a box.
Open next file ...
Footnotes 1. Similar letters, referring to separate meetings, have been recovered by the Foundation from the possessions of Jacques Loeb, Albert Hustin, Harry Houdini, Ronald Fisher and Marie Curie.
Cite this page as: "psul's proposal" by psul, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/psul-001. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
‡ Hide Licensing / Citation conditions, produces a secondary metabolite with bactericidal effects on Gram-positive bacteria.
Item 009 was discovered by Foundation researchers in … ≡ For information on how to use this component, see the License Box component. To read about licensing policy, see the Licensing Guide.
Filename: scan4.PDF, scan12.PDF, scan3.PDF, scan8.PDF, scan19.PDF, scan15.PDF, scan17.PDF, scan10.PDF, scan18.PDF, scan16.PDF, scan11.PDF, scan10.PDF Author: psul License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: Dinner.jpg Name: Keens Steakhouse 1910.png Author: Richard Arthur Norton License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikipedia Filename: skullscan.gif Author: Rounzie License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: skullopening.gif Author: Rounzie License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Derivative Of: Name: SCP Foundation Logo Author: far2 License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License 001-proposal biohazard entropic scp thaumiel page revision: 14, last edited: 13 Nov 2023, 04:39 (476 days ago) Edit Rate (+97) Tags Discuss (44) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
psul's proposal SCP-001 » psul's proposal rating: +97 + – X Proposal to O5 Council - 23 December 1941 TOP SECRET - EYES ONLY PROPOSAL MADE BY: O5-1 WHEREAS, the course of the war in Europe has emphasized both the urgent need for the Foundation's research, and the risks to the O5 Council in supervising that research and in maintaining more than 150 anomalies currently in containment; AND WHEREAS the attack by the Imperial Navy of Japan on the US naval base at Pearl Harbor, and the contemporaneous strike by the IJAMEA on the Foundation laboratory on Oahu, which resulted in the tragic deaths of 37 Foundation personnel including [O5-4]; AND WHEREAS the members of this Council desire to remain in close contact with the staff and research of the Foundation, and have rejected a prior proposal to withdraw to a secure facility where their safety can be more readily ensured; IT IS PROPOSED that a new mobile task force is formed with the purpose of the security and protection of each member of this Council.
The proposed designation for the MTF is Alpha-1. Its membership will be selected from existing MTF members on the basis of competence and loyalty, and its composition and existence will be kept secret from the remainder of the Foundation. The proposed commanding officer for the MTF is Major Raymond Lewis, currently of MTF Epsilon-11.
For further details please see appendices A-H enclosed.
IN FAVOR: 10 An O5 Council proposal SCP Foundation SCP Foundation Secure, Contain, Protect Secure, Contain, Protect Search About Community Resources Sister Sites ≡ Create account or Sign in O5 Archives - Transcript of interview with O5-6 - 7 April 1950 O5-6: Yeah, that vote. Easy one, at the time, given all the shit that was going on - 'scuse my language. I don't recall who voted against, it certainly wasn't me. I wanted a bodyguard, after Oahu, after what almost happened to me in Prague.
The world had changed. This was just the Council admitting it.
We could feel it, you know. The urgency. The war, the Manhattan Project: it felt like the whole world was hurtling towards that big, final wall. It made the mission more pressing than ever. And protecting the mission meant protecting the O5, which is where the task force came in.
Red Right Hand? They were the best. Not just the toughest, they were smart, good instincts. For seven years, I felt safer every day. I guess I shouldn't say that now, but it's true.
Major Lewis? Yeah, he and [O5-1] went way back. Lewis was under his command in the first War, I think. They were firm friends, despite the age difference. He was the obvious choice. Led the task force, and was assigned to [O5-1], naturally. Watched him like a hawk through the end of the war, right up until Lewis retired. Before everything went to hell.
AGAINST: 2 VOTE CARRIED O5-1's office logs - daily recording transcript Date: 12 January 1946 Time: Excerpt commences 16:42 EST Present: O5-1 Major Raymond Lewis (MTF Alpha-1, "Red Right Hand") O5-1: Have a seat, Ray.
Lewis: Thank you, sir.
O5-1: I keep telling you it's [REDACTED], not sir.
A recording transcript ≡ Lewis: Sorry - old habits.
O5-1: Ha. Scotch?
Lewis: Sure. Got any - O5-1: Laphroaig? Twenty-five alright with you?
Lewis: Damn! I should retire every week.
O5-1: You only had to ask, Ray. Here.
Lewis: Thanks. To long life!
O5-1: To you finally getting a break from me. Any thoughts on what you might do next?
Lewis: Not sure yet, sir. Too used to keeping an eye on you.
O5-1: I've got Lieutenant Taylor for that now.
Lewis: Yeah, I saw him outside. Kid looks sharp, but I reckon I could still sock him one.
O5-1: I thought you picked him. Are you saying he might not be up to your standards, Ray?
Lewis: Nah, he's good. Taylor's the most loyal, trustworthy man I've got. You shoulda seen his scores on TALON PROMISE.
O5-1: You wrote that exercise, didn't you?
Lewis: Sure did. Based some of that on what we had to deal with in the Argonne.
O5-1: Jesus. That feels a long time ago now. You remember that little village?
Lewis: Faucon - no… O5-1: Futeau.
Lewis: Futeau. Pretty place, or it would have been. Good beer around there, I remember. And the plums when you could get them.
O5-1: Sweet but tart, yes. <pause> You could go back there, you know.
You didn't answer my question about what you'd like to do next.
Lewis: I told you I didn't know, and that's the truth. I've been a long time here, and I've gotten used to it. Not sure what I would do out there.
≡ O5-1: You could have a life, Ray. A normal life. You could - look, I know that Elizabeth… but I'm sure you could still see the boys, once in a while. They'd like that - I know they would.
Lewis: Sir, I don't - I'm not sure there is a normal life for me. After everything here. What would I tell them?
O5-1: Tell them you love them, Raymond. You don't want to regret missing that chance. Hell, if you want, we can probably make you forget this place entirely - I'm told they're making great strides.
Lewis: No. I want to remember. I'm proud of this place, of my part in it.
When I think about what's next, I want it to be here. I want to do something important.
O5-1: Huh. I've always thought we were alike. Ambitious. Believing in something bigger.
Lewis: Not just believing; doing something about it. Once you know your path, nothing stops you. That's the man I've always wanted to follow - through walls if necessary! Anyway, there must be something I can do for you, even if I'm out of the fight.
O5-1: A desk job? I never would have picked it.
Lewis: Well not that, but I can train agents, run security. Hell, make me a guinea pig if you need to.
<pause> O5-1: There is something. And it's meaningful, if that's what you want.
Lewis: You sound hesitant.
O5-1: It's a trial. A test, and I can't promise it's safe.
Lewis: You know I won't back away from that. You said it's important?
O5-1: The most vital thing there is, and we do need volunteers. But are you sure this is what you want? You could be very comfortable outside the Foundation.
Lewis: I don't know how to live out there, sir. I don't want to. I want to be on the front lines, leading the way. Tell me about the test.
O5-1: Look, you know why we formed, our goals. We are getting close, Ray. Very close. Tell you what - let's take a walk.
<recording ends> ≡ Open next file ...
Cite this page as: "psul's proposal" by psul, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/psul-001. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: scan4.PDF, scan12.PDF, scan3.PDF, scan8.PDF, scan19.PDF, scan15.PDF, scan17.PDF, scan10.PDF, scan18.PDF, scan16.PDF, scan11.PDF, scan10.PDF Author: psul License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: Dinner.jpg Name: Keens Steakhouse 1910.png Author: Richard Arthur Norton License: Public Domain Source Link: Wikipedia Filename: skullscan.gif Author: Rounzie License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Filename: skullopening.gif Author: Rounzie License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki Derivative Of: ‡ Hide Licensing / Citation ≡ Help | Terms of Service | Privacy | Report a bug | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License Name: SCP Foundation Logo Author: far2 License: CC BY-SA 3.0 Source Link: SCP Foundation Wiki 001-proposal biohazard entropic scp thaumiel page revision: 14, last edited: 13 Nov 2023, 04:39 (476 days ago) Edit Rate (+97) Tags Discuss (44) History Files Print Site tools + Options ≡ |
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