Buried in folds of flesh, pumping through the blood stream of the body that stands in the central corridor of Site-19's basement, somewhere, there's a you. But it's not in charge right now.
The body which is not you sways, shifts its feet to balance.
"The amnestic is kicking in!" it says, "I'm not… It's not me. There's no me."
Who is it saying that to?
At the bottom of the corridor, a growling, bristling Thing turns and begins to pace toward the body. Parts of it unfurl, parts that the body has never seen before - has it always had those? In four years of containment, nobody in the department has seen those, the body is sure of it.
“You'rrrrrre hiding from me” the Thing snarls, as the probosces that have extended from it twitch in your direction. “I could feel youuuu in therrre just a few minutes ago. Where'd you go, darling?”
The body feels sweat prickling on its upper lip, an icy coldness spearing upwards from its stomach. You're scared.
No no the body is scared the body is scared the body is scared the body is-
The Thing That Kills You's features contort into a wet, indulgent smile.
“There youuuu arrrrrre.”

“Dr Black, there you are!”
You give a brief wave as Doctor Henderson bips you into Site 19's sub-basement J. You've seen Henderson on the Orientation vid last night, but this is his first time meeting you. The familiarity is unearned, but not unexpected - Henderson's handsome, and handsome folk expect people to like them.
“Just Researcher Black, Doctor Henderson. No PhD yet.”
Henderson shrugs with one shoulder, holding the door open for you to step through.
“Call me Lenore, then, and I'll call you Imani. It'd feel wrong otherwise.”
“Thank you, Lenore,” you say, though in your mind he's still Henderson, “hopefully you won't need to come pick me up for many more days. System hasn't registered my move from Archival yet.”
“Hey, no worries.” Henderson says, beckoning you to follow him, “You still in touch with folks there? How ‘bout the other departments you've worked for? I saw Zoology and Interstellar on your file too. Gonna put in a good word for us? Ha!”
Cryptozoology, not zoology.
You try to laugh professionally as you follow him down the corridor. Truthfully, you have no idea how much he's joking about the good word thing. The department's reputation couldn't be much worse.
The Department of Other goes way back, to when the Foundation was founded. There had only been five departments back then, few enough that each one had its own card suit as an icon. Everyone you talk to seems to have their own ideas about what those original five were, but since being informed of your transfer last month, you've done your own digging. Seems like the first four were ♦Tangible, ♣Temporal, ♠Geographical, ♥Religious. That's what the orientation vid had said too, so either their research was solid or yours wasn't. The latter seems unlikely to you.
The fifth department, then, was Other. Only one everyone agreed on. The Department of Other's icon was the Joker - all suits and none. They'd prided themselves on being able to take on anything that didn't fit in the main departments, being the jack of all trades and jewel of the Foundation. That last part's their words, not yours.
As the Foundation had grown, though, it started needing more departments. Tangible got split into Sentients and Inanimates. Memetics got founded, Geology, Afterlife, whatever. As more and more departments and subdepartments covered every niche, The Department of Other's role had become less and less important.
These days, the Department of Other is an antiquated punchline. The only department that still keeps its own object list, the only one that still employs anomalies, the only department that still bears their card insignia. That Joker stares at you loud and proud on every nametag, including yours now. Some of the stuff they contain is still so esoteric no other department covers it, but for the most part, well…
Every other department you've worked, Other is the department you send the stuff you don't wanna deal with. Don't wanna use your doctorate to spend ten years of your life researching some sentient pasta that talks in an offensive caricature of an Italian accent? Hell, send it over to Other, they'll take anything to stay relevant. The O5s don't seem to care about integrating their list into the mainlist with everyone else. Even their name! Every department you've worked before now, nobody called it the Department of Other. Nah, it only had one name to everyone outside:
The Joke Department.
"We're gonna jump you in the deep end today,” Lenore continues, ignoring your brooding, “we'll have you run TTKU's monthly interview, with myself and Doctor Cargot supervising. You remember the overview from Orientation?”
You cycle back through the major anomalies they went over last night. The bugs, the lavatory spectre, Operative 7… Yeah, you've got it.
“TTKU - The Thing That Kills You. It's a… blunt name.” You deign not to mention the fact the acronym doesn't even match.
Henderson laughs again. You're passing by the canteen now, where a pair of researchers are talking in hushed tones in front of a whiteboard filled with diagrams labelled “HOW TO GET ROCK”. The smell of canteen instant coffee hits your nose and it's vile but god help you, you love it.
“Upstairs you've got a thing called the Hard-to-Destroy Reptile. We'll be fine. Besides, it's the most accurate description of him we have.”
“Him?”
“That's what he prefers, yes.” Either Henderson doesn't register the fact you were questioning his break of procedure, or he's deliberately brushing past it. “‘The Thing That Kills You' isn't a title we chose, it's his fundamental nature. He's a Thing in the John Carpenter sense. Or the Howard Hawks sense, I suppose. You strike me as more of a book reader.”
“I'm not much for fiction.”
“Well shit, we'll work on that. Point is - shapeshifter, of a sort. Adapts to perfectly hunt you. Or, whoever he considers “you” to be. We're still trying to unravel that one. Usually it's me, yayyy.”
Henderson does little jazz hands and laughs, then directs the pair of you down a narrow corridor. There's a slight shimmer in the air, but you're focused on inhaling the last of the coffee smell to sustain yourself til lunch and don't notice it yet.
"Dr Cargot already has everything set up, so you'll be ready to go once we're there. You know where we're headed?"
"I do not."
"So, TTKU's procedures require that he be housed as far away as possible from "you", but he also requires constant maintainance, and prolonged time alone with him would almost certainly lead to any sort of on-site crew becoming "you", so our solutions were either a rotating staff of folks in some far-off place - hard to maintain staff quality - or to keep him both on-site and far away. Not possible, right?
You shrug. Presumably he's about to reveal that it is.
"The solution was The Shunt. You'll feel a heat shift about halfway down this corridor - that will be where the hallway shifts to be in a superposition of here and very far away. Ah, there it is!"
The heat hits you like a wall, drives the breath out of your chest. Jesus. It's a struggle to keep walking straight without taking a second. Henderson doesn't break pace.
"Ha! Hot, right? You were probably expecting a more subtle shift."
Can you get heatstroke just from changing temperature so fast? Probably not, that would be terrible design. Focus.
“All this was built just for TTKU-J?”
“Originally, yes. We use it to house a lot of the more dangerous items now, though. Having a sealed environment that can be fully spatially decoupled from 19 in case of a breach is very handy."
He cocks his head, assessing you.
"Have you guessed where the other location is yet? It's top-secret, O5 eyes only, mind you. Constructed so that it's literally impossible to enter from the other end, or exit in any manner other than the shunt corridor."
You mull it over. Head's still spinning a little.
"I see… two options. Either it's constructed outside of reality, or, given the heat… I suppose my wild guess is within our sun, so that nothing could enter our exit from the other end without burning to a crisp? Either way, it's a very impressive construct."
Henderson laughs.
"It is, thank you! And your second answer was closer. It's in Melbourne."
When you enter the observation room, Doctor Cargot's already there, snacking on a cucumber slice. Her mouth's full, so she's not able to say hello. Instead, she waggles her eyestalks at you.
Hoo boy.
You already know that Other employs a couple anomalous researchers - the department's director got in shit for it a couple years back - but Doctor Cargot is a tough one to respect the thinking on. She's a member of a species of anomalous talking snails who live on-site and wear their own tiny labcoats. And she's your supervisor.
Thing is, technically, the snails aren't an SCP, even on the J list. They have their own research division which collaborates with the department in investigating containment procedures for SCP-5417-J. Nobody's actually told you what 5417-J is yet and for now you figure if you never look into it you'll never be disappointed in the department for working with snails on it. It's exactly the sort of shit your old colleagues in cryptozoo would be cackling at you for.
“Howdy, big guys! Nice meet you two time, Doctor Imani - today join us for interrogate big angry guy?”
They all talk like that.
“Nice seeing you again too, Dr. Cargot. Again, just Imani.” Stay professional. Supervisor. This snail has a doctorate published in internal Foundation journals. You extend a hand for a handshake, think better, offer a fist at the last moment. After a second's hesitation, Dr. Cargot thwacks her face against your ring finger, leaving a spot of goo. “And yes. Henderson - Lenore - wants me to see what I can get out of the object. I assume to some degree this is an evaluation of my capabilities?”
Lenore smiles broadly, and Tess wiggles her lower mouth parts.
“Perhaps.” says Henderson, “ You're an experienced agent in other departments. I'm interested to see your perspective!”
You wipe a patch of snail goo from your finger. Somehow you doubt they want to hear your perspective currently.
“What are your thinks? You see why Henderson want to talk?”
You mull it over, glance at TTKU and then down at the files spread in front of you. Pictures of the cell, reports of activity, its -J file. Just looks like some white dude, bone skinny though you know it's fed well. You look again. It turns and leers your way as you gaze, like it can see you. Hell, maybe it can, you've barely been told anything here. You steel yourself, back straight. Can't show weakness, if the thing's watching.
“Yeahhh,” you say, drawing it out as you assess the thing's posture, “Yeah. Seems calmer than I've heard. Reports here say two months ago a plant pot was put in its cell and it spent a week threatening the thing before you realised it'd been trying to torture it by not watering it. Yet it's sitting there, cuffed, clearly knows there's folks on the other side of the window… nothing.”
Tess' mouth flaps wiggle again. A smile?
“Started Monday night.” says Lenore, “At least we reckon it did. Usually he rips his sheets to shreds over the course of a couple days, we replace them Wednesdays. He's been sleeping like a baby since Monday night though, no howling, bedsheets fully intact right now. They're soiled as usual though, so we've taken them out for cleaning during the interview. For all he's being nice, he still cannot use a toilet.”
“Hm. Any changes in the cell conditions at all? Heating, layout?
“Nope, all samesies!”
You chew on the inside of your cheek. You thought they'd be wanting to prove themselves to you today, not the other way around. Tess apparently notices your hesitation.
“No worry, Doctor B! What worst can happen?”

The body is gulping in staccato breaths, its lungs burning. It hears the creature still pacing, patrolling, but it seems like it's lost it. The body adjusts the strap on its chest and leans against the wall, giving its breath time to form a more gentle rhythm. Once it's slowed sufficiently, it's able to hear a tinny muffled shrieking behind it..
There's a storage closet door just to the body's right, and it reaches without moving position on the wall, opens the handle slowly, fingers slipping on small patches of blood that coat it.
It takes the body a second to locate the source of the shriek as it steps into the storage closet. Looks like this is some kind of backup pantry? The Shunt doesn't have anything but cells and interrogation rooms, but not all of the cells are in use - maybe they just converted this? The eyes scan the room, and locate a body in the corner, slumped against an empty rack and covered in various spices. Must have knocked them over as they collapsed.
As the body steps closer to the corpse, the source of the shrieking becomes more clear - a snail, perched atop the corpse's head, crying out as it inches away from a pouring pillar of salt.
“Tess!” the body cries, moving to scoop her out of the way. Tess, alright, file that away.
“Deebie!” she peeps, “thank for help me! Are hero!”
The body plops her onto its shoulder, where she nestles close to the base of its neck. It squats next to the corpse and
“Henderson are not finito." says Tess, "Big guy just head bonk, sleepy."
"He's just asleep??"
"Concussion think maybe."
Right. This is the Thing That Kills You, not the Thing That Kills Henderson. The body carefully inspects Henderson's head. No blood in the man's locs, but there could be internal bleeding. He needs to be inspected by someone with medical training. Which means you need to end this soon.
The creature shrieks in the distance.
The body the body the body the body
"Time to go, Tess," the body says, swiftly turning from Henderson. "We need to figure out how to deal with this thing before there's a me again."
"Oh! Oh! Deebie, best thing! I have plan!"
"You know how to stop this? Save Henderson, everyone?"
"Yes!!" she beams, "Nothing will save us, Deebie! Nothing!"

You tap your notes into a neat rectangle on the desk.
“So, TTKU-J. Nice to meet you. My name is Imani Black - is there a name you'd prefer me to use to refer to you?”
TTKU-J is even scrawnier in person than he'd seemed from the observation room. Not even wiry enough to be concealing hidden strength. Uneven gingery stubble does nothing for his pockmarked papery complexion. Nice teeth, though. Bonus of being a shapeshifter, you can just make new ones.
“Yeah,” says TTKU-J, "I got a name you can call me."
“Alright, great - what is it?”
“Your murderer.”
He grins wide, pearly white teeth glinting like a toothpaste ad. You sigh. Stay on track.
“For obvious reasons, I won't be using that. Do you have a proper name I can call you? My colleagues mentioned the name Tuck?”
TTKU-J's nose wrinkles. Sore point?
“That's just shorthand for my designation, doctor. You can call me Aaaah No, Please Don't Kill Me, I Have So Much Left To Live For, Ow You Stabbed Me Ow I'm Dying.”
Right. Move on from this.
“Tuck it is. Tuck, I'm surprised you're threatening me.”
Tuck's tone couldn't be more condescending. His sneer splits just a hair too wide.
“Clearly you haven't read my file then, Doctor. You aren't aware that I'm going to murder you, that I am capable of murdering you in many ways both anomalous and nonanomalous.”
Not your first time being mansplained to by an anomaly.
“Yes, that's the thing: I've looked into your records quite thoroughly-” That's a damn lie, you didn't have time for much more than a skim through, “- and I've noticed you've seemed off recently. You haven't been threatening any of the handlers you've talked to for over a week, nor have you attempted to kill anything within your cell. That seems like a pretty vast change, in comparison to the logs I've read of your behaviour.”
“What's wrong with being nice?” He tries a wide shrug in his arm restraints, splaying his hands out like a star-nosed mole.
“Nothing. We encourage it. We're just confused - we were hoping you could let us know what's changed. If possible, we'd be happy to discuss changes if you can continue to keep up that good behaviour. If nothing else, I'm sure we'd love to stop replacing your bedsheets when you rip them open every other week.”
“Killing them brutally!”
“Sure. Is that why you soil them as well, or are you just not potty trained?”
“…”
“Well, alright, we'll start with this. Why are you telling me that you'll murder me? You haven't told anyone else today that you'll murder them. Not even Henderson, who you've threatened every time you've spoken for, what, twelve years?”
“They're not you.”
“I see. Ok - let's pose a hypothetical. If Henderson and I were standing together with you in this room, and I handed you a knife - would Henderson die?”
“Perhaps! But first I would kill you! Or… perhaps I would kill you second, to really savor it. Oh, I know! First, I would kill you, then second I would kill you.”
“So my death would be guaranteed?”
“Your death is guaranteed regardless, at my hands.”
“Is that a yes?”
“… Yes.”
“Because I'm me?”
“No. Because you're you.”
This is a slapstick routine. You've joined in on peanut galleries making fun of the idiot interviewers talking in circles in leaked -J articles you've read, and now you're doing it yourself. Heat must be getting to you. You imagine yourself still here in three hours doing trolley problems with this clown. No.
You take a moment, open the file again, scan for anything you might have missed. Tuck tries to peer over the top of the file and you give him stink-eye. He shrugs and settles back in his chair.
No changes whatsoever in the cell setup, shift changes, operational staff. Closest new neighbour is in cell seven two corridors down, and that was a month ago, not close enough to when this started. You look at images of the demolished mattresses previously, the intact one now.
Across from you, Tuck chews on something. You realise he's popped out one of his baby teeth and is chewing on it like a popcorn kernel, rolling it around on his tongue.
Focus.
Two months ago, in the shredded bedsheets picture, Tuck was bulkier than it is now. Not bulky bulky, but not the stick you see in front of you. Is it… sick? Too weak to shred the mattress? No, it's still regenerating fine - it's still making new teeth, it would be able to control its bulk. You look again at the picture of the intact mattress, taken from the sanitation room across the hall. The amount of soiling in that. It's a deep staining all through the mattress, not localised like you might expect it to be at points of staining. Is it-? You squint at the bottom right corner of the image. Red threads are hanging out of the mattress, trailing outside of the frame.
"Henderson. Decouple us from 19."
Henderson doesn't miss a beat, slams a button on the console in front of him before asking questions. You respect that. You feel a snap as what you didn't realise was two versions of you collapse into one. Stuck in Melbourne, ok. You suspect it's going to get worse.
"Imani, what's going on?" Henderson asks.
You don't answer, distracted. Carefully scanning the floor. Across from you, Tuck is still smiling away, a trickle of blood running from his mouth as he continues to crunch on tooth.
"Something wrong, doctor?" he asks.
"Agent," you mutter, "not doctor."
You locate it, the dark red thread slipping out of Tuck's pant leg and twining around his ankle chains for camouflage. It slips under the tiles… there.
You stand, jump, and stomp down hard with both feet on the tile by the crack. The flesh thread severs and Tuck shrieks. He stands to lunge at you and his paper-thin skin rips at the elbow, revealing a hollow arm held in shape by a lattice of the thin red threads. Tuck begins unravelling instantly, his nose crumpling into its face and mouth falling open slack-jawed, individual teeth scattering to the floor.
"Shapeshifter umbilical!" you shout to the observation room, "The mattress soiling was intentional - it's not shit, it's biomass!"
Tuck's shriek dies as its throat collapses inward. Its head folds down and inverts into the hole. The call is picked up across the corridor, beyond the wall.
"It's had a link this whole time, feeding the rest of its biomass into it while we talked to a shell. TTKU isn't Tuck - it's the mattress. Containment has been breached for about an hour."
On cue, the true TTKU-J slams through the wall of the interrogation room, cackling like a hyena.

The body grits its teeth as the door to the storage closet creaks open, its hand guiding it to open as slowly and smoothly as it can. Its ears prick up, listening beyond the creak for the Thing. There's nothing but the buzz and click of fluorescent lighting.
“Gotta get zoomin, Deebie,” Tess's voice pipes from the body's shoulder, “we got a plan!”
Which is to say Tess has a plan. The body didn't think of any of it - is the body even capable of thinking, without you driving it?
There's a distant roar. The body lets out an exasperated sigh and begins running. It takes a second to realise that this time, it's running toward the Thing instead of away.
Oh fuck no no no no turn back turn back
The body's vision swims, and it slaps a hand to its right eye as a migraine spike rams through it, leaving a dull rawness in its wake. The body doesn't stop running, though, barely sways.
“There's a plan,” it says, "trust Tess, stick to the plan."

The Thing is amorphous, too many wet red arms and legs splaying out of the mangled mattress it's hatched from. You grab the crumpling skin that was Tuck and chuck it to the other side of the room. The thing bolts for it haphazardly. As it skids into the back corner of the room, you dash past it out the hole it's created and into the corridors beyond. The things lets you, distracted as it reintegrates with its skin.
You don't need to tell yourself to focus this time. You're laser-clear: get to the emergency hub. There's gotta be one around here - there, filing cabinet at the bottom of the corridor. Henderson runs by you in the other direction, shouting something about a storage closet, but there's no time. Emergency hub will have breach plans for any contained anomaly. Hoo, you're out of breath. Analytics has you less fit than you used to be, gotta work on that if you get out of here.
Klaxons begin howling, and a voice announces CONTAINMENT BREACH, SCP-TTKU-J. CELL 7 UNLOCKED.
Now why the fuck would they unlock a cell?
The beast roars again as you reach the hub. Compartmentalise that thought, you'll figure it out later. You yank open the top drawer but no, these guys put the alphabet after numbers instead of before this is why every other fucking department works off numbers this place is ridiculous.
You pull open the bottom drawer with the tip of your foot and identify TTKU's file as it slides open, grab it and go running down a corridor away from the creature's eyeline. Work fast but clean, come on.
Open up the file as you run, see pages of complex explanation. No time, you can hear the creature charging down the hallway now. There's always an abridged version at the back - you flip through the pages and there, the words AMNESTIC TO FORGET THAT YOU'RE YOU with a big red arrow pointing to a packet of blue tablets that have been glued down onto the page.
Right. Sure. Fine.
You pop the pills out of the case. How many is needed? Normal dose is two but this could be one or three or the whole packet they need to design this document better but you've got seconds so you pop out two and swing them toward your mouth.
A gloved hand catches your arm, stopping you.

TTKU rounds the bottom of the hall and sees the body coming full pelt toward it. It barks and starts running to meet you the body, tongue dragging on the floor as it skitters against the tile.
You're going to die you're going to die you're-
"Shut UP!" the body yells at you. "The memories are coming in because of you."
No, this isn't right. If you're going to fight it you need to be there. You push, claw your way back into the mind. You need to be in control.
You're halfways in, wiggle the fingers, cause the body to stumble and halt. Let me in
"Fine." says the body, "Have it your way, you narcissist."
You break all the way in.

The hand belongs to a white boy, about your age, early twenties.
"Don't take those," he says, piercing blue eyes catching you off guard, "He's not after you, he's after me."
Who the fuck is this guy?
"Why do you think he's after you?" you ask, prioritising the important question. The creature roars, seconds from turning the corner.
His smile is like a sunbeam. You realise who he is. No, no, this guy's a joke this is stupid.
"Don't worry," he says, "I'm the protagonist."
You hand him the amnestics.

The body reaches behind its shoulder and grasps the hilt of a sword. Ohhhh, there you are. You settle in it, pool, then explode back into the mind that's been resisting you for so long.
The creature screeches, turns, barrels toward you. Doesn't matter - you know who you are now, WHAT you are. The body - your body! - follows easy, practised movements, drawing the sword in front of you. You settle into a ready stance and yell..
“I!”
It's seconds from you now, 15 metres. This close you can see its skin rippling, boiling with hatred. Oh, you're built for this. You run to meet it.
“AM!”
Five metres. The Thing leaps, all claws and teeth and viciousness and oh this is it this is your jam this is
“DARKBLADE!”
“And I'm TESS!!!”
You collide with the Thing.

"The amnestic is kicking in!" Darkblade shouts, "I'm not… It's not me. There's no me."
Down the corridor, the Thing growls something incomprehensible. It almost sounds like a purr. Darkblade's eyes focus, then widen. He pelts away as the creature screeches and begins to run.
Imani Black flattens against the wall as the creature comes closer, closer - then flies right past her in pursuit of Darkblade. As it turns the corner and the sound fades away, she allows herself to slide down the wall. She exhales, inhales, exhales, lets herself process the day.
She wants to laugh about it, but she can't. Not til it's over.

To anyone else, the Thing's movements seem chaotic - the lolling tongue, rolling eyes - but you see calculation in them. One claw above the head, one below, forcing you-
You leap between the thing's claws, into its mouth, and jam your katana straight up into its palate. It thunks to a stop, wedged into the bone below the Thing's eye socket. Blood gushes down over you and you struggle to hold tight to the hilt as your legs slam into the things writhing tongue, slick with drool.
There's a crunch as the Thing's top canines smash through your right clavicle. Pain doesn't register yet. The Thing is trying to slam its mouth shut, crush your chest, but your katana is wedging its mouth open. If you survive this, you'll pretend that was intentional.
No pure water, but drool surrounds you. You can work with that. Behind your back you scrabble your fingers underneath its tongue and concentrate, push past the pain that's finally rigging in. Just need to focus on extracting the water and ahhhhh, vision swimming. God, its breath stinks.
You're pulling a thimbleful, two thimblefuls, when you see the katana bending, straining. Maybe a second before it snaps. The thing is sharp as hell but just as brittle. Nothing like enough water collected in your fist to bubble-shield yourself yet. Tess, maybe. If you save her, will that be enough?
No, Tess can't fight this thing alone. So don't defend, aggress.
You gather your fistful of water and slap it against the flat of the blade. As you hear it shattering you direct the water up along the blade, to the tip, and beyond through the hole it carved in the bone, floating now around jelly just aqueous enough you can take control of it for a second and
The Thing's eye explodes. It screeches, mouth agape and you push yourself out of the mouth, roll on your good shoulder away from the thing, back to your feet.
No time to register the pain, the fact you can't use your right arm. You run past it, dodging a swipe from what could be a tail or a tentacle, towards the enclosures it came from.
“Where now, Tess? Quickly!”
“No map, Deebie!” Tess yells over the creature's roars. She's migrated to your neck to avoid the blood pumping from your shoulder. You hear the creature turn and begin dashing after you again.
“Anything is good, Tess!”
“Um um three corridor! Egg cell, right, then no-place cell!”
You've just passed corridor four. Three next - hey, a break. You hang a left, sprint down the corridor to the T junction where SCP-Big egg-J's cell faces you, Big egg itself Bigging out at the source of the commotion with eggiosity.
You clamp down on the brain processes trying to correct what you've just thought. No time for it. The thing's screech puts it seconds behind you now. You angle your run to put yourself in a perfect position to jump and run along the left wall for half a second before pushing off hard into a sharp turn to the right corridor of the junction.
The next cell along is… open already? You're moving too fast to see the designation plate as you dash in.
There's nothing. The cell Tess has lead you to is empty.
“Tess? Wrong cell?”
Outside, you hear the Thing try to round the corner, its momentum carrying it through Big egg's reinforced glass with a CRASH.
“This no-place, Deebie! Nothing here!”
You can see that.
“I can see that.”
“Nothing, can save us, Deebie! Nothing!”
There's a growl from behind you. The Thing stands in the doorway, glistening with blood and eyeball juice and egg yolk. Ugh. Doesn't bode well for how you'll end up, if you're anything like your neighbour.
Of course, what Big egg is lacking is flair.
“Creature!” You shout, pulling another katana to yourself from an adjacent dimension as it paces toward you. “We meet again, in the depths of Tartarus prison. You are T.T. KAIJU, the last of the great race of Ripper-Killers, those who destroyed my village. I have slain every one of your brethren, and I shall be the one to slay you!”
The creature is a foot from you, its a guttural vocalisation underlying its growl. You try to believe your words. If you believe hard enough, they're true.
KLLLL YHUUUUU
Close enough. You raise your blade with your left hand, ignoring how your useless right arm flops behind you.
“What say you, beast? Shall we do final battle?”
NNNNOOO. I. WLLLL. BUTCHRRRR.
That's the spirit.
You swing your sword and the creature snaps. Your arm is gone from the elbow down.
The Thing smiles wide as it crunches down on the limb, your hand mangling in its molars in a heartbeat.
PTHHETKKK
You stumble backwards, pull water from your own spit and tears, form it into a toothpick-sized spear that you launch at the thing's brainstem. One of the tendrils encircling its face slap it out of the air casually. The thing doesn't break pace, slowly padding toward you.
Your back hits the corner of the room. You pull another sword into your right hand, try to swing your body so the sword hits the creature. It doesn't even try to stop you, the flat of the sword clattering uselessly against its side and falling to the floor. The thing finally stops, its face an inch from yours, and places a paw on your chest. Pressure becomes pain becomes crunch as it slowly, luxuriously crushes you.
Tess is right below your ear now yelling NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING and all you can think about is you're not going to see Ashur again not going to kiss his face not going to fight back to back against the horde this is it this is death
With dry eyes, you look up, and you see it.
Nothing.
Your breath leaving you has nothing to do with your broken ribs, punctured lungs. There's nothing hanging from the ceiling. Nothing dripping down the walls. How did you not see it before there's NOTHING gazing into you, curious eyes watching you die there's NOTHING slowly settling around TTKU as it takes in your wet gasps. There's nothing there's nothing you're nothing there's nobody home. You smile. Someone else's turn to be protagonist.

You're Lenore Henderson and your day's been going terribly but even with fading consciousness you trust that Tess has a plan. You just need to keep yourself awake for a little while longer.

You're Imani Black, tears drying on your face as you limp to the entrance of the Shunt. You'll need to be able to give a status report ASAP when the corridor is re-integrated with Site-19.

You're Big egg and oh god christ your egg is all over, you're scrambled, you can see the Big egg in the sky calling out to you ohhh

You're Tess Cargot and deebie finally looking UP yes yes deebie getting it NOTHING WILL SAVE US and you yell victory victory victory

You're The Thing That Kills You and you're in no rush, letting time's bitterness squeeze the life from the eyes of your victim.
That's.
That's not right.
Where are You?
You hunt for You, ganglia splaying from your scalp. You are in this room, but You are not the creature below you. You're in some kind of blind spot from your ganglia, which means-
You must be inside you.
You lift your paw from the thing's eyes. It can die or live, you don't care. You wrap a ganglia around the thing's dropped sword, level it to point at the source where you're detecting You.
Kill you. Only thing that matters.
You jam the sword through your ear, straight into your brain.
Kill you.
The pain is searing. You twist the blade and your knees buckle.
KILL YOU.
You vomit and collapse fully, smiling. Kill you kill you kill you kill

Wearing a shock blanket feels undignified. This is your fourth first day in a new department, you should have this down pat by now. You'd dressed nice, got your hair done. You wanted to be Imani Black, consummate professional. All anyone in the canteen sees now is a woman who's been through some shit.
You got your coffee, though. Bad coffee is your worst vice, but you figure you can indulge, considering. Medics have already checked you for concussion and internal bleeding - worst you've got is a sprained ankle.
Two stretchers are wheeled out of the shunt corridor, and you limp over to meet the men who weren't as lucky as you.
Lenore's looking bad but, god, Darkblade's looking like a bug that was stepped on.
"Hey hey Imani," peeps Tess, perched on his cheekbone. "Give lift, big guy?"
You scoop her up into the palm of your hand. Below you, Darkblade sputters, turns to face you. His voice is hoarse but even with rivulets of blood running out of his mouth, he's still got a gorgeous smile.
"So that was pretty wild, huh?"
You nod. In your hand, Tess nods too.
"Trauma like that can help people bond, though - how about once my ribcage is intact again we grab coffee together?"
"I don't think that's-"
"Imani!" Tess interrupts, "Deebie talking to Tess."
You suppress a laugh. Surely not. But Darkblade nods, eyes screwing up with the pain.
"Thanks no thanks, Deebie. Tess a lesbian. Besides," she preens, "Tess out your league."
Darkblade chuckles, coughs up a little blood, and is wheeled away.
This fucking department. You sit on the floor and laugh and laugh and laugh until you're outta breath, til your lungs hurt and your eyes sting.
Tess laughs with you the whole time.


1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

Footnotes
1. A brick
2. Tactical Theology
Memetics Division
Antimemetics Division
3. TOOTH FAIRIES
4. A cicada covered in teeth
A group of six teeth wander a plastic case
a bag of white powder
5. a fake moon
SIRI, a young woman in her early 20s
6. Iris
7. MC&D
The Hand
Vince McMahon and the WWE
Insurgency
8. Dr. Yelkov
9. Ivadente


CC: Operation Sternenfall

From: cog.viDEHCYSP|tziLOB#cog.viDEHCYSP|tziLOB

I've been asked to provide those of you new to this project with a summary of KTO-1466-Houdini, "Mages Academy".
Information about this operation is being shared on a strict need-to-know basis. Most of you have had no prior awareness of this KTO - this is a deliberate choice on our part. We have recruited alumni from the Mages Academy into our own ranks in the past, but their loyalties are too divided to use any of them in this operation. Keep this to yourselves.
Mundus, Normalis
Braun Lizt
Parathreat Intelligence
PSYCHE Division

Opening Operation_Sternenfall_Dossier.pto…

Sigil of the Mages Academy

KTO1-1466-Houdini "The Mages Academy" is an association of higher educational institutions located across Europe, but primarily within Germany, dedicated to the research and teaching of paranormal phenomena. Although lacking most of the insights of Unified Thaumatology and instead relying on outdated theories of "Astral Energy", the thaumaturgy they teach is demonstrably effective, despite its typical reliance on complex rituals and vocalised spells. While many graduates from the Mages Academy have gone on to become useful GOC assets, the training of unregistered Type Blue Parathreats presents a significant threat to Normalcy, and a number of graduates have been involved with anti-Coalition activities.
Structure: Each constituent university or college is nominally independent and run by an Archmagister, but the curriculum and policies of the Academies as a whole are decided by the Magistrate, a council of Archmagisters. The Magistrate regards itself as a sovereign legal entity enforcing its own regulations as spelled out in its Charter, and has ignored all orders to surrender parathreats to the GOC for termination.
Resources: The Mages Academy operates covertly within ordinary institutes of higher education, awarding their graduates with degrees in conventional fields in addition to titles (from Apprentice to Grandmaster) reflecting their thaumaturgic proficiency. The Academies receive financial support from their graduates, and effectively have access to a paramilitary force by calling on staff and alumni to enforce the terms of their Charter.
Standing Orders: Although unregulated magic and unregistered Type Blue parahumans pose a significant threat to Normalcy, for pragmatic reasons a diplomatic rather than military approach has been taken so far. The Magistrate of the Academies has rejected multiple offers for Council membership.
Revised Orders: While individual members of KTO-1466-Houdini will only be terminated if non-compliant, it has has been decided that the best course of action will be to liquidate the currently existing organisation and restructure any remnants in accordance with the GOC's Fivefold Mission ("Operation Sternenfall"). Detained Staff and Students confirmed to be human will be re-educated to ensure compliance with GOC Resolution on the Practice of Thaumaturgy. Non-human parathreats will be identified and terminated.

CC: Operation Sternenfall

From: cog.vidSCISYHP|remmarKTP#cog.vidSCISYHP|remmarKTP

Congratulations,
For obvious op-sec reasons we couldn't tell you in advance, but you've just been part of one of the largest operations in the Coalition's history. Simultaneous raids on two-dozen locations across Europe was difficult to plan in secret, but you carried out the operation with the courage and determination we expect from our PHYSICS Strike Teams.
I can't say they didn't see us coming, quite a few of them managed to get away, but we believe we've managed to detain the majority of the Academy's students. We're screening them carefully in our Assessment Centers to eliminate any pseudo-human parathreats that may be hiding among them - it looks like the Academies were willing to teach magic to practically anything that could wave a wand.
There were obviously casualties on both sides, we're unsure on exact numbers yet since our medical teams are still working with the wounded. Let me assure you that you all performed admirably in a stressful situation. Blues aren't quite as unpredictable as Greens, but termination is often the only option - our Black Suits may be bulletproof, but they don't make you invincible! On the other hand, the Academies seem to be teaching even their newest students spells that protect them from most conventional weapons, but we're working on a solution to that for next time - and yes, there will be a next time.
Finally, I want to commend the work of our PSYCHE Division. Those of us in PHYSICS often make light of their undercover efforts, but without their intelligence we'd never have been able to pull off something on this scale. We may not physically have all of the students yet, but we know their names and faces. It's only a matter of time before we find them all.
Mundus, Normalis
General Paul Krammer
European High Command
PHYSICS Division

CC: Operation Uberflutung

From: cog.viDEHCYSP|tziLOB#cog.viDEHCYSP|tziLOB

Operatives,
Before we begin, I'd like to commend all of you who served admirably in our last operation together, and welcome all of you who've been reassigned to this new operation. It's very much a follow-up to Operation Sternenfall, but this time we're focusing on a single target - the Sjhlfelser Hochschule für Angewandte Magie - or for all of you who don't speak German, the Sjhlfels University for Applied Magic.
If you're wondering what "Sjhlfels" is, and the resistance we expect to encounter when taking it, read on. It's not just going to be Blues this time.
Mundus, Normalis
Braun Lizt
Parathreat Intelligence
PSYCHE Division

Opening Operation_Uberflutung_Dossier.pto…

Sjhlfels am Rhein
Mages Academy
Das Wunderkabinett
IMBW
Caesus Carnelia Collective
Security and Containment Protectorate

UT2-2015-Zweifach, "Sjhlfels am Rhein" is a extradimensional location accessible from the Sihl Valley in Switzerland and the Dutch Rhine Delta. Existing outside the jurisdiction of any government, UT-2015-Zweifach has become a haven for thousands of Paranormal Threat Entities, with inhuman entities now making up the majority of the town's population.
Although the World Parahealth Organisation was able to construct a medical facility within the paranormal enclave, residents of UT-2015-Zweifach eventually discovered that information gathered on patients was being passed on to the GOC for use for the apprehension and termination of Threat Entities. This lead to the complete expulsion of "St Caesarius Hospital" from the pocket dimension, and the status and location of the building and all personnel stationed there is currently unknown. The Coalition currently monitors all known Ways leading into the enclave, detaining any individuals attempting to enter or leave the location. However, due to violent opposition from local residents, Coalition personnel are unable to act openly within the Territory.
In addition to sheltering various species of cryptid and pseudohuman (predominantly Alfr and Dvergr), illegal aliens and Sarkic cultists, UT-2015-Zweifach serves as the base of operations for multiple Threat Organisations.

Although Operation Sternenfall was successful at limiting the organisation's reach and ability to recruit new students, KTO-1466-Houdini may now represent an even greater threat to Normalcy. Members from across Europe have been travelling to the Sjhlfelser Hochschule für Angewandte Magie (SHAM), bypassing the GOC blockade through unknown means. Intelligence reports indicate the Academy is still operating as an educational institution, but now focuses on the military applications of thaumaturgy, with an emphasis on covert operations, self defence and small-unit guerrilla tactics. Frequent telepathic screening of staff and students has resulted in the majority of PSYCHE operatives embedded within the organisation being detected and detained.
Structure: Four Archmagisters are currently present in UT-2015-Zweifach, sharing joint command of all mages present.

KTE-1678-Blue-Houdini "Ella Roth"

KTE-1542-Blue-Houdini "Nills Weber"

KTE-1986-Blue-Houdini "Peridot Garnier"

KTE-1473-Blue-Houdini "Szabó János"

Resources: Although the majority of Mages Academy alumni and students have surrendered, been detained or gone into hiding, at least six hundred Mages from across Europe are currently present in UT-2015-Zweifach, one of the largest gatherings of hostile thaumaturgists since the last Occult War.
Standing Orders: Mages will protect themselves from conventional weapons using thaumaturgy, and so Coalition operatives participating in Operation Uberflutung will be issued with paratechnological weaponry to bypass this. The four Archmagisters present in Shlfels (shown right) are designated as priority targets. Report if sighted, but do not engage without authorisation.
KTE-1678-Blue-Houdini "Ella Roth": Swiss, resident of UT-2015-Zweifach, Archmagister of the SHAM. Obtained a doctorate in theoretical physics from the Zürcher Hochschule für Angewandte Wissenschaften. Has been working closely with the town council of UT-2015-Zweifach, rallying the population of UT-2015-Zweifach to form militias and fortify the town.
KTE-1542-Blue-Houdini "Nills Weber": German, former Archmagister of the Augsburg Academy, expert in mind-affecting spells and effects. Placed the entire PHYSICS team deployed to the Augsburg Academy into a coma, allowing its students and faculty to escape before re-enforcements could arrive. Leads a division of mages known as "The Inquisition", using various occult methods to identify PSYCHE operatives embedded within KTO-1466-Houdini and UT-2015-Zweifach. A full PHYSICS Division of psychics will be deployed to neutralise KTE-1542-Blue-Houdini.
KTE-1986-Blue-Houdini "Peridot Garnier": French, former Archmagister of the Colmar Academy. Anticipated the arrival of the GOC, coordinated the thaumaturgic relocation of the entire student body to the nearby town of Mulhouse, then dispersed. Expected to play a supporting role rather than fighting on the front lines, appears to be supplementing physical barricades with occult defences.
KTE-1473-Blue-Houdini "Szabó János": Hungarian, former Archmagister of the Bucharest Academy, reopened in 1993. Collapsed the building during Operation Sternenfall, killing 21 GOC operatives. Rarely seen in public since arriving in UT-2015-Zweifach, spending his time in the SHAM building known colloquially as the "Wizards Tower". Reports from ATO3-0917-Scarlet-Dagger "GRU-P" describe his participation in resistance to the Soviet occupation of Hungary, indicating a highly aggressive approach to magic.

Image representing Das Wunderkabinet, found on advertisements and products.

KTO-1995-Funke, "Das Wunderkabinett", is a organisation manufacturing and selling paranormal objects, based out of a shop in Sjhlfels am Rhein but distributing their products across Europe through unknown means.
Structure: KTE-1563-Blue-Funkefather, "Ms Regula Mirabilis", a defector from ATO-1956-Mauer, "Division XXV" is the founder and leader of Das Wunderkabinet. Known associates include KTE-2003-Moro-Domino-Funke, an animate marionette capable of animating other objects, and KTE-1056-Velveteen-Funke, a heavily armed Trabant 601 S.
Resources: In addition to being parathreats themselves, the members of KTO-1996-Funke have the ability to create various paranormal artefacts. While earlier products appear to have been developed for everyday utility, many more recent artefacts seem to have been designed to help their customers evade or escape the GOC, indicating a shift in the organisation's priorities.
Standing Orders: Terminate members of KTO-1996-Funke on sight. Coalition operatives should destroy any artefacts suspected to be associated with KTO-1996-Funke from a safe distance while avoiding any physical contact, since many appear to have been hexed to cause harmful effects if a GOC operative attempts to use or damage the object.

One of three versions of the Institute's Logo

KTO-1982-Darwin, the "Institut für menschliche Bildung und Weiterentwicklung" (Institute for Human Education and Development, IMBW) was founded in 1972 in Berlin, allegedly to promote human education and development. However, Coalition investigations discovered that experiments were being performed that converted humans into parathreats, and the organisation was shut down by Coalition agents, with all personnel to be recruited, detained or terminated.
Structure: The founder of IMBW, KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather, "Professor Voss", was presumed terminated following a point-blank gunshot to the forehead during the liquidation of the original IMBW. However, closer inspection revealed that this was actually an R.T.I. Titan android replica (Representatives of Raptor Tec. Industries insist this was supplied to the IMBW prior to their signing of an exclusive contract with the GOC). KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather has survived three subsequent termination attempts due to the continued use of remotely controlled replicas and its own paranormal abilities. KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather rebuilt KTO-1982-Darwin by recruiting other fugitives with scientific and paratechnological expertise, especially after relocating to UT-2005-Zweifach to evade the Coalition's reach.
Resources: The IMBW has limited financial resources, but has significant parascientific capabilities, with a focus on the mental and physical alteration of its formerly human members and test subjects. KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather embraces self-experimentation, possessing both biological and cybernetic augmentations that have been augmented in each subsequent encounter with the GOC. Strength, endurance and regenerative ability are significantly above human norms, and KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather is armed with paratechnological weaponry, either remotely controlled by a brain-computer interface or incorporated into its cybernetic left arm.
Standing Orders: KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather appears to bear a personal grudge against the GOC due to the termination of a parathreat that KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather claims was formerly its wife. It is expected to engage the GOC, likely supported by other members of the IMBW with unknown paranormal abilities. Conventional weaponry will, at best, slow down KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather. Operatives should immediately report any sightings of KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather to command, then perform a fighting retreat, since an immediate artillery bombardment of the area with the goal of the total incineration of KTE-1983-Red-Bronze-Darwinfather has been authorised and prepared in advance.

The logo of the Caecus Carneliana-Collective

LTO-3389-Baum, the Caesus Carnelia Collective, was a paranormal terrorist organisation that recruited and created parathreats. The organisation had a hierarchy modelled on the Kabbalistic Sephirot, and was presumed to be liquidated following the termination of LTE-3110-Yellow-Baumfather, "Kether", after the capture, release and tracking of KTE-3032-Yellow-Baum, "Daath".
However, a successor organisation designated UTO-4910-Baum appears to have been established shortly afterwards, presumably by surviving members of LTO-3389-Baum. Members refer to it using the same name as the original organisation, but refer to each other with names derived from the Klippot.
Structure: UTO-4987-Baum appears to be lead by KTE-6011-Yellow-Baumfather, "Thaumiel", an humanoid entity of variable appearance. The abilities and appearances of the members of the Collective are unknown, but it is believed that there are at least 10 other members.
Resources: Unknown, but all members of the organisation are parathreats. Known paranormal abilities possessed by one or more members include shapeshifting, temporal distortion and psychic manipulation.
Standing Orders Operatives should refer any unknown esoteric terms to a Coalition Kabbalist. As always, proceed with caution when engaging an Unknown Threat Entity, and do not hesitate to use overwhelming force.

While each of these organisations in isolation represents a significant threat to normalcy, PSYCHE operatives embedded within have observed meetings between leaders of these four factions and a fifth individual, believed to be Alyx Chao of KTO-0001-Bellfather "Overwatch Council". These meetings were mediated by former members of LTO-1150-Alethinos, the "Tatzelwurm's Paw", and while exact details are scarce, there appears to be a plan for these various organisations to work together to coordinate a defense of UT-2015-Zweifach against the planned GOC assault ("Operation Uberflutung") .

CC: Operation Uberflutung

From: cog.vidSCISYHP|remmarKTP#cog.vidSCISYHP|remmarKTP

Operatives,
I've heard some concerns about this upcoming operation.
I'll be honest, there's plenty to worry about. Individuals and groups that we've been hunting for years have been gathering in Sjhlfels am Rhein. It's the only place beyond our reach in the German-speaking world, and it seems like they're willing to die to prevent us from taking it.
Let them die.
This is an opportunity to wipe them out, once and for all, and restore some semblance of Normalcy to Europe.
We're going to simultaneously assault both entrances to the Nexus. We expect heavy resistance, but that means we're coming prepared, with our best thaumatologists and the most advanced paratech in the world. You'll of course all be wearing White Suits, and our arrangement with Raptor Tec Industries has given us plenty of new weapons to deploy. While the tanks and drones may be flashy, the assault rifles are going to be the most useful - there's no bullet to block with armor or deflect with magic, they crush bones and pulp organs with pure kinetic force.
But no matter how impressive our arsenal, we still need brave men and women to wield those weapons. I'm proud to be the one leading you into battle against monsters and traitors.
Mundus, Normalis
General Paul Krammer
European High Command
PHYSICS Division

CC: Operation Uberflutung

From: cog.vidYMELOTP|enorKM#cog.vidYMELOTP|enorKM

I've been asked to give a post-battle report, based on eyewitness testimony. While I was not present until the very end, my experience with Astral Manipulation makes me more than qualified to comment on the numerous errors and oversights that plagued this operation.
(A note on the terminology: I have attended your lectures at the ICSUT, and while your theories involving EVE and the observer effect certainly are ONE approach to magic, Astral Manipulation is something quite distinct. I have long been insisting that the more accurate "Type Violet" term be adopted to refer to magical practitioners who draw on energy from other planes of existence.)
The first complication was the weather - if you'd consulted me in advance, I'd have pointed out that the rituals for weather manipulation are relatively simple when working within a closed system like Sjhlfels, and that would have enabled you to protect yourselves better against the lightning that was directed with such deadly effect. Unfortunately, there isn't much that can be done to stop a weather system like that once it's established and sustained, and in the absence of the original casters to reverse their workings, constant thunderstorms may well become a permanent feature of the Sjhlfels microclimate.
The landing craft coming in from the Rhein weren't designed for that kind of weather, and quite a few of them were overturned. I know there are a lot of rumours about some sort of creature or creatures in the water, but that's not been confirmed - I hear that trawlers are still dragging the coast to see if the the bodies can be found. The rough waves and strong winds scattered the fleet, and every boat that got too close to the Sjhlfels docks were sunk by mages on the shore - the idiom "sitting ducks" comes to mind. While the landings further up the coast were successful, they were more spread out along the shore than was ideal, enabling the defenders to carry out a defeat in detail by attacking each landing party while they were still disembarking. However, I've been informed that despite the high casualties and the lack of progress made for most of the day, this assault was essential to keep our foes divided.
The force that came in overland from the Sihl Valley made much faster progress. The mud and rain made it difficult for most of our vehicles, but the R.T.I. Grizzly tanks really were impressive, both for their manoeuvrability and for the ability of those railguns to punch through pretty much everything. There were a few ambushes by mages, but generally the battle went very well while in the open, and Coalition forces quickly reached the town.
If I had been consulted, I would have advised that you reduce the entire settlement to rubble via an artillery bombardment. In the confined spaces that characterise urban warfare, a small number of prepared defenders can inflict heavy losses on a much larger attacking force. While I have been told that the plan was to capture the Nexus mostly intact, you severely underestimated the capacities of the Mages Academy, likely because no graduate of the academy was consulted until it was far too late.
There was a regrettable lack of precautions taken to protect against psychic influence. Entire units were hallucinating, attacking enemies that weren't there, or directing fire against our own forces (the fact that the R.T.I. Hammer P1 bypasses all armour and cover is something of a mixed blessing). I believe that the psionics divisions was eventually able to incapacitate Archmagister Weber, but I'm afraid that the brain damage caused by his retaliatory curse is irreversible.
After recovering from this initial confusion, our forces then proceeded deep enough into the town to be attacked from all sides, primarily by mages but also by local residents. The attack by Professor Voss and his IMBW creations was particularly noteworthy, since the collateral damage from the artillery bombardment was almost as deadly as the initial attack - indeed, he ensured that he was totally surrounded. I suppose you wouldn't expect to find a body after the use of that many incendiaries, but the lack of one is still concerning.
The use of unconventional weaponry to bypass Mages Academy wards was ingenious, although I doubt they'll be so unprepared next time you face them on the battlefield. They'd already developed countermeasures to your otherwise impressive armor - seeing through invisibility is trivial, it offers limited protection from lightning strikes, and it seems the mages also developed a rather viscious spell to warp and distort the plating and crush the wearer inside it. After their initial losses to the R.T.I. Hammer P1, the mages learned to keep their distance and protect themselves with mobility and stealth. The Invisibility cloaks created by Mirabilis seem to have been used to great effect to ambush and evade us, and I suspect that Ways were created to connect locations throughout Sjhlfels together to enable rapid advances and retreats. With our progress slowed by the barricades and traps they filled the streets with, we certainly took more casualties than they did.
(Personally, I don't trust the reports that Das Wunderkabinet was destroyed - I know the lot the shop was in is now occupied only by rubble, but I speak from experience when I say that my former apprentice always was very skilled at slipping away.)
As for General Krammer, it seems the cause of death was venom from an unknown source. I suspect that one or more members of the Caecus Carnelia Collective specifically targeted him, because troops report receiving orders from him long after his body would have been cold - or at least, orders that they are confident originated from him. That impersonation seems to have been used to get our forces exactly where the enemy wanted them.
It was clear that we'd eventually win with our superior numbers, but what you took for a fighting retreat was really a trap. If I'd been consulted I could have told you the dangers of cornering an Archmage within an Academy that they've had plenty of time to fortify, especially when a man as spiteful as Szabó Janos is coordinating the defense. He was a thorn in the Soviets' side in his youth, and it seems he's only become more stubborn in his old age. Your thaumatologists may have eventually worked out how to protect themselves from the lightning strikes he was directing at us, but in the absence of any understanding of the principles behind the wards placed around the SHAM, they decided to just brute force their way through. It could have been an accident due to channelling too much energy into his defences without the proper precautions, but I suspect Szabó knew exactly what he was doing when he allowed an Astral Being to possess him.
Reshaping the storm above Sjhlfels into a cyclone that quickly was the kind of magic that would normally be impossible, but those limits simply don't apply to Mages possessed by Astral Beings. It's rather difficult to explain to an uneducated audience, but imagine taking hold of a live wire, except the energy that courses through your body has a will of its own.
Entire divisions were swept away by that hurricane, allowing Szabó (since the entity held all of his knowledge, I'll consider it to be him) to focus all of his attention on the little that was left, consisting of the thaumatologists capable of protecting themselves from those winds, and the tanks and Orange Suits that were too heavy to be picked up.
Szabó attacked those by creating an intense electromagnetic field around himself, destroying any electronics he got too close to, but also blocking every shot from the R.T.I. Hammer P1. I expect we'll be seeing a lot more of that defense in future now that the mages know it works. Conventional weapons and railguns could still be used, but Szabó was constantly in motion and could easily deflect or redirect the few projectiles that would have hit their mark. That left only our thaumatologists, who eventually brough him down by throwing out too many different spells for him to counter, although not without a great many losses. Szabó resorted to tearing apart the fabric of reality to bypass their defenses - for obvious reasons, this is not a technique someone with concern for their own safety would ever use. However, he was an old man, I suspect he simply wanted to take as many of you down with him as he could.
It's a good thing you called on me to clean up that mess, the reality breaches were already starting to spread, releasing dangerous levels of Astral Radiation. If they'd been uncontained for much longer the entire Sjhlfels Nexus may have broken apart and collapsed into the Astral Plane. I eventually gathered enough Mages to perform a ritual to excise the area around the Hochshule from the Sjhlfels Nexus. While that was the safest way to repair (or at least remove) the damage, it does means that the town of Sjhlfels is now smaller on the inside.
I have no idea where all the residents of Sjhlfels went, but one would presume that you did not actually have all entrances and exits to the town blockaded, and that they evacuated either before or during your rather slow invasion. I suppose this operation could be considered a success in achieving its main objective, however I must insist that I am consulted prior to any further actions against the Mages Academy. The destruction of a non-anomalous settlement will be much more difficult to cover up.
Mundus, Normalis
Magister Krone
Esoteric Research and Development
PTOLOMY Division

CC: Operation Sternenfall

From: cog.viDEHCYSP|tziLOB#cog.viDEHCYSP|tziLOB

Operatives,
Although casualties sustained during the capture of CT4-2005-Zweifach were higher than anticipated, High Command has deemed the losses of men and material to be acceptable sacrifices in pursuit of the GOC's main missions: the Survival of Humanity and the Destruction of Parathreats.
Magister Krone's remarks will be taken into consideration.
Mundus, Normalis
Braun Lizt
Parathreat Intelligence
PSYCHE Division

CC: Operation Uberflutung

From: cog.vidSCISYHP|remmarKTP#cog.vidSCISYHP|remmarKTP

Win another battle like that, and you'll have no soldiers left to follow you. You'll find the news is spreading fast that the GOC can be beaten.
We stand in solidarity with an international movement, eager to learn from our successes and your failures.
We are the German-Speaking branch of the The Security and Containment Protectorate.
- Supreme Archmagister Ella Roth of the Mages Academy
- Regula Mirabilis of Das Wunderkabinett
- Professor Alexander Voss of the IMBW
- Thaumiel, the Contending Force of the Caecus Carnelia Collective
Mundus, Liberari

| Mundus, Liberari | Occult Warfare »

Footnotes
1. Known Threat Organisation
2. Uncontrolled Territory
3. Absorbed Threat Organisation
4. Coalition Territory


Hello. You must be the new dental assistant. I'm the head of the SCP Foundation's Oral Hygiene Department, Bob Morris. You may call me Dr. Morris. You may not call me Bob. You have to earn that.
This is the main lobby. Mind the cords. And the leaks. I know it may not look it, but in this department are some of the most efficient and capable people working to keep the peace, and one of the most important to the containment of anomalous objects. We have a duty to protect the interests of the world's people and maintain the veil by providing top-notch dental care.
I am not joking, son. I do not joke.
The sign? You mean "THERE IS NO DR. ROCKEFELLER"? It's a long story. Right now, I'll just say that there is not, nor has there ever been, someone called Dr. Rockefeller working at the Department of Oral Hygiene. Call security immediately if you see someone claiming to have that name. If you don't, someone's losing teeth.
Anyways, the department is split into three distinct divisions: Dental Research, Anomalous Dentistry, and Dental Accommodations. Follow me.
Up these stairs is the Division of Dental Research. If the skip is tooth-related, we'll be checking its capabilities and such here. Keep an eye out for tooth fairies.
Don't laugh, son. They get in that way. And I will not be the one pulling the extra teeth from your mouth. And throat. And skin.
Behind this door is the Division Head, Dr. Taylor. He keeps things running smoothly, just the way I like them.
Dr. Taylor!
Sleeping on the job? I will be marking this in your file. Again.
Dr. Taylor and his team specialize in the testing of anomalous teeth and teeth-related anomalies. They've got tooth samples from every anomaly under the sun. Don't worry about all the little cages strewn everywhere - they're all locked. Dr. Taylor keeps samples of teeth-based anomalies in them, as I'm sure you could guess by the walking tooth trying to get out from that one.
It is vital that we can test here. You see, there's a certain level of knowledge required to properly understand dental-related anomalies, especially when most of the “doctors” around here know jack about proper dental care.
Dr. Taylor, has that cage always been open?
No?
We'll be going, then. Dr. Taylor can handle this, right Dr. Taylor?
Okay, let's move along. The second floor is mostly labs and testing rooms for Dental Research. Down these stairs we'll reach the office space.
Here we have Orthodontic Accommodations. They're more than just secretaries for the anomaly dentists and dental researchers, though. This hive of diligent pencil-pushers is the logistical heart of the department.
The dozen or so workers here collaborate with the Department of Accommodations to provide for the everyday dental hygiene of every skip and on-site personnel working for the Foundation. Of course, they also create schedules for the Anomalous Dentistry division, testing logs for the Dental Research division, and whatever paperwork everyone else forgets to do.
That's the thing with the Foundation: too much damn paperwork. Need a whole division to fill out the paperwork from pulling a single tooth.
Heads up, fellas. Might be some loose tooth fairies coming from research. Keep the doors closed. And your mouths shut.
Okay, that should do it for them. There's some more individual hallways here, past the office space, as well as a couple dental examination rooms. We are now in the Division of Anomalous Dentistry. As you know, many of the skips the Foundation contains have teeth, which means they need someone to inspect them every so often. The offices here are usually empty, since these hotshots are always out traveling from site to site.
Think of it like this: who do you call when Godzilla has a cavity? Or an anomalous object with five rows of teeth needs seven of its teeth pulled?
What about the Medical Division? You'd do best to not bring them up if you value your job, son! If your tooth hurts, do you go to a doctor, or a dentist? You go to a dentist! That's why we need a separate department! Any and all rumors you've heard about paperwork errors causing creation of our department are and always have been false. Probably the Medical Division's work.
Now, I've got to take care of an entire department, so talk to Josh and he'll put you with an on-site dentist to shadow for the day.
Ah, Dr. Rockefeller, always with the teeth! It's a pleasure to work with such a distinguished doctor as yourself.
Oh, the new intern? You just need one of their teeth? Well, you are the superior.
Hold still, son. This'll only take a second.
Oh, stop bleeding everywhere, it's undignified. Thank you Dr. Rockefeller. Goodbye.
Huh, what sign?
Ah, dammit! Happened again! I'll get that son of a bitch one day.
C'mon, let's get you fixed up. If we can't fix your teeth, then no one can.


|| HUB || Harvester of Eyes »

"We are all stardust. Billions of years ago, the carbon and oxygen and nitrogen making up our blood and flesh was birthed in a star. A far-far-away star. I heard this truth when I was five years old and I have been trying to find my star ever since."
He was a bad thirty, a good forty, or a very expensive fifty. Black blazer, no shirt underneath. Black jeans, no shoes underneath. No hair except the eyebrows, and if the camera was three feet closer you'd be able to see those were tattooed on. Perfect teeth.
"I asked an astronomer to find my star and he said it died when it gave birth to me. But I know he lied. I can hear it calling me. I asked an astrologer to find my star and she said it was the sun and that I just needed to look up. But I know she lied. The voice I hear is not the sunny star."
Alone on a stage. Camera in the front row. He was pacing back and forth as he spoke. Three steps left. Two steps back. Three steps right. Two steps forward. Hypnotic, almost meditative, each step the same each time. Always facing the audience.
"And then I asked an astrosopher to find my star and they told me to look up, and open my fifth eye, and seek its ancient image. And I know they told the truth because I did and my star spoke louder than you could ever scream and my star told me to come and see! Come and see!"
A faint accent, New Zealand or something like it, smoothed over by decades of American colleges and boardrooms and wives. Messianic diction at sales pitch speed. He did not need a teleprompter.
"And my star is your star. And your star is our star. And our star is my star. Velut, ometh. Now is our time. Here is our space. We take your star. We hold your bonds. Repay your debt. Hyquo, golub, nutra. We will return. I will return. You will return. To the star."
He stopped pacing, and stared straight at the camera. It zoomed in on his face, nauseatingly fast, until it almost filled the screen. He smiled again and there was blood on his teeth. He blinked, for the first time since the start of the video. When his eyes reopened, they were black from lid to lid; and at the center of each shone a hideous blue star.
"Quintessence. Returning stardust to the stars."

"Hector Canvera. Fifth-richest man in the world, with a net worth of a hundred and twenty-five billion. Made his fortune in the software industry. Over the last decade, he's diversified into publishing, maritime logistics, and, of course, private spaceflight with Quintessence Aerospace."

The video had arrived in Jess's inbox at the worst possible time. She was supposed to be getting ready for a date. A third date, in fact, which was why she was sitting on her couch in her sexiest lingerie and a half-buttoned shirt, listening to the distorted voice of an Overseer on her tinny cell phone speakers.

"Famously eccentric. Raw vegan diet, sleeps standing up, runs ultramarathons barefoot. Primarily resides on a private submarine, the Vasco da Gama, although he owns mansions in the Bay Area, Sri Lanka, and New Zealand."

She knew all this, of course. Canvera loved to be in the news. Whenever the world stopped talking about him for more than ten minutes he'd show up with a vanity cryptocurrency or idiotic engineering project or celebrity girlfriend to get his name back in the headlines.

"He was also a prominent member of the Fifth Church, an anomalous religious organization that nearly destroyed the world with a self-help book in 2005. You will not remember this, because we went to great lengths to prevent anyone from remembering it. In Canvera's case, it seems we failed."

Jess's least favorite part of working for the Foundation was all the apocalypses she didn't learn about until well after the fact. This would be… Well, this would be number five. Eerie.

"Twelve hours ago, he released this video on Quintessence's official YouTube channel. It was also sent to a number of major media outlets. Cover story is a nervous breakdown, it'll be out of the news cycle by Monday. The truth, Ms. Fordyce, is that Hector Canvera is no longer on this planet."

"Son of a bitch."
Canvera had been threatening a Mars expedition for a couple years now. If the Foundation was getting involved, it meant he'd given up on getting there by mundane means. Probably wasn't the first time this had happened; definitely wouldn't be the last.

"Two months ago, Global Occult Coalition astrologers detected a massive EVE spike in the vicinity of the star Alula Borealis, evidence of a sapient extraterrestrial civilization — the first such evidence we've seen to date. Canvera saw it too. He is now on his way there, in an anomalous interstellar craft assembled via unknown means; we believe that he is seeking the Fifth Church's god."

"SON of a BITCH."
Not Mars, then. Way worse than Mars. Jess knew about the moonbase, and she was sure that the Foundation had at least visited a few other places in the solar system; but this was unprecedented.

"The Foundation cannot allow Canvera to reach his goal. The newly-established Foundation Department of Interstellar Containment, in partnership with the Global Occult Coalition Taskforce on Interstellar Threats, will use the Daedalus, an unfinished interstellar vessel constructed by Prometheus Labs, to pursue him and contain the threat he poses."

And there was the other shoe. Of course Prometheus had built a spaceship. And if she was getting this message, it meant they wanted her to be on it.

"We would like you, Ms. Fordyce, to lead the Department of Interstellar Containment. Your track record as a liaison to the Coalition speaks for itself, and you are already acquainted with the head of the Taskforce on Interstellar Threats: Dr. Michelle Dahl, AKA Iphegenia Masonbane, Oecumenicus Volgi of the Ancient and Most Noble Order of Gormogons."

Jess's first thought, for some reason, was that she didn't know Michelle had a doctorate. Then the rest of it hit her.
"What the fuck."
Michelle Dahl, AKA Iphegenia et cetera, was her date tonight. Jess pulled out her personal phone & tuned out the Overseer for a moment to write and delete seven different text messages, eventually settling on "hey we really need to talk"; within moments, she got back a "Yeah, I'm almost there". She returned her attention to her work phone just in time to hear the end of the message.

"Remember that this is a one-way trip. We cannot travel faster than light; time dilation will make it a ten year voyage for you, but on Earth more than four centuries will pass. You have twenty-four hours to respond to this offer. We hope you will accept."

The video ended, and the doorbell rang. Jess walked to the door in a daze, her state of undress forgotten, and opened it without even checking the peephole. It was Michelle, of course, her makeup half-done, her little black dress accessorized with a pair of dirty old sneakers. She looked as stunned as Jess felt.
"Uh." It took Jess a second to find her voice. "You heard about Canvera?"
Michelle just nodded.
"So… would you like to command a spaceship with me?"
Michelle nodded again, and Jess pulled her inside. They did not make their dinner reservation.
|| HUB || Harvester of Eyes »


Between 1983 and 1989, the United States Department of Defense spent 6.5 billion dollars training fifth-graders to kill magicians.
It really did make sense at the time. They were a plentiful workforce, plastic enough to be turned into counter-psychics with some targeted lobotomy, and more than willing to place themselves in the caring hands of Uncle Sam. Most importantly, higher-ups believed even the most devoted Russian agents wouldn't dare lay hands on schoolchildren.
Unfortunately, none of them considered the inverse might also be true.
Tom Rosenbloom was the program's first success. A bright-eyed eleven year old with an interest in dinosaurs and better marksmanship than most of the FBI, he was covertly moved into an apartment above an Italian restaurant suspected to facilitate GRU dead drops. Two months afterwards, he was given the kill order and a Beretta hidden in his T-rex lunchbox.
His handlers had planned for many contingencies. Heart attack induced by his psychotropic regimen. Demonic possession, classes A-I to VII. Remembering he used to have parents.
None of them anticipated a tearful confrontation with the elderly telepath-slash-line cook over veal parmigiana, his impromptu adoption, and subsequent defection to Russia within the month.
Clearly, they had made a mistake somewhere down the line. The scientists looked over the reports, reviewed their methodology, and came to the conclusion that their problem was the children being conscious.
They only managed to fix that issue half a year before their funding was cut for good. Over the next decade, they released three of their remaining candidates back into the general population after thorough deconditioning. After all of them ended up having higher killcounts as freshmen than assassins, the fourth and final subject was instead transferred to an organisation that would be able to handle her.
Little Chessaline Broad was fifteen years old when she was placed into containment. She was thirty-nine by the time she left.

Excerpt from Release Form A233-91: Anomalous Personnel Application Form
Current Designation: SCP-2370-ARC
Prospective Position: Archival Department, Armsmaster and Security
Character Witness: Dr. Adileh Khayyam, Psychology Department
Why do you want this position? (750 words or less)

The doctor says it will be good for me to reinter reind reintegrate into a working environment. She says I have made a lot of progress in my sessions with her and that Lefty and Righty need additional simtimulation although she is worried about trua traumatic experiences from my childhood.
I also want to help the Foundation. They were kind to me growing up and saved me from a very bad place. I do not want to shoot people as my job but Righty is very good at it. If it means protecting good people—the ones that saved me from the doctors—I will do it.

Why are you qualified for this position? (upload supporting documents)

- Range_Scores_2018-09-13.csv
- Field-Readiness_Report_B103_G_SALAZAR.pdf
- Physical_Overview_2018-06-11.pdf
- Psych_Profile_2018-03-01.pdf

What accommodations will you require?

I am on medication which wakes me up automatically now but I should still be tied to the bed. I should be searched every time I go to my room so Lefty and Righty cannot act up while I am asleep.
If my eyes have been closed for twenteeny minutes, my coworkers must induce a coma immediately with barbiturate guns. If they have been closed for thirty minutes, they should use lethal force instead: first by activating my bomb collar, then by using high-explosive devices if that has been dict deactivated.
If they have been closed for an hour, aerially bombard my position until the kill can be visually confirmed.

Excerpt from SCP-2370-ARC App. C-3: Psychological Evaluation, 2018-03-01
Let me begin this report with some context for the layman.
There is no ‘nice' way to overwrite somebody's memories. The Foundation is at the head of the pack in terms of psychotropic pharmacology. Our newest formulation of Class-A amnestics is, frankly, a miracle drug: they are the safest, cleanest method of targeted memory removal known to mankind, and in 40% of cases, they still don't fully take.
The subconscious holds on to what the conscious lets go. Hard memories of a monster next door become impossibly vivid nightmares; waking up bolt upright in the dead of night; the certain, terrible knowledge that there is something out to get you, and you have no idea what it was. And these are the side effects of a substance we've spent half a century perfecting, with the help of the greatest minds in biochemistry.
Now imagine what an organisation with none of the expertise nor moral scruples of the Foundation was using—on children, no less—thirty years ago.
Whatever you're picturing, it was much, much worse.
I've read the initial biopsy reports. When we took her in, 2370's heart was pumping equal parts kratom tea and blood.
By all rights she should resemble a late-stage rabies patient. Instead, in the year I've spent with her, 2370 has revealed herself to simply be a shy, anxious woman—one with a sleep condition and aphasia, yes, but in temperament no worse than most of the agents I work with on a monthly basis.
Whether that is an indictment of the Foundation's work conditions, or a compliment towards her progress as a patient, is ultimately up to the reader.

Excerpt from SCP-2370-ARC App. C-6: Field-Readiness Report, 2018-09-16
Alright, okay, field evaluation. Gonna be honest: do you even need me to fill this out?
I mean, just look at her. She's built like a monster truck. We took her out to the training grounds and she managed to run a four minute mile. That's twelve whole seconds off the world record, unless you've got an anomalous middle-distance runner locked up somewhere. No shit she passes the physical component of the exam.
Then there's her range performance. Look, I know Command is probably worried about the whole bandana thing in a live fire situation, but couldn't you just give her- I dunno, some Ray-Bans or something? Alpha-3 got a real life Gauss gun for their designated marksman last year. Surely the big Five could spare a couple hundred to buy their golden girl a pair of blackout goggles.
And that's not even mentioning what she does when she's in the zone like that. After her first run, I had the range techs set up a wall between her and the target, just to see if the file was bullshitting me. Yeah, I know what the score is. No, that's not a malfunction. There's a scan of the grouping in the PDF, you tell me that's a fluke.
So, uh, yeah. Maybe don't send her off to the Mole Rats—she wouldn't be able to fit through the door to their dorm—but aside from that, top marks all round.
Oh, and if she offers to shake your hand? Take it from me: don't.

Excerpt from SCP-2370-ARC App. C-3: Psychological Evaluation, 2018-03-01
The most unusual behaviour 2370 displays is the belief that her hands are sentient, but even this is relatively explainable. I would attribute this firstly to the circumstances of her anomaly: as a twelve year-old girl, how do you explain the fact that you lose motor control if your eyes are closed? More importantly, how do you explain your ability to wield a gun you don't consciously know how to use?
Her answer was anthropomorphism. It's a fairly mundane response to the unpredictable, and one that children and adults alike engage in. Chances are you've seen this done with computers: people talk to them when they're acting up, even if they (usually) aren't able to understand their instructions or respond to them.
Understandably, the average reader probably thinks of their limbs in a different way to their workstations. The average reader, of course, was also not indoctrinated as a child assassin. Combine the effects of her anomaly with a half-lethal cocktail of psychotropics and the depersonalisation that comes with childhood violence, and you begin to understand why she might have started engaging in this behaviour.
Granted, 2370 isn't eleven years old anymore. I confess, I'm still unsure whether this is an affectation preserved out of habit or a genuine belief; in either case, though, it's not something I believe would cause problems further down the line.
Now what happens when she does fall asleep: that is something which merits concern.

Excerpt from SCP-2370-ARC App. A: Pentagram Documentation of Subject
Dr. Jacobi: You know who this is, don't you? You've been pretending to forget when we asked you. Naughty.
(2370 looks at the body on the table for some time, before violently shaking against her restraints.)
Dr. Jacobi: That's good. That's very good. We want you to eat him.
(2370 shakes her head repeatedly.)
Dr. Jacobi: Unfortunate, but it's what we expected. Blind her.
(One of the masked guards successfully applies a blindfold to 2370, although he is bitten in the process. Jacobi takes out a stopwatch from his pocket and starts it. Over the next five minutes and fourteen seconds, 2370 appears to totally fall unconscious. Notably, the tremors in her hands have totally ceased in addition to other, voluntary movement.)
(Once this period has ended, Jacobi unlocks 2370's restraints and presents her with a knife and fork.)
Dr. Jacobi: Let's try this again. Lincoln: dinner time.
(2370 slowly rises to a standing position. She spends the next sixteen minutes removing the subject's intestines via their oral cavity using the provided tools, demonstrating clearly abnormal strength for her age.)
Dr. Jacobi: Lincoln? Give the cutlery back. You can eat with your hands.
(2370 obeys the command, handing over the knife and fork before beginning to consume the now-deceased subject's large intestine. Jacobi nods to the guard from before, who removes the blindfold.)
(As he does, 2370 appears to jolt awake, looking visibly distressed.)
Dr. Jacobi: You know who this is, don't you?
(2370 vomits. Fragments of bone are clearly visible.)
Dr. Jacobi: That's good. That's very, very, good.

Excerpt from “Welcome to Archival: Your First Day in the Stacks”, Employee Manual (1963-)
What do we do here?
Archival's primary job is preservation. Everything that doesn't merit active study by another division—sub-Safe anomalous items, old pieces of supertechnology, unsubstantiated reports of supernatural events—these all fall under Archival's remit.
Did you know: the Foundation has over 5000 tonnes of paper documentation from the last century alone?
As a member of Archival, it's your job to help us catalogue, record and contain these items for future reference by the rest of the Foundation.
Where should I go to start my first day?
New employees should report to my office (first floor, Computer Labs 1A-319A, Archival Site-00) for orientation and an introduction to the rest of our workforce.
What should I do if I have questions?
If you're ever confused, feel free to ask me by using one of the intercoms installed around the Site. Through the magic of distributed neural computing, I'm always available to answer any question you have, no matter how small or large. If there isn't one nearby or I'm otherwise incapacitated for maintenance, one of your more experienced coworkers will also be more than willing to assist you in your enquiry.
—P. Olympia
Head Librarian, Magnetic Storage Human Interface
Archival Division

Next: The Slow Bullet


The following excerpt has been cleared by the O5 Council as an example of an isolated update proposal to SCP-001. In all cases the speaker is not identified, nor are the logs complete.

Proposal Date: 30/5/2024
Update Proposal: Evaluation of Post-Operation Falcon Punch effects on consensus reality following the mass discovery of thaumatologically enhanced robotics and prosthetics.
Dialog:
It appears we have come to a crossroads. While this isn't the most severe breach of the Veil we've had, it is certainly among the most extensive. The question is what we are going to do going forward.
Who is this we? You were the one who was so desperate to pull the trigger on this. Anderson Robotics had been you and Holman's white whale for decades. Well, Ahab, you caught the bastard, but now the Pequod is underwater.
I recall your vote was in favor of the operation.
And I've regretted it ever since.
If you two are quite finished sparring, we should return to the matter at hand. Every major robotics and computer science lab on the planet just discovered how to make Anderson's tech at once. And we're already seeing the public announcements of their discoveries. We need to make a decision.

"Alright, Jamie."
She heard the doctor's voice.
"The surgeons have installed the implants. In a few moments, I will give the command, and they will turn on. I will then run a few calibration tests but assuming everything has gone to plan, we should be all set."
"Will it hurt?" Her father's voice was audible across the room. "It won't hurt her, will it?"
"I'll be fine, Dad," she said with a smile. "It's a little late to turn back now."
"There will be a little pinch," the doctor stated, "but nothing too bad. Are you ready?"
"Let's do this!"
There was a slight shock, and the feeling of something clicking in her mind. Static appeared where there had been darkness before, which slowly resolved into vibrant colors. Colors she had never had the pleasure of knowing. Out the window, the lush gardens of the clinic's grounds were in full bloom. A beautiful first sight.
"It worked," she whispered. Tears were welling in her eyes. "It worked!"
She looked over at her dad, seeing his face for the first time.
"I can see."

It shouldn't be a debate, to begin with. We have the necessary amnestics and we can certainly create an adequate cover-up. It will take half a dozen task forces burning the midnight oil for a few months, but we aren't so far out of the woods that we can't get the cat back into the bag.
I'm sorry, let me be sure I have this correct. Your proposed solution to the public discovering how to make a handful of spooky robots and maybe advancing computer science half a century is to expose the affected population, a group that is nearly 4 billion by conservative estimates, to known carcinogens? This isn't a few city blocks of some downtown somewhere, or an isolated backwater we can just dunk in the blue goo and make think it's March again and have the side effects go unnoticed or explained away as an interesting epidemiological case study. You'd just be trading one breach of the Veil for another. Both are caused by us.
And your alternative is better? Just let the tech become part of the new normal? Pretending our massive mistake here wasn't a mistake at all?
They do have a point though. We've rewritten consensus normalcy before for things that have gotten out of hand. What is the point of having SCP-001 be a living document if we can't be pragmatic with it?

"Mr. Patel?"
He looked over from the hospital bed. The newest addition to a cavalcade of doctors that had been in to see him since he had been brought in after the crash was there. While her badge was too small to read at this distance, he could see 'Neurosurgery' printed on her white coat.
"I'm Dr. Stowe," she introduced herself. "I'm on the Neurosurgery team. I was called in to consult."
He looked down at his legs. He hadn't moved or even felt them in the last three days.
"Is there anything to even be done at this point?" he asked. "I was told that the crash had severed my spine. I'm not a doctor, but I know that doesn't quite heal."
"A few years ago you would be correct." She smiled as she took a seat by his bed. "There have been quite a few developments in my field since 2024 though. We now have a special implant, a kind of flexible bridge, that allows us to essentially rewire your nerves and bypass the damage. It won't be an exact one-to-one, but you'll be able to walk through the park, run, jump, garden, feel. Everything you could before."
"W-what?" he said. "You're saying you can-"
"Yes. We can fix your spine."

I guess my concern is that when we start down this path, how do we make a decision as to when to stop that won't be arbitrary. How far are we going to let them ride this wave before we decide 'that is enough, back behind the Veil with you.'
Did you have a specific example in mind?
Anderson's Pseudo Artificial Intelligences for starters. We could probably handwave the most rudimentary stabs at replicating that as computer science weirdness, but what happens if we allow them to replicate the Peregrines or the Sakers? Those are basically artificial human souls. Mass production and exploitation of them would venture far too close to a new wave of slavery for me.
We don't stop mundane slavery where it arises. I can appreciate the sentiment, but we also need to keep perspective here. Holding another sapient being in bondage is not anomalous, as unfortunate as that is. If they create an army of robot slaves on their own, well, there is enough Sci-Fi out there to have warned them why that was a bad idea, to begin with.

"Come along, Jeffery," the old man's gait was slow and shuffling. He carried with him an ornate cane that Jeffery had carved for his birthday a few years back. An android slowly strode behind him, a series of grocery bags tightly gripped in its arms. A group of gardener drones whizzed past, on their way to tend to the large city park they were just exiting.
"Will you need help getting up the stairs, Walter?" the droid asked, two silver eyes peered over the paper at the upcoming house. "Are you feeling fatigued?"
"No, no," he said. He was already attempting the first step. "I've got the energy. The therapist said I need to keep moving. Just can't grab the rail and the groceries anymore, you know?"
"I understand. Please do not hesitate to ask me for assistance. You are more important than some cans of tomatoes."
"I am not sure too many people would agree with you at this point," Walter chuckled. Step by step he ascended toward his house. "I'm fine, trust me. Just a little slower now."
The droid lingered behind the whole way, and let out a small synthetic sigh of relief as the old man finally crossed his threshold. It placed the groceries down on the kitchen counter, and quickly placed the contents away.
"I'd offer you a beer." Walter took a seat at the kitchen table. "I know you don't drink though. Is there something I can offer you instead? I can easily keep it around the house."
"I appreciate that, but it is not necessary," the droid chuckled.
"You're too kind." The old man smiled. "You probably have to get to your next client. Go ahead and lock the door when you leave. The check should be sent to the usual place. Thanks for your time, Jeffery."
"See you Wednesday, Walter."

You can bury your head in the sand as much as you want, but we've been at this for literal hours! We've looked at the data time and time again. We've discussed as many ramifications, potential ways for this to backfire, and precedents as 13 individuals can possibly comprehend. In the end, the benefits of us using this opportunity to update 001 far exceed the known consequences of us trying to turn back the clock here. Even someone as stubborn as you has to admit that.
I will not. But I know when the time for words has come and gone. I think we are ready to vote.

Her wife smiled at her from the bed. The last 35 years had been nothing but bliss. But, as with all things, it seemed to be coming to an end.
"It's time, I think," she said and squeezed her lover's hand.
"Aren't you terrified?"
Her wife shook her head.
"It will work, or it won't. I don't regret anything though."
She nodded, and then placed the device on her wife's head. It let out a low whirr, and then she was still.
As quickly as she could, she placed the device on its dock and turned on the monitor. Thirty minutes later, an image appeared. An avatar of her wife as she looked 35 years ago. Tears of joy welled both their eyes.
"Can you hear me?" she asked the construct on the screen.
"Loud and clear, my dear," she replied.
"You look beautiful," she said.
"So do you."

Conclusion: The recent mass discovery of minor thaumatologically enhanced robotics, prosthetics, and their applications are added to SCP-001.