They looked as if they were touching the heavens, molten hands gripping at the pearly gates before crashing back down on the tidal wave of madness that was the burning building. The flames had certainly exceeded Lerou's expectations. The cries of blackened allies merely echoed on his twinkling eyes as the rising flames billowed out in an inviting, hypnotic swathe. The crimson fans swayed in the wind, gesturing to the far off escape of blue skies.
Glass was scattered around the scene, traces of what was once soaked fabric far gone to the wind. A broken window? A smashed bottle? It was all the same now, no matter the cause - united under an equilibrium of ash and dust.
Unity. Peace within destruction.
Peace was an unsuccessful focus test with the entire human population as its subject; It was teased and teased until humanity screamed for the teasing to stop. Those with higher power laughed at that little game they played, so vainly called 'democracy'; Lerou scorned their tainted consciousness.
As the only defining truth of human nature, violence was the only thing they understood. Destroy the status quo and remake it to your own suiting - a better life.
Fire, however, was so much different from 'destruction'. It was like watching living art; canvases painting themselves and stories being written in front of you. Curls of amber forming faces, lyrics, pictures; the stories of a lifetime told through a soft and delicate hand. You couldn't let such beauty be portrayed as destruction, could you? Under the watchful eye of the enlightened, the flame of revolution would never go out.
Lerou threw the matchbox into the dimming flames of the west side, ignoring the calls to stand down behind him. The operative could care less, at this point. Couldn't they understand what he was trying to show them? An eye for an eye and the world does not simply grow blind, they find new ways to see.
Was that an evil goal?
Peace and protection?
The agent hardly saw it as such. If that was such a stretch, then perhaps the Foundation was the biggest evil of them all. If that was true then he was doing the world a favour. They couldn't see this beauty properly so he'd burn it into the sky.
A glimmer of a smile appeared on Lerou's face, the lick of the flames across his feet enticing. Asking him to join the revolt; dancing with him one more time, across the pyre into a new age.
The whisper of flames drew the agent to his feet and towards his kingdom of warmth, the crackling of embers the soundtrack to the grandest ball. Voices faded into radio static as his feet lightly pattered across the broken dance floor. He'd be there, too.
Freedom under ash.


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|Hub|There's a Job For Everyone »

The young Lucius Bell began his walk to his new job, lost in thought. I wonder what it'll be like. He frowned. Probably bad, they aren't even training me. Plus that talkative co-worker… Ugh, this whole job seems sketchy. Maybe it's just like, a front for the mafia or something.
He pushed through the dust-caked door, into the seemingly dark, inactive, Starlow Grocery. Setting down his bag on the checkout counter, he studied his surroundings before shouting out, "Hey, anyone here?"
There was a small static noise, a zap, and then the lights flickered on suddenly, making Lucius flinch and raise his arms up instinctively. A moment passed before he lowered them back down to his sides, relaxing as he took in the environment of the store. He rapped the small checkout counter with his knuckles, a nervous tick of his.
"Ahhh, sorry 'bout that, I'm here now! I got a bit lost on my way to the lights. You're my co-worker, right?" a voice echoed through the empty store, and Lucius craned his neck around to find the source. Nobody had entered through the door, not that he saw at least.
"Where are you?" He questioned.
"Ah, I don't have a body, I'm afraid."
Lucius raised his hand up to his temples, rubbing them softly. A headache grew as he thought. "What do you mean?"
"Just look up, you can find me there!" Lucius slowly turned his head to look upwards, quickly spotting a large speaker embedded in the ceiling. "Hello, my name is Com, what's yours?"
Lucius groaned in reply.

Lucius hesitantly pushed open his door, starting his walk to the store in silence for a moment before sighing and sitting down on a nearby bench.
I shouldn't even go in. I should just quit, maybe. He tightened his grip on the front of the bench, then he looked up and let out a short scream.
First it was the babysitting a bunch of giant bugs, then it was tending to an eyeball plant garden, and now this!?
I'm tired. he thought. What can I even do?
Lucius leaned back, gazing upon the horizon as the sun rose. A small glare grabbed his eye, and he saw his answer.
S&C Plastics.
"Yes!" he exclaimed, standing up, and he began running to the building.

"You've got to listen to me!" Lucius cried. "The grocery store! There's a guy and he's-"
"Kid, kid!" The woman behind the small reception desk interrupted, waving her hands around dramatically. "We've got other stuff to deal with! Your grocery store pal. Does he do anything bad?"
"No, but-"
"No buts!" She yelled. "We can't do anything about it. There's bigger fish to fry. Dangerous fish. If you really don't like this guy, just quit."
Lucius grumbled, hitting the desk with his fist before turning around and slamming the door behind him, leaving the woman in silence.
"Wait, are we supposed to pretend like we don't know what they're talking about or…" she asked herself before shrugging. "Whatever. They know about the weird stuff anyways."

Lucius dashed through the door of Starlow Grocery, slamming it shut behind him. There was a barking, followed by multiple slams before the animal behind it walked away. He sighed in relief.
"Ah, you're back! Most people don't come back!" The crackly voice filled the supermarket.
The anxious Lucius stumbled over to the counter, his hand over his arm. "Yeah, I was thinkin' about it. Then I realized I need to pay my rent." He pulled up his sleeve, rested his elbows on the register, and slouched over. "So here I am."
"Hmph… Do you need some coffee? There's some on the shelves, most likely."
Lucius chuckled, closing his eyes. "Yeah, some I'd have to pay for."
"Nuh-uh!" Com shouted, "You can take anything you want, the store restocks!"
"And I'm probably going to have to do it…"
"Nope, the store restocks overnight!" Com exclaimed, "One time an employee took as much as he could out of the store, and everything was replaced the very next day. Kind of spooky, right?"
"Huh? You think that's spooky?" Lucius looked up exasperated and roared, "Well what about some weird speaker spirit, huh, isn't that just scary!? Really petrifies you with fear, huh?!" He shot his hands upward, continuing his maniacal rant. "Or, what about the half-dog half-cat thing that attacked me while I was walking here!?" Lucius pulled up his sleeve to reveal a long scratch along his forearm that was starting to bleed. "That's pretty creepy, isn't it?! Isn't it?!"
Silence filled the store as Lucius winded down, placing hands on his temples and rubbing them.
"You know what, maybe I'll take you up on that coffee offer… And maybe a bandage too…"

"♫ Starlow Grocery, it's the grocery for you and me ♫" Com sung softly to himself, unaware of Lucius, who had just entered.
"♫ When the stars are bright and low, and you're waiting out the snow, you need to have lots'a food to eat, or even some nice treats ♫"
Enthralled by the jingle, he ignored the chuckling Lucius. "♫ So come on down to Starlow Grocery, the grocery for you, and, me. ♫"
"You know I was here for that singing, right?" Lucius looked up, smiling at the speaker.
"Y-yeah, definitely," Com stuttered, trying to come up with an excuse. "I- I wanted you to hear it! It's our store song!"
"Are you sure?" he began to take off his coat, stuffing it under the checkout counter. "It seemed pretty out of date. I mean, there isn't always snow around. Do you have like, a song for each season, or were you just singing 'cause you like to sing and that sounded the best?" he teased.
"I- uh-" Com stuttered once more, pausing before muttering, "Shut up."
There was a moment of silence as they both got lost in their thoughts.
"Hey, so…" Lucius scratched his neck nervously. "I just kinda want to, um, apologize for the yelling yesterday, I was being a jerk, I guess. Out of all the weird things I've come across in this town, you're one of the better ones."
"Thanks, Lucius. I accept your apology." Com turned the tables, taking his turn to tease, "So you felt bad? Awww, do you care about me?"
"Yeah, is that so bad?"
"Uh, no, I guess."
"Good."
They sat quietly for a few minutes as Lucius gazed at the empty store. He noticed that there was another coffee maker on the shelf, right where the one he had taken was. An automatically restocking store… I should take advantage of this. I could take some food home and-
Com interrupted Lucius's thoughts. "Hey, Lucius…"
"Yeah?" He looked up curiously, noting that he should steal some food when he leaves.
"Thank you. A lot of people hate me, but you're pretty nice."
"You're pretty nice too, Com."

Grabbing a brown paper grocery bag, Lucius walked through the aisles, grabbing different foods. Milk, apples, some crackers maybe… he mentally checked items off his list, adding them to the bag as he spotted them.
Then, suddenly, something caught his eye. An orange drink in a glass bottle. Weskint Brewery Orange Drink.
He dropped his bag, gasping. "No. It can't be."
"What is it?" Com asked.
Lucius lurched forward and grabbed a bottle, screwing off the cap and chugging it down. Nostalgia washed over him as the tanginess of the drink assaulted his taste buds. Memories from his childhood rushed through his mind as he tasted the perfect mix of sour and sweet, the flawless orange taste, all while lacking carbonation.
"It's perfect." He gleamed, holding the now empty bottle.
"That soda?"
"No, it's not soda, that's what makes it so good!" Lucius exclaimed, picking up a new bottle and inspecting it. "It's orange drink. No fizzyness, but it isn't like orange juice, it's just… It's just great."
"Hm. I wish I could taste it, but…"
"Yeah, sorry…" Lucius sighed, smiling. "I remember drinking this all the time when I was a kid." He frowned. "But they discontinued it years ago, how is it here?
"Well, this store is fairly old," Com informed, "I suppose that since we're always magically restocking, that product stays here."
Lucius grabbed a few bottles, placing them into his paper bag.
"You know what, Com? I'm glad I got a job here."
Com giggled. "I'm glad you got a job here too."

Lucius slumped through the door, a large box in his hands. He stumbled and set it on a table behind the counter, wiping sweat from his brow and looking up, exclaiming, "I bought you a present!"
"What is it?!" Com crackled excitedly, before calming himself in an instant. "Wait, um, I can't really do anything with-"
"It's a computer!" he interrupted, lifting a large PC tower and monitor out of the box.
As he untangled the cables, Com spoke, growing excited once more. "Wow, a computer! Maybe I can interact with it!" As he excitedly ranted, he also grew concerned. "But you didn't buy it for me, did you? I know that you were talking about your financial troubles and…"
"Nah, it's cool." The computer whirred as Lucius plugged it in and pressed the power button. "I found it in my basement a while ago, so I don't really need it. Plus I've been living off of all the groceries I take from here, so I don't have to pay for food. Makes it easier to pay the bills." A small ding - ding rung from the computer as it loaded up the desktop. Lucius loaded up the Paint program, then looked up at the speaker. "Can you try and move this mouse? Draw something?"
The mouse proceeded to flash around the screen, drawing up a cartoonish caricature of Lucius holding a orange bottle in a paper bag, along with a speech bubble stating, 'Gah, I'm Lucius and I'm angry all the time!'
"Firstly, rude. Secondly, wow! That was super fast!" he exclaimed, studying the drawing.
Com doodled around the caricature, sketching various small images of the store, the night's sky, and a strange black-haired woman wearing a long grey trench coat that dragged on the floor drawn beneath her. "Who's she?" Lucius asked curiously.
Com's voice crackled from the computer's speakers. "Well, every night I usually turn off for like, two hours. It's strange, I get sent to this empty landscape, but I look up and it's just the stars… But anyways, one time I got turned back on and I saw this lady dash out of the store. I haven't really seen her since…"
"Hmm…" Lucius thought, ideas running through his head. "Do you carry any camping gear here?"

Taking a sleeping bag from the store shelves, Lucius set up camp on the other side of the counter. "When did you say you shut off?"
"At like, eight PM. So probably pretty soon." Com whispered through the computer's speakers. "Why do you ev-e-n wan-" His voice slowed down, glitching and eventually quieting completely as the store's lights shut off, leaving Lucius in darkness. Pushing himself under the counter, held his breath as he heard the back door being pulled open.
"God, they stole camping gear? At least I've got my work cut out for me…"
Lucius squeezed out from under the counter and rose up just enough to see the same woman that Com had drawn. She dashed over to the sleeping bags and pulled out a wooden ruler. Raising it above her head, she twirled it a bit and cast it down. In an instant, the shelf flashed and sparkled, eventually darkening to reveal a brand new sleeping bag on the shelf.
"Good as ne-" She paused. "Who's there!" She screamed, turning to face the peeking Lucius, who attempted to drop back down under the counter. "I see you!"
Lucius panicked silently, burrowing into his sleeping bag. There was a small tapping as the strange woman walked over to him, pulling the bag away from him. "Who are you?"
"G-gonna have to ask you the same thing!" he stuttered.
Suddenly, the ruler was at his throat. "Who. Are. You." the woman demanded.
"L- Lucius Bell! I'm new here please don't kill me I'm an employee!"
The ruler pulled away from him as she stepped away and tucked it into her trench coat. "I'm not going to kill you, but you really shouldn't be here…" She sighed and ran back over to the door, pausing for a moment. "As for your question, I'm The Stocker. Nice to meet you, but I gotta go."
"Wait!" Lucius shouted, chasing after her. "You're a stalker?"
"The Stocker, not a stocker." She looked back at the confused Lucius before turning back around, her hand on the door. "I stock the shelves. You just saw me do it. Now, again, I have to leave."
"Oh. Wait!" Lucius shouted again, prompting a dramatic groan from The Stocker. "Can you stay here? Just until Com comes back online? I want-"
"Oh hell no!" The Stocker turned around, screeching, "Com is the worst! I'm glad he's always off when I'm here!"
"Well… I think he's nice."
"Well, then again," she turned back, "Maybe you're too new."
And she was gone.

|Hub|There's a Job For Everyone »

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When Reese Martens woke up, the world was silent.
His alarm clock didn't go off. The fan buzzed silently above him. Everything around him was quiet.
He saw that his computer was switched on. He breathed a long sigh, and moved to the leather-bound book on his table. Flipping though the pages quickly, he stopped at a blank page, and wrote down a number.
20320.
Flipping the book back to its cover, he moved over to his computer. The last file he had previously been editing was still open.

Description: SCP-████ is a temporal anomaly…

Should I add further details to the file now? He thought to himself.

SCP-████ is a temporal anomaly affecting researchers in Site-60…

SCP-████ is a temporal anomaly affecting Dr. Reese Martens…

SCP-████ is a temporal anomaly that cannot be neutralised.

Maybe later, he thought.
Moving back to his bed, he quietly put on his shoes and looked around his room. His Lego minifigures were still stacked neatly on the table. His Foundation medals were still hung neatly on the wall. Everything was at their usual place. Everything was fine.
He wept. He wept for as long as he could.
The blade shined wickedly in the dim light of the room. He brought it up to his throat, and he slit it.
He was writing complex equations on the wall. It might have been complex equations, or it might have just been nonsense.
After a few minutes of sitting in silence, he got up and quietly left his room. Maybe today's breakfast would be nice, he thought, as he moved towards the Site cafeteria.

In the cafeteria, no one made a sound. There were no friendly conversations, no loud noises, just the whirring of the cafeteria food dispensers.
Reese Martens got breakfast and sat next to his friend, Doctor Avery. He noted that his friend was tired, more tired than usual. Maybe I will ask him about it later, he thought. As he ate his breakfast quietly, he tilted his head up and looked around the cafeteria.
The cafeteria atmosphere was tense. No one bothered to look up from their food. No one bothered to say anything.
One of the researchers in the cafeteria suddenly stood on the table, and without hesitating, stabbed himself in the head with the kitchen knife in his hand.
A researcher was frantically pleading with the Site Guard to let him out of the Site, but the Guard kept refusing his request.
The entire canteen was empty. No one was there.
The other researchers in the canteen ate their food quickly and quietly, and left in a hurry, as per normal.
He finished his breakfast and left the canteen with his friend, walking to their work stations.

Reese Martens sat by his desk, gazing at paperwork on an anomaly he was researching on.
'Attempts to reverse effects of SCP-████ have proven inconclusive. Will have to do further research on how anomaly is caused, and how it is sustained…'
He was reading the paperwork, but his mind refused to register it. It just didn't serve any purpose for him, he felt, considering he had been re-reading it for the past few hours. He didn't understand why he wasn't doing anything else productive right now.
He shifted his gaze from the paperwork onto his friend sitting next to him. He felt like opening his mouth and asking his friend if he wanted to talk about something more interesting.
As he continued to stare at his friend, his friend looked up and stared back at him.
His friend opened his mouth. His tongue was missing.
His friend was not at his desk. So what was he staring at?
His friend began to laugh hysterically. Slowly, he too began to laugh.
He flinched. He had remembered something, an old memory from somewhere. What was it? He thought to himself. However, try as he might, he couldn't remember it again. The memory was gone.
The memory probably wasn't going to be about anything important anyway, he reassured himself, ignoring the feeling of growing dread in his stomach. He looked down and read through the paperwork on his desk again.

The rest of the day passed by in a flash. Before Reese Martens could fully comprehend it, he was walking to dinner with his friend.
As they walked down the corridor to the cafeteria, the researchers they saw passed them by without saying a word.
A dishevelled researcher walked up to him, and held his hands tightly, repeatedly muttering the Lord's Prayer.
There were words written on the corridor wall, saying 'You cannot escape.' They were written with an unknown fluid.
They reached the cafeteria, and they ordered their food from the food dispenser. As they ate their dinner in silence, he looked up and looked around the cafeteria again. He noted that it wasn't just his friend who looked tired. Everyone looked exhausted. They looked like they didn't want to be here.
He brushed it off as just the daily boredom of cataloguing anomalies, or the tiring experiments on the anomalies.
Suddenly, everyone in the cafeteria stopped what they were doing and stood upright, including him. Something was going to come soon, something extremely important. No one made a sound.
The Site Alarm began to ring. An anomaly had breached its containment.
The siren for the on-site nuclear bomb went off, as a message began to play on the speakers. "May we advise everyone to move to the nearest bunker. This is not a drill. This is not a drill."
The researchers simultaneously screamed at once. It was an awful noise to hear, to him at least.
Nothing happened. A few minutes of silence passed, before everyone in the cafeteria sat down and resumed eating. He sat down and took a few more bites of his dinner, before standing up again and dumping the remains of his dinner into the bin.
Waving a silent goodbye to his friend, he retreated back into his room.

Reese Martens looked at his watch as he entered his room. 5 minutes left.
He looked around his room, and his gaze landed on his computer.
He walked over to it and switched it on, and after opening the unedited file, he began to type on the keyboard.

Description: SCP-████ is a temporal anomaly SCP-████ is a natural phenomenon. It does not need to be questioned. No one has to resist. It's all going to be fine. It's all going to be fine.

1 minute left.
He turned off his computer, and moved over to his bed. Sitting down on it, he watched the seconds on his watch tick down.
10, 9, 8…
For the first time in the day, Reese Martens opened his mouth and spoke.
"See you tomorrow."
3, 2…
He closed his eyes, and waited.
When the light engulfed him, the world was silent.
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When Reese Martens woke up, the world was silent.
His alarm clock didn't go off. The fan buzzed silently above him. Everything around him was quiet.
He saw that his computer was switched on. He breathed a long sigh, and moved to the leather-bound book on his table. Flipping though the pages quickly, he stopped at a blank page, and wrote down a number.
20321.


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North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North

Bright and beautiful.
Always the best days.
“Go play in the woods.”
“But be safe.”
My Grandpa would say.
Down by the streams.
“Go catch me a fish.”
“Make it for dinner I will.”
My Grandpa insists.
Trees full of creatures.
A wonder to see.
It's how I spent my time.
My Grandpa and me.
Living the dream.
The best it could be.
Until that fateful day.
I heard growls you see.
Grandpa came running.
With a large pointy stick.
Thrust through the beast he did.
It was rather quick.
Back to the cottage we went.
It wasn't a long trip.
Scared and confused.
I made a bit of a fit.
Arrangements he made.
To my parents you see.
Grandpa insisted that.
They came and got me.
Back to the urban.
Only a matter of time.
Back with my parents.
Who wouldn't give me a dime.
Grandpa said “It's for the best.”
“Something I'll get through.”
“See me next summer you will.”
“Don't be that blue.”
A lie it was.
The last one I heard.
From my dear Grandpa.
Who died in the woods.
Or that's what they say.
The authorities did.
Believed it the truth.
They acted like kids.
Through fits and rage.
Part of me died.
Losing my Grandpa.
It hurt inside.
New goals I had.
I knew I must find.
Who is behind.
This horrible crime.
Years it took.
After my graduation.
I found who took him.
The SCP Foundation.
Hidden they were.
Far too powerful to beat.
Partners I needed.
It would be quite the feat.
An offer I got.
To complete my mission.
Signed up I needed to be.
With the Global Occult Coalition.


RECOVERED FROM A DEEP SPACE TRANSMISSION BY DI-P-1. BY ORDER OF THE O5 COUNCIL, THE CORRESPONDING DOCUMENT SHOULD BE SHOWN TO PERSONNEL ON A NEED TO KNOW BASIS.

I remember the day I thought the world ended.
I might have been around seven or eight but it's still so vivid. I was screaming and crying at my mother, begging her to not let me die so young. Of course, my fears were completely unfounded - there's no such thing as Planet X. I should know; we'd have it cataloged and contained by now. Probably.
Here I am. Being faced with the end of the world and all I can do is laugh about when I was eight. I really am useless.
Let me start from the beginning.
My name is Head Researcher Alex Dath. I'm 34 years old as of writing and I work for the SCP Foundation as the lead in the Trans-Dimensional Communications effort. Basically, looking into different universes, searching for Foundation presence and getting in contact. It's an interesting job and I've met some of the closest friends of my life in the department.
This is a letter of explanation and apology to them and to whomever receives this. Security perimeters have been turned off but I still don't have much time.
I graduated from [DATA LOST] University at the age of 26. I majored in Theoretical Physics and Psychology, presumably what brought the Foundation's attention to me. I worked as an IA for a little while before they proposed a promotion. Level 4 clearance to all spatial and temporal anomalies and a head place in the TDC project. I have never accepted a position so fast.
We - Emily, Croxley, Smith, Lucy and me - started making leaps and bounds in progress as I took the place of Project Head. I'm not trying to boast, but we were pretty incredible as a unit. We made contact with many different dimensions and universes and cataloged many, many others - actually managing to talk to some of them through a secure intralink! Everything was great.
Everything was great until P-85 dropped off the map. We went into fucking hysterics trying to find it - with no result.
We should have told someone. We weren't trained for this. We're not skip specialists, containment experts or members of an MTF unit. We're scientists with little to no experience with SCPs who prefer numbers over parties. And now P-85 was gone. We should have gone to the O5s.
What were we meant to say? "Sorry, a universe is gone and there's a blank space on the map that's eating others"? Yes, that sounds right. So we hid behind a guise of "an unexplained, natural phenomena". As we were watching the screen, P-76 disappeared. It blinked, flashed, and vanished off of the radar. Smith broke down and all we could do was watch - helpless.
We gave ourselves two days. Two days to fix what we could only see as a DR-Class 'Universe Destruction' scenario. And we genuinely thought we had a chance. At least, I did. I sent wave after wave of interference, messages, radio waves. Even something like this towards the thing.
We were close to just giving up when Croxley proposed we used the DN-SC-"Omega". A necro-spacecrawler designed to pick up signal transmissions and send it straight back to us, along with universe detail. It was a last-ditch effort and we held our breaths as the codes were sent out.
Our held breaths weren't released when the necrocrawler sent the universe designation and letter back to us.
"Universe Designation: P-1. Signal transmitted: "Effective Immediately - Open on First Contact" Sender: Dr Dath, TDC"
My own letter. Sent back to me. We were watching, helpless, as our own universe destroyed billions of lives beyond our own. We were watching as the dots on the radar disappeared at an alarming rate. And all we were watching was simply our previously untraceable dimension, moving through space. Autonomously with no chance of slowing it down.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I didn't cry. I was too numb. How can you stop something that you were actively a part of? How do you reassure a distraught crew that you were all going to be fine when you all know what had to be done? Normally, at something like this, we would have classified it as an SCP and be done with it, leave it up to other people. But we were that new discovery. We didn't know the horrors that these other universes were going through and quite frankly, I don't want to know. All we could do was try and prevent it.
'P' Group Dimensions are Dimensions that have a Foundation presence on them. We seemed to be targeting them in particular - not 'A' Groups or 'D' Groups; not even 'G' groups, with their abundance of life and prosperity. Just the 'P' Groupings. I'd be surprised if a sentient universe cared much for groupings anyway. Just the people that resided in them.
I told the team what we had to do.
Smith and Emily abandoned their posts at the DPL Machines. Told me that if they were going to die, they were going to get out-of-their-minds drunk before it happened. I told them management would want to know the reason for their discrepancy, but no further comment was made. I remember asking Croxley if he was going to abandon ship too and he just laughed.
I'm grateful to have had a friend like him.
I wish I could have told him what I meant to, all those years ago at uni
So, that's the runup of events that led to this letter being created. I'm sending it out to any other universe that can pick it up.
To all those I failed to save To those who receive this, don't bother trying to reach P-1 again. I'm detonating the on-site warheads and setting the [DATA EXPUNGED ON O5 REQUEST] protocol into action.
It's for the best, anyway.
- TDC Project Head, Dr. Alex Dath


Canon Hub » End of Death » Persephone Project

NOTICE FROM THE FOUNDATION RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION
The SCP object detailed in the following document has been substantially rewritten following the events of ΩK. A copy of the original document has been preserved here. If you have any questions please contact the current SCP-049 Research Lead, Doctor Elijah Itkin.
— Emilio Leonard, RAISA Document Curation Department Lead

SCP-049

SCP-049.

Item #: SCP-049
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-049 has been granted Level-2 Clearance and is allowed to work up to 30 hours a week as clerical staff or as a surgical consult within Site-19's Medical Bay. While working, SCP-049 is to be supervised by at least one armed guard personnel at all times.
When not within Site-19's Medical Bay, SCP-049 is to remain within a standard humanoid containment chamber in Research Sector-02. Weekly visits from a Level-3 approved psychiatrist1 have been scheduled.
Description: SCP-049 is a humanoid entity, roughly 1.9 meters in height, which bears the appearance of a medieval plague doctor. While SCP-049 appears to be wearing the thick robes and the ceramic mask indicative of that profession, the garments instead seem to have grown out of SCP-049's body over time2, and are now nearly indistinguishable from whatever form is beneath them. X-rays indicate that despite this, SCP-049 does have a humanoid skeletal structure beneath its outer layer.
SCP-049 is capable of speech in a variety of languages, though tends to prefer English or medieval French3. While SCP-049 is generally cooperative with Foundation personnel, it will commonly enter periods of lethargy and apathy.
SCP-049 was capable of causing all biological functions of an organism to cease through direct skin contact, and possessed an obsession in pursuing a cure for what it referred to as "The Pestilence." These effects have not been observed to manifest since the onset of ΩK.
Addendum 049.2020.1: Incident Report N321357Y3V
On September 12th, 2020, SCP-049 entered a manic state and began pounding on the doors of its containment chamber, demanding to speak with Dr. Itkin. While waiting for meeting arrangements to be finalized, SCP-049 proceeded to destroy its desk and damage the frame of its bed.

Date: 09/12/2020
Interviewer: Dr. Elijah Itkin
Interviewee: SCP-049
[BEGIN LOG]
Itkin: [ENTERING ROOM, APPROACHING MICROPHONE] 049, what the hell's gotten into you?Itkin: What happened? We can't figure out how to best help if we don't know what's happened, SCP-049.Itkin: You last received a restocking of supplies and a corpse a few days ago. What are you out of? And why did you decide to throw a tantrum?Itkin: No, that's why I'm asking for you to explain what happened.[SCP-049 STANDS, APPROACHING DR. ITKIN.]
Itkin: SCP-049 sit down right now, this is an order. Why the hell aren't you restrained?
[SCP-049 CONTINUES TO APPROACH DR. ITKIN.]
Itkin: God damn it. [DR. ITKIN STANDS, MOVING AWAY FROM SCP-049][DR. ITKIN ACTIVATES SCP-049'S SHOCK COLLAR. SCP-049 STUMBLES AND PRODUCES SOUNDS OF PAIN, BUT CONTINUES TO APPROACH DR. ITKIN.]
Itkin: Guards!
[SCP-049 STRETCHES ITS ARM OUT. THREE GUARDS ENTER THE ROOM.]
Guard 1: Stop right where you are!
Guard 2: Don't move![SCP-049 GRABS DR. ITKIN'S RIGHT SHOULDER. DR. ITKIN SCREAMS. GUARD 3 FIRES TWO ROUNDS INTO SCP-049'S CENTER OF MASS.][SCP-049 FALLS AND TWITCHES IN PAIN.]
Itkin: [SCREAMING] What the fuck? What happened? I saw… Its touch is supposed to… I saw… Something's wrong. You, dial the emergency line to the Site Director. You, call the cryptomedical ward.
Guard 2: Yes sir.
Guard 3: Yes sir.
[END LOG]

Guard Personnel Cedric Guiles (ID: 755632) was penalized for failing to restrain SCP-049 prior to Dr. Itkin engaging the object. Emphasis on Special Containment Procedure training has been applied.
Addendum 049.2020.2
SCP-049 suffered two gunshot wounds in its lower abdomen during Incident N321357Y3V. Due to the object's unnatural biology and the sudden failure of general anesthesia4, the planned surgery to remove the bullets and close the wounds inflicted onto SCP-049 was delayed. Following a 2 hour period of continued delays, SCP-049 demanded to be allowed to treat itself. The request was granted.
SCP-049 was observed to conduct the procedure on itself using its own surgical instruments.
Dr. Itkin was briefed on the recently discovered ΩK "End of Death" Scenario and prompted to speak to SCP-049 24 hours after the completion of its procedure.

Date: 09/13/2020
Interviewer: Dr. Elijah Itkin
Interviewee: SCP-049
Foreword: SCP-049 has been restrained to its recovery cot. The object did not resist attempts to be restrained and was cooperative with Foundation personnel. Two guards have been stationed between Dr. Itkin and SCP-049 for the duration of the interaction.
[BEGIN LOG]
Itkin: Hello, 049. How are you feeling?
[SCP-049 IS SILENT]
Itkin: I would like to talk to you about yesterday if that's okay.
[SCP-049 IS SILENT]
Itkin: I'll take that as an affirmative. Now, you said that you no longer had access to an important ingredient in your 'cure'. Given what I now know, it is our belief that death was part, if not the cure to what you claim to be 'the pestilence.' Is that correct?
[SCP-049 FACES DR. ITKIN AND ATTEMPTS TO MOVE ITS LEFT ARM, BUT STOPS AGAINST THE RESTRAINTS.]Itkin: We're being as cooperative as we can be with you, 049.Itkin: Well, technically yes.Itkin: I mean, yeah, I guess, but what does this have to do with anything?Itkin: So you were aware of Omega-K?Itkin: Are you saying you were responsible for this?[SCP-049 SIGHS]Itkin: I see. Thank you for your time, 049.[END LOG]

SCP-049 was returned to its containment chamber following a two-week recovery period.
Addendum 049.2021.3
In the months following ΩK, SCP-049 was observed to exhibit common symptoms of depression, becoming lethargic, uninterested in inspecting its instruments, silent, and unwilling to speak about "the Pestilence".
An appointment with the Site-19 psychiatry department was scheduled. SCP-049 was diagnosed with Depression after being found to have suffered multiple depressive episodes. No medication was prescribed due to the unknown effects it may have on the object's biology. Instead, SCP-049 was initiated on acognitive-behavioral psychotherapy program with Dr. Isaac.
Addendum 049.2022.4
SCP-049's condition was re-assessed following a six-month period, where no notable improvements were noted. Dr. Isaac's re-assessment concluded that the state of its depression had worsened and SCP-049 had grown more apathetic and lethargic than when it was first diagnosed.
On 08/12/2022, the following proposal was submitted by Dr. Isaac.

ETHICS COMMITTEE PROPOSAL
PROPOSAL:
 "Allow SCP-049 to act as a surgical consult for the Site-19 Medical Ward. SCP-049 possesses an innate knowledge of human biology and has displayed its skill as a surgeon countless times. The entity is suffering extreme existential dread due to what it perceives as its failure to cure. By allowing it to work in the Medical Ward, I believe it will feel as if it is curing once more, and may be beneficial to its state of mental health."
COMMITTE VOTE SUMMARY:

YEA
NAY
ABSTAIN

J. Cimmerian
G. Jade
M. De la Cruz

K. Inada

G. Mäkinen

C. Carter

S. Light

E. Suarez

STATUS

APPROVED

NOTES:
  SCP-049 has been permitted to work in the Site-19 Medical Wing as a clerical aide and surgical consult while under the direct supervision of at least one armed guard. SCP-049's total weekly work hours must not exceed 30. SCP-049 is to remain within the Site-19 Medical Wing without exception during its work hours and physical contact with patients is strictly forbidden until further notice.

Addendum 049.2022.5
SCP-049's reassignment appears to have partly assuaged its depressive symptoms, however, it is still prone to lethargic episodes following surgeries where the patient suffers from post-operation complications. This has been deemed satisfactory for the anomaly's mental health. Further action is considered unnecessary.

Footnotes
1. Currently Dr. Leopold Isaac
2. The robes and gloves are identical to a thick hide built up on the skin, while the mask is composed of a kind of chitin growing out of the bones of the face.
3. The entity claims to have originated in 15th century France, though admits that it is "particularly well-traveled".
4. This has since been confirmed to be an effect of the ongoing ΩK "End of Death" Scenario.

.
.
.
.
.
.

ΩK
audio
biological
chemical
contagion
euclid
humanoid
reanimation
sapient
scp
sentient
tactile

  page revision: 83, last edited: 28 Oct 2024, 23:32 (5 days ago)

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What I Do For Myself Changes All That Is Around Me
Written by: XilasCrowe
Who knows what you can do

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Written by: XilasCrowe

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Thanks to users DrChandra, A Random Day, and Zyn for crit, hopefully I implemented all of it, and AthosNetwork, plaidypus, detectiveroscoe, and SketchyTh0ughts for looking at this.

Senior Researcher N. Schwartz drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. This was the third time this week he had been stopped at this light on his way to work. It was Monday. There wasn't even anybody else at this light!
The light finally turned green. Schwartz zoomed up the hill, swerved into his parking spot, and dashed into the massive complex.
Taking the elevator up to the ninth floor, Schwartz's mind was once again on the light that made him even just a couple minutes late. Stepping into his office, Schwartz sat down at his computer and began to review the updated SCP files under his authority. As he worked, the light was quickly forgotten.

Several hours later, Schwartz leaned back in his chair, having completed his work only moments prior. Yawning softly he got up from his seat and made his way to the Site-11 breakroom for a drink. There was a group of researchers already in there playing pool, probably on break. One of them, Senior Researcher Chanara, noticed Schwartz enter and waved him over.
"So, Nebs, how's work been going for you?"
"It's been going fine, Chanara, and for the last time, stop calling me Nebs."
"Whatever you say," Chanara grinned and struck the cue ball, missing what he was aiming for and setting his opponent up for an easy shot. He turned back to Schwartz, "Anything super exciting happen?"
Schwartz sighed, "Just a few new pieces of information, couple Safes upped to Euclid, and a Keter down to Safe."
"I'm jealous, it's rare to see one of those." Chanara said, leaning over the table to take another shot, "Mind if I ask which one?"
"You know as well as I do that that's classified, even if you do have the required clearance."
"Ha, of course it is. Well, that's to be expected, we can't have access to all the information we want." Chan winked at Schwartz, "Everyone's got to have their secrets after all."
Schwartz swore softly, "I swear Chana if you bring up 7264 one more time…" SCP-7264 was Site-11's running joke on Schwartz. With his Level-4 clearance, Schwartz has access to over three thousand SCP files, plus an additional three or four that required Level 5. Despite this, he still didn't have access to 7264. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have been a problem, but Schwartz knew he had the clearance for the file, hell, he knew some Level 2's that had access to it.
"One day I'll find out what that thing is." Schwartz muttered, "one day."
"Until then, classified," Chanara winked again, and turned back to his game.
Schwartz continued to watch the game for a bit (Chanara seemed to be losing) and then headed back to his office. He sat back down and set his drink on the desk. Staring at the dull glow of the computer screens in front of him, Schwartz remembered the stoplight on his way to work that morning. Making a decision, he pulled the keyboard out and ran a quick database search.

Neutralized objects: 134 Results.

Schwartz leaned back in his chair and began browsing the list, looking for something that wouldn't draw too much attention when he altered it.

…SCP-2610, SCP-2996, SCP-3293, SCP-3511…

3511, which one was that again? Schwartz clicked on the file and read through it. A girl that repelled living animal matter, anomaly self-neutralized. This would work fine. Schwartz cleared the file, took a breath, and began typing.

Item #: SCP-3511
Object Class: Euclid

Euclid would work, if he labeled it Keter there was a chance someone with his clearance or higher would see it, and that would lead to questions Schwartz didn't particularly want to answer. He set aside the ConProcs for now, and set to work on the description.

Description: SCP-3511 is an anomalous phenomenon affecting the south facing streetlight on the intersection of Lawrence Ave. and East Oak Blv. located just outside Site-11. If the stoplight turns red between 9 and 9:02 am the stoplight will catch fire and begin emitting large amounts of smoke. The smoke emitted by SCP-3511 seems to have significantly more mass that non-anomalous smoke, and will quickly fall to the ground and begin to take the form of any number of cars and individuals (dubbed SCP-3511-1). Despite being formed from smoke completed SCP-3511-1 instances are identical to non-anomalous instances in both material and appearance.
Once an SCP-3511-1 instance has been completed, it will become animate and begin to take the actions a non-anomalous vehicle or individual would typically take at an intersection. SCP-3511-1 instances will remain formed until they get approximately 100 meters away from SCP-3511, at which point they will disintegrate and the smoke will travel back to SCP-3511 and form another instance.
Once roughly 100 SCP-3511-1 instances have been formed, a unique instance (dubbed SCP-3511-A) will form at the top of the hill. SCP-3511-A will travel increasingly faster down the hill until it reaches the intersection, at which point SCP-3511-A will invariably collide with an SCP-3511-C instance, resulting in an enormous explosion. Following this collision, all SCP-3511-1 instances will cease to behave as though following traffic laws and will begin to chaotically accelerate in all directions, leading to large numbers of collisions. The smoke produced by these collisions will continue to create additional instances until SCP-3511's area of effect has been completely filled with SCP-3511-1 instances, or SCP-3511 has been forcibly changed to green.
Following either of these occurrences, all SCP-3511-1 instances will disappear and SCP-3511 will cease all anomalous activity. Any damage caused by SCP-3511-1 instances will remain.

Schwartz read back through what he had written. It looked fine to him, but he could fine tune it later. He took a drink and got started on his ConProcs. They were much easier. After all, this was the whole point of him doing this.

Special Containment Procedures: Senior Researcher N. Schwartz's car will be outfitted with a piece of technology for the purpose of manipulating SCP-3511 to avoid turning red from 9 to 9:05 AM. In the event that Schwartz is unable to be on-site during this time a remote drone will be automatically dispatched with the same technology on board.

Schwartz gave everything one more look over and then saved the file to the database. With a little bit of luck, the modifications to his car would be made before he left today. With a couple of hours to spare, Schwartz began browsing the database again.
Schwartz had been doing this for a couple years now, classifying minor inconveniences and annoyances as SCP objects. It had started as a joke at first, but the Foundation kept dealing with them exactly as he had written. So he had just kept doing it. He was up to thirty or forty now, and as he scrolled through the massive database he began to reminisce about some of them.
SCP-3949, that one had been fun. A memetic infection caused by chewing with your mouth open. If you did it for long enough your jaw would dislocate and wrap around your head, effectively consuming yourself until nothing but the teeth were left. Contained via personal interventions with those who were thought "infected".
Schwartz was proud of that one. It had taken him a couple days to get right, but after he did no one had questioned it. He had noticed over his years at the foundation, new objects and files were always reported to the O5's for review, but minor updates and changes most often weren't even reported to the researcher in charge of the anomaly, especially if they were declared neutralized. All he had to do was use his clearance level to label it as a minor update, and the containment teams and automated Foundation system would automatically carry out whatever had been instructed.
Schwartz kept browsing for a while, looking through files he had access to, and eventually drifting off entirely and started randomly browsing the internet. After a couple hours, he looked at the clock on his wall. 9:40, he decided to head home. He packed up his stuff and began walking out when he heard a noise from his computer. Curious, Schwartz walked back over and looked at the screen.

You have 1 new email.

Schwartz figured he could take a look at it tomorrow and started to leave again when something caught his eye.

Sender: Unknown
Subject: SCP-7264

Now this had his attention.
Schwartz sat down at his computer and clicked on the email preview.

SCP-7264 refers to N. Schwartz, a Level-4 Researcher currently employed by the Foundation.

Schwartz swore and pushed his chair back. He didn't know what he had been expecting. It wasn't the first time this had happened. It was a roughly trimonthly occurrence, but each time had couldn't bring himself to leave it. There was always the potential it was real, and that was not something he would pass up.
He sighed and moved to get back out of his chair when he noticed something; the email wasn't empty. There was more. Opening the message up again he started reading.

Item #: SCP-7264
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: All changes in SCP-7264's behavior are to be reported to Senior Researcher Chanara. Provisional Site-11 has been constructed for the purpose of both SCP-7264 containment and observation. SCP-7264 has been given Level-4 Clearance as a method of expanding its reach over Foundation information and technology. SCP-7264 is not allowed to have access to this file.
As of 06/17/2015, all changes made within the database by SCP-7264 are to be considered factual, and all procedures that have been modified are to be followed exactly as written.

It seems that whoever had sent this email had, at least, found out about his secret database escapades. Schwartz chuckle-winced slightly and continued reading.

Description: SCP-7264 refers to N. Schwartz, a Level-4 researcher currently employed by the Foundation. SCP-7264's anomalous properties will not activate so long as one of the following is true;

SCP-7264 is doing something that SCP-7264 believes benefits himself.
SCP-7264 is doing something that SCP-7264 believes benefits the Foundation.
SCP-7264 is doing something that SCP-7264 believes benefits Humanity as a whole.

If all of the above cease to be true at any time, or if SCP-7264 dies of unnatural causes, reality will undergo an immediate CK-Class Universe Restructuring Scenario. This scenario will alter reality in a way so that whatever action SCP-7264 took to cause this event does not take place, either by removing the cause of the event or altering history in such a way that events leading up to SCP-7264's actions never took place. SCP-7264 has no memories of either the events that cause the CK, or of anything else that was changed by the event.
At some point in history, SCP-7264 became fundamentally interconnected with the SCP Foundation. It is currently unknown if the Foundation was created by an SCP-7264 event, or if SCP-7264 became involved with the Foundation. Regardless of which method was used, SCP-7264 originally appeared in Foundation databases as Level-3 staff in 2002. Following research into SCP-7264's effects, SCP-7264 was provided Level-4 clearance so as to greatly increase the ways in which he could assist the Foundation. This has resulted in a 90% drop in restructuring events, with the events that do remain often have a much smaller impact.
Attempts to inform of SCP-7264 of his anomalous nature have invariably resulted in a massive restructuring event, often leading to severe casualties and/or a complete reorganizing of world organizations and politics. No further attempts to inform SCP-7264 of his nature are to be made.

This was… a lot of information for Schwartz to take in. He rubbed his forehead and paused before continuing.

Addendum 7264-A: Major confirmed SCP-7264 restructuring events

03/01/1981 - First recorded SCP-7264 event. Restructuring caused a reorganization of freeways throughout North America.

11/22/1985 - All information regarding the island of Chileara erased from world databases. Foundation deep storage was able to confirm the existence of this island, but no further information could be found. The island has yet to be located.

07/13/1987 - Over two thousand deaths caused by a series of train wrecks in New Mexico.

08/29/1994 - Several dozen new species of birds discovered in zoos throughout England.

09/09/1995 - 400,000 square kilometers are taken from Britain and given to a various other European countries. All information and memories of the past are altered to respect this change.

10/30/1999 - [REDACTED], resulting in over 5,000,000 civilian deaths. All information and memories of infected persons are purged from world databases.

4/02/2003 - The US drops from 83 states to 50, all prior records are purged.

5/18/2008 - The concept of moral humanity enters human consensus. History is altered to respect this change.

1/11/2011 - All records of the US revolutionary war are altered from 1992 to 1776.

02/26/2014 - SCP-7264 becomes connected with the Foundation.

11/31/2017 - Earth loses one of its moons and gains roughly 30% mass. All information and memories are modified to respect this change.

01/01/2019 - [DATA EXPUNGED].

Schwartz continued staring at the screen for a long time. This all made a lot of sense, but he still didn't really believe it. He knew why he had never been allowed to see it, but something just didn't seem right. Who had sent this to him if it was real?
As he continued to think about it Schwartz noticed there was more to the file. He scrolled down.

Addendum 7264-2: Major Incident 1-A - Level 5 Credentials required

Schwartz clicked on the file.

— Please enter credentials —

Username: O5-Provisional/NSchwartz
Password: ***********************

You are attempting to use provisional clearance to view this file, do you confirm?

"Yes"

You understand that this will be reported to O5 Command and necessary actions will be taken up to and including termination. You understand that you will be amnesticized. Do you confirm?

Schwartz gulped, "I confirm." He had to know what it was he had done.

Does The Black Moon Howl?

"Only on the brightest days."

Confirmed - Welcome, O5-Provisional

Schwartz took a deep breath and began reading. Pages upon pages of information filled the screen. Schwartz opened another page and started taking notes. He looked up incidents and reports that hadn't been connected with the original file. As time went on, more and more pages filled the screens.

Following the cessation of… millions of dollars in property damage. No survivors were found within…
Over two million square kilometers of inhabited land… several volcanic eruptions caused an additional…
…several other architectural errors caused… have since ceased to be inhabitable…

The pale glow of the computer screens stung Schwartz's eyes as he continued to read.

Following the conclusion of the war… in addition, over half of the remaining US land was given… despite the assassination of…
Fatal reactor error sets off a chain reaction across the country… massive radiation leak kills millions with…
…caused by unpredictable tectonic plate movement… many more believed to be following suit…

The ticking of the clock on the wall was unheard, the time well past midnight.

Unearthed by Sky's Construction Projects, the object… massive solar flare activity knocks out satellites around the globe… in the following months less than 20%…
The obliteration of the celestial object caused… majority of the world left without power… death toll unknown…
…all contact lost once the shuttle exited… believed to be due to the thermonuclear… unknown…
…unknown…
…death count exceeding…
…information regarding…
…
…
…
…SCP-7264 is not…

Hours later, Schwartz was left staring at the screens spilled throughout the room. As he stared at the pages and pages of information filling the room, only one thought went through his mind,
"They let me do this…"

Error: Systems have detected an ongoing Restructuring Event…
Error: …
Error: …
Error: …
Error: …
Error: …
Error: …

Notice: Restructuring Event has ended. Please wait while information is updated…
Updating…
Updating…
Updating…
Updating…
Updating…
Updating…
Updating…
Updating…
Updating…

Notice: Information has been updated, SCP-7264 no longer exists. All information terminating.


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« Oh, I Wouldn't Worry About Flaky-Os | Dread & Circuses Hub | More of Fuller's Crap »

"All orders out, we're done!" Butch spun, his stained apron flowing in the wind as he came face to face with his coworker, Raymond. "Well, we do still need to deal with the 'special orders' from the complainers…"
A creak filled the tiny kitchen as Raymond leaned back onto a shelf, crossing his arms and grinning. "How much you wanna bet that one Clown'll come up because we put out those-"
A piercing voice shrieked through the small window connecting the Cookhouse to the Circus's expansive dining area. "I can't believe this!" As Butch turned back curiously, Raymond sunk to the ground in a bout of laughter. A rather shrunken Clown head poked through the window, staring down at them with a furious glare. "Do you think this is funny!? I thought you were actually offering good service, then this happens!?"
Butch edged away from the fuming Clown, whispering to Raymond. "What the hell did you do?"
"I'll tell you what he did! He set out gumballs at the buffet, which made me mad because who eats gumballs!? I don't understand how the others can eat gumballs! I was already mad, but upon further inspection I found this-" An empty plastic bag fluttered through the window, labeled 'For The Picky One.' "I was already mad, but that nickname was unacceptable! But before I came here to complain, I ate the cotton candy that was inside, and it shrunk my head!"
Butch suppressed the smile that was growing on his face, instead turning to Raymond and demanding, "You apologize and give this Clown the candy they want!" He stuttered, keeping his laughter at bay. "A- and make their head unshrunk!"
Raymond stood up and brushed himself off. "Yeah, your head will get back to normal in like, an hour or two. What candy do you want?"
"Well you know what I want!?" The red-faced Clown finally calmed down, taking a deep breath. "I want gumdrops. Not gumballs, gumdrops!
"I got you." Raymond turned around and tossed a gallon sized bag full of multicolored gumdrops through the window, directly into the Clown's face. They growled, but let the bag fall into their mouth, walking away with a thumbs up. "You're welcome!" He yelled after the Clown before turning around to face Butch, whom had his arms crossed. "What?"
"You aren't supposed to be mean to the diners."
"Ah, no, it's all good fun!" With a wave of his hand, Raymond shrugged him off, changing the subject. "Dinner's in six hours, let's start getting ready."
Butch sighed. "Sure, but you have to do a majority of the cleanup tonight!"
Raymond decided not to argue, instead agreeing with a nod of his head.

"I finished my share of the cleanup, so I'm heading off to sleep!" Butch didn't wait for a response, heading out to his small room behind the kitchen. He jumped into his soft bed, falling asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Back in the kitchen, Raymond waited until he could hear a snore coming from the room. He grinned and lifted up a large sack of oatmeal, revealing a leather bound journal. He cracked it open and started to gather the materials.

30 Red Apples
2 Cups of Sugar
2 Teaspoons of Vanilla
A Stick of Butter

Placing them in a small circle, he added one more ingredient, a drop of Clown blood, then he recited the incantation.
The pile of materials glowed, liquified, and spiraled together with a blinding flash of red light.

"H-hey Butch?"
"Butch? I could use some help here!"
"Butch!"
"What!" Butch shot awake, opening his eyes to see a giant green-legged apple hopping around the room, toppling over a bookshelf as it shot around. Following it was Raymond who swung a net around swiftly. "What the-" A net was suddenly tossed right into his stomach. "Ow!"
"Catch that apple!" Raymond commanded, swooshing his net at the fruit, which quickly dodged with a demonic giggle.
"Hyeh hyeh hyeh!" it screamed.
"Holy…" Butch shook his head and shot up from bed, readying his net. Right when the apple was about to dodge Raymond's swing, he held the net into the air.
It turned away from the swing, diving straight into Butch's net. "Gotcha!" He exclaimed, bringing the net to the ground, trapping the fruit. It growled and fell, swinging its legs in a frenzy.
Butch looked up at Raymond.
"What the heck is this?"
Raymond looked down at the apple, opened his mouth, and subsequently closed it. He paused for a moment then he looked back up at Butch, his face reddening. "Well… You know how I hate to do the dishes?"
"Oh my god, did you do this!?"
"Uh, yeah. I did. I didn't think it'd be a rabid monster though! And it doesn't even have arms!" The apple began to gnaw at the net.
"What are we- Are we going to have to kill it?"
"Well…" Raymond thought for a moment, then crouched down. "I've had a craving for pie for a while…"
The apple whimpered, gnawing at the net faster.

They managed to drag the apple into the kitchen, where Butch took a large knife from the wall and handed it to Raymond. "Wait, why do I have to do it!?"
"Because you made it. It's only fair that you have to deal with it."
Raymond opened his mouth to justify not killing the apple, but closed it when he realized Butch was right. "Y- yeah, okay…" He raised the knife up above his head, looking down at the quivering fruit in the net below him. "Aughhh!" The knife clattered to the ground. "I can't do this!"
Butch scooped the knife back up and handed it to Raymond once more, insisting, "You have to."
"A- alright…" he stuttered, raising the knife up once more. As he plunged it into the apple with a satisfying squelch, it let out a deafening screech, kicking its' legs before lying still.
Raymond pulled the knife out, setting it on the counter beside the apple's corpse.
"Now, let's make some pie, eh buddy?" Butch commented, patting the traumatized Raymond on the back.

The Clown they had dubbed "Picky" approached the small window, but instead of a scowl, they were beaming with delight. "I really enjoyed that apple pie you guys put out today, good work! You're finally providing some nice service!"
Raymond walked over to the window, a smile growing on his face as well. "Thank you, that means a lot." He turned and whispered to himself. "Especially coming from you…"
"Keep it up!" Picky exclaimed before turning around and heading back to the dining area.
"People really loved that pie, huh? If only they knew where it came from." Butch teased, drying a plate off.
"Shut up."

Raymond dramatically sighed as he was drying off the dishes, slowly but surely making his way through the large pile in front of him. "Hey, maybe we could-"
"No, we aren't making another apple 'helper.'" Butch interrupted, flashing the knife Raymond had used hours before. As he cleaned it off, he sighed. "We both know how that turned out.
"Yeah…"
There was a long span of silence, filled with the clanking of dishes as they rinsed them off and put them in their places.
Raymond finally spoke up. "It would be nice to have some help though, or at least someone else to talk to."
"Yeah." He glanced over at Raymond, who had abandoned his dishwashing and instead was studying his journal.
"Hey, get back to wor-"
"Wait, wait, wait, I think I know how to make them better."
Butch thought about stopping him from going on, but then he realized how bored he was. "Sure, what do you want to do?"
"Well, um," He held the journal up to Butch, pointing at a list of ingredients. "Before, the recipe asked for only a drop of Clown blood. But maybe if we add a bit more, we'll have more control over them."
"Wait, how'd you get Clown blood?"
Raymond ignored Butch's concerns and continued on, getting up and gathering the ingredients once more. "Do you want me to try it?"
"S- sure thing. I'll probably regret it, but whatever." Butch sat down on the table behind him, watching Raymond draw a circle with the stick of butter. "Do your apple magic."
"Alright, here we go!" Raymond organized the ingredients, then began to recite the incantation once more. Inside of the circle grew a violent vortex, sucking in all of the components before collapsing with a blinding flash.
The pair of chefs covered their eyes, waiting for the flash to die down.
"Mmmaw?" A squeaky whimper came from the middle of the circle, which they glanced into. Right in the middle of the table was a large apple creature, much like the one from before, but this time it had short, stubby arms.
The chefs paused, staring at it for a moment as it took its' first steps, falling down and kicking its' legs up in the air.
"It's perfect."

Raymond watched his creation proudly as it clutched a rag in its hand and dried down some plastic cups. It lifted them over its head carefully and carried them to the drawer, setting them down. "Hey Appie!"
The fruit turned around and waved. "Mmrwam!"
"Good job!" he praised, his smile beaming like one of a young boy with a puppy.
Butch spectated from afar, chuckling. "If they keep this up, they're gonna steal our jobs!" he joked.
"That's the point." They silently watched for a moment more, laughing as Appie tripped into the sink. Raymond fished them out and set them down on the table.
"It's time to get ready for breakfast!" Butch shouted, noticing the clock was at 7AM. "Are you all ready?"
Raymond and Appie looked at each other, smiling. "Of course!" He pointed down at Appie. "I've got to teach our new recruit!"
"Alright then, let's get ready!" Butch exclaimed with a giggle, starting off a new workday.

Later that night, Raymond set Appie down to clean off more dishes. After about a half an hour, it sat down. "Hey buddy, you still have some work to do." The lounging Raymond pointed at the large stack of dishes behind it.
Appie crossed its short arms as well as it could, shaking itself back and forth as if to say 'no.' "Mrwah!"
"Wait do you…" Raymond stuttered, standing up. "Do you enjoy doing the dishes?"
Appie shook itself back and forth once more, shouting louder, "Mrwah!"
Raymond simply sighed, placed his head in his hands, and stayed there for a moment before pulling them off with a weak smile. "Then how about we do them together?"
"Mrwah!" it screamed.
"I don't like it either, but they'll get done faster if we both work on them."
Appie looked away, side-eyeing Raymond for a moment before releasing its crossed arms and hesitantly turning back to the stack of dishes, a rag in hand. It looked back at Raymond and jerked its head toward the dishes.
Raymond took his cue and picked up the rag, cleaning the dishes off, this time with a smile on his face.

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The heavens rose from the barrel of a gun.
Three shots, one, soon two kills. In a chair, a woman sat, what left of her popped head draped over the back, brain and blood sloughing down. In a corner, a man sat, chest clutched but still gushing incessant.
The deed done, the cowboy brought down the brim of his hat, slipping his revolver back into its holster. Carefully, he made his way over to the woman, reared back his head, and spit on her corpse before turning about face and leaving the room.

"Cuck."
"Please stop calling me that, Madison."
"That's Dr. Craggs to you."
"I... Even after we got married? Even after we, like, y'know...?"
"Yes."
Craggs placed her hand over her mouth to suppress a grin. While the conditions allowing her a room with a view required her to share with her tech support, she had to admit it came with its upsides. Dropping her hand and regaining her composure, she looked out the window.
The view was one of those upsides.
Sand dunes skirted the night sky, curves cutting the slopes, all of these glowing soft amber under the moonlight. But perhaps the most beautiful thing, Craggs thought, was the silhouette topping the centermost peak.
The Insurgency wasn't dumb enough to send a scout that obvious, and nobody who was authorized entry or exit went on foot. This left either someone dumb enough to try breaking into a Foundation facility, or, more likely, a runaway.
Either way, the desert birds could expect a hearty feast tonight. And, if she was lucky, she might just witness their demise herself.

The man stumbled across the desert, ruffling his wings on occasion to loosen the accumulated dust from wind and storm. As he crested over the dune, he saw it: Area 15.
And she stared back.
His target stood with a grin on her face watching him from her window, just as the steel shutters went down from the containment breach, right on time. He closed the distance, trudging through the sand on his way, before setting his pack underneath the sill and loading a full cylinder of handcrafted bullets into his six-shooter.
He looked up to the skies, and he sighed.
After a moment he returned to his pack, took out a thin black sheet the shape of a circle, slapped it onto the shutter, and entered.

Dr. Madison Craggs threw her arms up into the air upon witnessing the steel shutters close on the window, scoffing before placing her hands on either side of the window sill and letting her head dangle downwards.
She was not lucky tonight.
Her husbatech support was one of those misfortunes.
"H-hey, Mads?"
She lifted her head up and flung it back behind her, staring intensely at Nathan.
He paused. "Did…"
"Did?"
"I… I've had access to your files that the Foundation has."
"I would hope you do, or I might have to fire you."
He gulped. "Did you really cut people open?"
She rolled her eyes, pushed off from the window, and collapsed into a swivel chair, spinning with sudden force.
"It's called vivisection, dolt, and it's something every great scientist does as a part of their studies. Medical science, anomalous science, wouldn't even approach where we are today if people didn't have the resolve to get their hands dirty, to see how things tick while they're still ticking. Things are lost in death. Things a corpse can't ever regain."
"I know what vivisection is. I just…"
"You just? Did you mean that you jest? The nerve. You've killed people too, you know. Nowhere to stand."
"It was different."
"Oh? Having people cut their arm open and write in blood for what, telling people to send bitcoin to you, is that different, is it? Please. We're both in it for gain. You're just in it for the long term now."
He grabbed at his forehead before running through his hair, taking a deep breath, and resuming his work fixing SQL databases 16 years out of date.

Alto Clef Jr. pulled the cast lead hollow-point bullets from their mold once they had cooled, carefully inspecting them for defects before settling on the six best of the lot. Carefully, he brought the bullets to his vise, aligned them with his broach press, and hollowed out their tips enough for a good enough clearance for the next step.
He brought the hollower-points to a powder measure, adjusting the dosing to ensure just enough, but no more, came through to top the bullet. Pressing down on the handle, one by one, he filled the tips of each bullet halfway with the ash he'd earlier procured.
Once he was finished with all six, he screwed in a plastic cap on each bullet to keep the ashes in, and set to work hand loading each bullet into a respective cartridge.

"…"
"…"
The two sat in silence, waiting for the breach to end.
"…"
"…"
"… Do… you ever feel bad about what happened to E-1261?"
"…"
"…"
"Who?"
At that moment, a goose the size of a man flew into the room, leveled a revolver at Dr. Madison Craggs, and pulled the trigger.

Upon the dunes of the Algodones stood a man, imposing upon midnight.
The fruits of his labor bore upon him in the night: muscles burning, lungs ragged, and a small ceramic urn memorializing E-1621, no more than a teapot's size, lying in an indent manually dug. He picked it up, held it close to his chest, and fell backwards into the sands, into sleep.

Wowee! There's a lot to talk about. First off: This was written for the SCP Original Character Tournament. What the fuck is that? Nobody knows anymore. This entry featured Nathan Snyder by Attila the Pun for the second time in this series I'm sorry Attila as well as Dr. Madison Craggs by Lazar Lyusternik.
Make sure to read Lazar Lyusternik's entry for round one, If I Tried to Run, Would You Give Me a Shot?, for round two, Tying the Gordian Knot, and for round three, A Sensible Use of Human Life. Or don't!

Also, since I killed Nathan, Make sure to read Attila the Pun's entry for round one, To Run Forever, and for round two, Puppets and their Masters. Or don't! This thing hasn't been going since almost half a year now!

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« Empire of Sand | 【Nightcore】Dopesmoker by Sleep (Full Album) and the Revenge of Drone | To be continued… »


Sasha sighed and rubbed her temples. Sitting in the Site-64 cafeteria, she seemed to have only made a small dent in the paperwork before her. MTF Tau-51 had been on quite a few missions, and it was her turn to handle the after-action reports. Opening her eyes, she looked at her watch.

1:15 AM

"Late night?"
Sasha turned her head. Across the cafeteria, a wiry man with glasses and stubble was topping off an oversized mug from the coffee pot. He gave her a sympathetic smile before taking a sip.
"Nah, this is just my novel," she replied, letting out a tired chuckle as she gestured to the mounds of print before her. "Next Pulitzer prize, right here. What about you?"
"Oh, I'm always here this late this time of year," he said with a shrug. "Busy season."
"And what is it you do?"
"You are in the presence of a genuine Foundation accountant," he said with a grin.
"No shit?" Sasha returned his smile. "They don't just have computers for that?"
"I mean, they do." As he spoke, he approached the table, taking a quick glance at form before her. "But I'm on standby in case it goes rogue. Those sneaky excel files will get you."
"A regular John Connor." Sasha rolled her eyes. "Thanks for staying so vigilant."
"Truly, we are the unsung heroes of the Foundation," he snickered and then began to walk away. "Anyway, I didn't mean to distract you. I'll let you get back to it."
"Nah, you're fine. I was spinning my wheels anyway," Sasha replied, stretching in her chair. "But yeah, I should probably get back to work."
"Godspeed," he called back and ducked out into the hallway.

Jessie Merlo looked out the passenger window, watching the Pacific Ocean through the sparse coastal tree line. Her husband, Desmond, drove in the seat next to her, his eyes firmly ahead. In the back, their twin sons slept quietly. A thin mist covered the road as they traveled, canvassing the world in a light gray.
"Any word from Clarissa?"
Desmond's voice snatched Jessie from her thoughts. The two made eye contact through the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, she's there already," Jessie said softly, looking back over her recent texts.
"And how are things looking?"
"Things are quiet."
Desmond sighed and responded with a nod.
"And how are you holding up?" he asked.
Jessie remained silent and turned her attention back to the passing coastline.
"I don't know yet," she eventually replied.

The Secret Crest Pub, located in Portland's Pearl District, had become a bit of an R&R location for Site-64 staff during their sparse downtime. Being owned by one of the former directors of the site, it was a relatively quiet place, where the stress and troubles of maintaining the veil were just slightly further away. It was here that Sasha found herself on a Tuesday night, waiting for a few members of her task force to join her. They were not due back to Site-64 until Thursday.
As she scanned the bar, she saw a familiar face, the accountant from a few days prior, at a back table distracted by a wall mounted television. A smile crept upon her lips as she approached.
"Buy me a drink, sailor?"
The accountant snapped his attention away from the screen. A small grin formed as he recognized her.
"Hey, it's you," he said. "Didn't think I'd see you again."
"Really?" Sasha raised an eyebrow. "It's not exactly the largest site."
"I've been working there for about five years now. I count all the times I've interacted with agents on one hand," he said with a chuckle. "Hate to break it to you, but our corner of RAISA is not really a hotbed of espionage."
"Fair enough." Sasha shrugged. "I never did catch your name, by the way."
"Gabe Merlo," he said, offering a handshake. "I never got yours either."
"Sasha Grimmer." She gestured at the seat across from him. Gabe gave her a small nod and she sat down. "So how exactly does one end up a Foundation accountant?"
"Pure charisma," he replied. "I also may have worked for one of the off-site businesses we use and just ended up being promoted once they figured out I was competent and not going to run. How'd you end up here?"
"I used to work for a certain branch of the FBI," Sasha shrugged.
"And… what? That gig wasn't covert enough?"
"Well now that you mention it, I sure do love getting shot at," she replied, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. "Nah, Holman recruited me."
"Ah, that would do it, wouldn't it?" Gabe nodded. "Actually, that's kind of impressive. Well done."
"I try," she smiled. It was then that she noticed her fellow agents had arrived. Quietly she grabbed a nearby napkin and quickly scribbled a quick message. "My crew's here, but I'd love to continue this conversation another time."
She then slid the note across the table and stood.
"You take care, Gabe. See you around the site."
As she walked away, she looked over her shoulder, noticing a smile come to Gabe's lips as he read the message.

Coffee?
503-060-1115

They had arrived at the cottage in the late afternoon, the mist persisting the whole time. As they pulled up the driveway, Clarissa Shaw stepped out of the house, her blond hair heavily streaked with gray as the years had passed.
"I really wish there was a happier occasion for this meeting," she said and pulled Jessie into a tight hug as soon as she had gotten out of the car.
"I do too," Jessie replied. "Thank you for making the trip out."
"Anything for the Merlos," Clarissa said with a sad chuckle. She then turned and looked at the cottage behind her. "He's on the back porch, Jess. Been there all day, just watching the surf. I can't get him to come inside. You might have better luck."
Jessie nodded and looked towards Desmond.
"Go on," he said. "Director Shaw and I got the kids."
Without another word, Jessie passed through the house, and onto the back patio overlooking the ocean. There, a thin, gray-haired man stood motionless, his eyes locked onto the surf crashing into the rocks beyond the mist.
Jessie watched him in silence for several moments, and eventually cleared her throat, approaching the railing by his side.
"Dad," she said.
He turned to look at her, his eyes red.
"Hey sweetie," he said with a sad smile and put an arm around her, his attention going back to the sea. She felt him jerk as he suppressed a sob. "I can't believe she's gone."

Sasha sat at the kitchen table in Gabe's apartment, the nearby clock on the stove signifying it was half past late. Before her, a now cold cup of chamomile tea reflected her tired expression back at her. With a heavy sigh, she pushed the beverage away.
"Can't sleep?"
She looked up to see Gabe wander in from the hall. He rubbed his eyes briefly then took the seat across from her.
"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "Happens sometimes."
"Understood," Gabe replied. He gestured to her cup of tea. "Want me to make you a fresh one?"
"You don't have to stay up," she said with a tired laugh. "No use in both of us being tired."
"I'll be fine," he replied with a grin. "I don't need that much sleep anyway."
"You're an awful liar." Sasha shook her head.
"I really am," Gabe agreed, taking a seat as the electric kettle hummed to life. He reached across the table to hold her hand. A warm smile found its way onto his face.
She squeezed his fingers gently and returned the expression.

The service proved to be a small one. People who had spent their lives in the shadows made few friends. It was true for Edgar Holman, and now it was true for Sasha Merlo. To rub an additional dose of salt into the wound, at this point, most of Gabe and Sasha's colleagues from Site-64 had also passed. Shaw, Ferro, Thorne, Spencer, Campbell, Ross, and Creed made up the sparse crowd. Eyes turned to Gabe as he got up to speak. For several moments he simply scanned the crowd without managing to make eye contact with a single person.
"…" Gabe opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
He sighed and looked beside him. There, a picture of Sasha stood, a sly smile on her face. He nodded to himself and found the words.

"Are you serious?" Sasha asked.
They had managed to squeeze in a summer afternoon hike through Forest Park on their day off and stopped for a quick break at a spot overlooking the Willamette River. Despite the heat, a breeze had picked up, shaking the canopy lightly and filling the air with an earthy scent. It was at this time, after some idle conversation, that Gabe had gone down on one knee, and pulled a ring from his pocket.
"I mean, it would be a really mean joke if I wasn't…" Gabe said with an awkward smile. "Is that yes or…"
"Of course it's a yes, you idiot!" Sasha laughed. "I'm just… You caught me off guard."
"Oh, come on. I have not been subtle about this at all," Gabe replied, watching intently as she placed the ring on her finger. "Some investigator you are."
"Yeah, well, now you're stuck with me," Sasha said, pulling the accountant up to his feet and into a tight hug. "You really sure you want to do this? MTF agents don't exactly have a long shelf life."
"I mean, what's the worst that can happen?" he chuckled. "I'm willing to take the risk."
"Some gambler you are."

The trails of Forest Park were rain drenched in the winter, the canopy doing little to stem the flow of the northwest rains. Even in the thirty minutes Gabe and Jessie had spent trudging along the trails, a thin coat of condensation had built up on their rain jackets.
"You sure you don't want to wait for a nicer season?" Jessie said as they stopped at a small spot overlooking the Willamette River. "I don't mind making the trip out again."
Gabe shook his head.
"I need to do this now," he replied.
Jessie nodded, and from her backpack removed a simple silver urn, gingerly handing it to her father.
"It's heavier than I thought it would be," Gabe remarked, looking at the receptacle pensively. "Thank you for carrying it all this way."
"Don't mention it," Jessie said with a sad smile. "How do you want to do this?"
Gabe didn't reply. His eyes remained locked on the metal urn.
"Dad?" Jessie tugged on his sleeve.
"Hmmmm?" Gabe said, finally looking away from his wife's remains.
"How do you want to do this?" she repeated. "I brought a small spade if you want. Or are we scattering onto the forest floor?"
"I don't think I want people walking on your mother, dear," he chuckled. "Did I ever tell you this is where I proposed?"
"You didn't," Jessie chuckled in kind and looked around. "I sure hope that it was better weather then."
"There could have been an earthquake, and I'm sure your mom would have said yes," Gabe replied. He then opened the urn, and emptied it with a small arc, watching as the ashes disappeared into the ferns and washed away in the rain.
A sad smile came to both Jessie and Gabe's face as once again he placed an arm around her. The two stood silent, the only audible sound the patter of rain on the flora.
"Let's get back to the car," Gabe eventually said. "Your mom will kill me if you catch a cold."
Jessie nodded and offered to take the urn, frowning as she noticed a small amount of ash remained.
"Plan to keep this?" she asked.
"No," he said, handing her the lid. "I've got one more stop in mind."
"Where are we going?"
"I'd actually prefer to go there alone."

"I do," Gabe replied with an ear to ear grin. He was dressed in a light gray tux, standing across from him, Sasha wore a simple wedding gown.
The two stood on a secluded beach on the central Oregon coast. It was a small ceremony. Aside from a few friends from Site-64 and family, it was just the two of them. Working for the Foundation, they didn't really have anyone else. They didn't need anyone else.
Tears welled in both their eyes as they anticipated the next part of the ceremony.
"Then, by the power vested in me," Edgar Holman said with a smile. "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Gabe Merlo walked along the secluded beach alone. A pair of shoes dangled in his hand. His bare feet left a single trail of tracks in the wet sand. In his other hand, he tightly gripped a large bag. A familiar spot came into view, and a melancholy smile crept upon his face as he looked around.
A mist had already rolled in. It had taken him much longer to get there from the trailhead than he would have preferred. Still, there was something quite peaceful about the place, even in the rain.
He got down onto one knee and made a small hole near the tideline. Gingerly, he removed an urn from his bag and deposited its contents into the hole before covering them up again.
"Thank you for the time we had," he said to the air. "I only hope I made you even half as happy as you made me."
Without another word, he walked back to the tree line and looked out at the rising tide. In silence, he waited for the waves to come to the mound he had left, and wash it away.


"A medical professional who smokes?”
His neurons tensed. His soul sighed. Now he had to converse when tolerating the proximity of this stranger was enough.
This was not an anti-social man, but one preferring to lean against the cold wall outside the Site-M16 Medical Facility with no obstacles. With his free hand he clasped both metal ends of his stethoscope, draped around his neck like a white towel, and let its tensile strength hold up his forearm. He took a final, uninterrupted drag from the cigarette with his right and accepted the weight of this individual's gaze.
"Yeah, well…"
He paused, struggling to center himself — to resist the invasion of his serenity and carry some of him out into this for a change.
His next words were going to dictate whether this would or wouldn't be another painful retreat into interchangeable phrases of small talk and flimsy acting wherein one or both parties dodge genuine speech, yet continue out of timid social responsibility, finally escaping in the direction of one tangle closer to a brain aneurysm; towards compromises with an agreeable reputation and the feeling that the human spirit has been made infertile by too many unspoken opportunities for effortful eye contact.
"…you know how it's always the preacher's kids who are the worst behaved? Both my parents were doctors."
"Oh."
"It's not strong irony, really. I have 4, maybe 5 cigarettes a week… most days either with my coffee or after a stressful day on the job, like now. I can tell you firsthand; that's a joke to pulmonologists, especially the interventional ones, and just a waste of time to the oncologists. They all measure their patients in "pack-years", which is like asking 'How many years have you smoked 1 pack per day?'"
"My grandfather and grandmother both smoked. They were so alike. Do you still have your grandparents?"
"Not all of them. My grandmother died of emphysema, five years ago now, come next month. So, you know, another reason you'd think… (gestures towards the cigarette). But she never touched a cigarette in her life, she said. Puzzled the doctors, so they concluded she wasn't being a reliable historian. Sure. It's what I myself would do now, I'd wager. Every time I smoke, I think of her. And I miss her, so I'm surprised I don't smoke more. Maybe if it kills me, I can understand a little bit better what she must have gone through, get me? How strong she must have been to smile through it and concern herself with how her spoiled grandkids saw her. Maybe I can distract the misfortune towards someone who actually deserves it, you know? Maybe that's why I smoke. It's sure as hell why I became a doctor. I don't really know, though, I don't. I mean, is it still therapeutic psychology if you do it to yourself? Can't it only ever get as far as lonely old philosophy?"
"Uhh…"
"Maybe the cigarette is subconsciously phallic. Maybe it forces me to be energized by my mortality… nah, the anomalies do that enough. All I know is that something about it is like the first breath after being suffocated, you understand? There's the irony in this; I only feel like I'm breathing when I'm damaging my lungs. What can I say? It feels like the only real air though. Feels like living air."
"…Well I don't smoke, so I don't know either. It's probably the addictive stuff in there. But I'd still rather breathe in cigarette smoke than what's going on inside."
"You're talking about the academia?"
"The uh—"
"Yeah, yeah. I thought social life would get better when I was around smarter people too. But I found out the smarter you are, the dumber you can be. I'm proof. We should know better, shouldn't we? But who would have thought that the primacy of the every-day is lessened the farther along the IQ bell curve you are? Instead of speaking to the soul, it's all discussions about the latest research and data outcomes. I'd bet that 85% of what I hear and participate in are gladiatorial rounds of degree-laden individuals trying to beat all the others within earshot with an I'm-smarter-than-you stick. Only as an outlier on that curve — maybe in both directions? I like to think so anyway — does the profundity of the simple return. And it is so refreshing. It makes me ache to believe in God again. It's like a drag of a cigarette when all the air has been already exhaled by people long-dead, recirculated over and over."
“I was talking about the contagious flatulence.”
He looks down, balances the cigarette in his lips, and sinks his hands into his warm pockets. He doesn't take a drag, but lets the smoke pour upwards into his nares on its way swirling.
“Oh. Yeah. I heard about that. You're participating in that? I'm wearing the mask.”
“Participating in what?”
“The random controlled trial.”
“Oh. Sorry I don't know what that is. It's a test of some kind I take it? I didn't realize they were… doing studies on us.”
“… huh?”
“I knew they were housing us, but studying…”
The cigarette almost falls.
“Oh! I… I didn't know you— so you're—”
“I'm Linda. Pleased to meet you.”
“Dr. Fiael. I mean, Michael. I'm Michael."
“Aw Michael was my grandfather's name.
"It's funny, I thought you a stranger but actually I know a lot about you.”
"Yeah, I feel kinda like a celebrity. Only one who had something go wrong for her. Like Brittney Spears. But hey, I know a lot about you too now. Thanks for opening up.”
He tries to mitigate the squeak of flatulence that's decided to expresses itself at this inconvenient time. Embarrassed, he catches her gaze. The two ungather the tension around their expressions and smile. He replies:
“… you should let me do it again sometime.”
He didn't see it, for it was dark then, but that was the first of 838 times he would make her blush in happiness; the 52nd time he would do so before they wed.


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Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North
Special thanks to Proasek for picking out the title.

Words. Incapable of legitimacy and of justice.
Indecisive. Upon that of the lavished.
Spices aplenty.
Incendiaries. Raging against the belly of its circular domain.
Scorching. An effect well desired.
Treasured. The tamer of flames.
The collection of sources never to run out of subordination.
A task it's well suited for.
Flames. A continuous crackle, something favored.
Luxurious. The entirety of the good.
Aromas. Its sweetened charm lures them all.
Welcomed and embraced
An acquisition of the curious.
The recognized.
The influential.
And the wealthy.
They cover the circumference.
With tables square and round.
A brilliant feast they offer.
A hearty gathering of the hungry.
With uniqueness and abnormalities.
A rotten Base pays close attention.
Spoiled and sour.
Unaffected by the sweet charming aromas.
It turns the feast bitter.
A main supplier.
The Trio takes notice.
Its takes the spoiled sour Base away.
While handing over invaluable stocks and supplies.
In exchange for green venom.
Successful. A global feat pulled off.
Treasured. By ones committed to consumption.
Competitor. Not to their food.
Dread. Doesn't exist to them.
Except from a force that is sworn to an upheaval.
One Star Reviewers.