A small loudspeaker, suspended only by a fragile cord, hung high above the blasted ruins of the amusement park it once served. A long time ago, it had been part of an intricate system designed to play a hypnotic tune. Upon hearing its music, everyone in earshot of it would be driven to madness and eventually find themselves dead. The reasons behind it all were a mystery, but the tune still played, until the day came when the park was shut down for good. Still the music played on, as rides rusted and trees overtook concrete. Still it played, luring unsuspecting and careless men and women to their deaths. Even when the men and women left to focus their efforts on something far more important, the tiny, jingling tune played, searching for victims.
Then the Blast came. And there weren't any victims anymore.
From a hundred feet in the air, it hardly looked any different. True, all the plant life had been incinerated from miles around, and everything had an ashen grey tint to it, but this was an old park, built to last. Most of the structures had barely shuddered when the shockwave rushed over them, and even the roller-coaster was still standing. It didn't even have half its support beams anymore! The Blast hadn't changed anything major. It had just made it a touch harder to find victims.
And there still were victims down there. Three men, coated in rags and ash, had wandered into the park last night, no doubt seeking shelter. What kind of shelter they expected to find in a long-abandoned, half-destroyed amusement park really couldn't be said. But people probably didn't act rationally after the apocalypse. They certainly didn't act rationally when they heard the music. And the music would play.
The speaker let out a few small, tinny bursts of static. It was always the first to activate, a good tenth of a second before any of the other speakers in the park got the signal to start playing. Now, with the cables frayed and corroded, it took the others a whole minute and a half to start playing after this one did. But it didn't matter; people only needed to hear a handful of the notes for the madness to kick in, and these men were sitting right below the speaker. Only this one speaker would need to activate in order to fulfill the purpose of an entire park.
Slowly, the notes began to play, sounding out a calliope tune in very slow motion. Admittedly, the sound quality was awful, and the timing between notes was all off, but it was OK. The speaker just needed a bit of time to warm up. It had been a while since the park had any visitors, and all the components were just a little out of tune. One of the men looked up, and another twitched slightly, looking at his companions in an odd way.
The cable holding the speaker snapped after ten years of tension, and it tumbled down behind the huddled group with a hollow clang.
One of them commented on the danger of the park. Another commented on the danger everywhere after the Blast. They all huddled a little closer together, and never heard any music.


Dr. Andrea Segerstrom had a wonderful junior year English teacher. The woman had the endurance of a saint, which served her well since she made the regrettable decision to teach at a high school for gifted students. Whenever her students got too out of control, Mrs. Cameron would close her eyes and whisper "I love my job I love my job I love my job," until her thoughts of murder/suicide ebbed away.
As Research Assistant Jarvis lay on the couch in her office, Dr. Segerstrom whispered to herself, "I love my job I love my job I love my job I love my job". To Jarvis she said, "Look, Michael, there's a reason you were ordered to see me. This gambling problem is getting way out of hand. It's clearly affecting your ability to reason."
Jarvis regarded her with a calm, benevolent condescension. "Now, don't you think that's a bit of an exaggeration, Andrea?"
The entirely fed-up psychiatrist simply consulted her files again. "It says here you've taken out a second mortgage on your house and drained your savings. You've spent every one of your days off over the past two months at a casino or other such establishment."
Jarvis' carefully constructed superiority began to crumble a bit. "I'm able to keep my behavior off-site separate from my work life. I'm sure if you look in that impressively extensive file, you won't find a single instance of inappropriate use of Foundation time or money."
Dr. Segerstrom fixed him with her best icily clinical stare. "There's no such thing as a off-the-clock-you and an on-the-clock-you, Michael. And there's no such thing as a compartmentalized addiction either, just one that hasn't become life-consuming yet."
Jarvis sat up. "Look, Andrea, I don't have an addiction, okay? You know, working here is incredibly taxing and a man has a right to unwind."
"Absolutely, unless his method of 'unwinding' begins to monopolize his life, drain his resources, and present a security breach to the Foundation. By the way, in this room, for the next 10 minutes, my name is Doctor Segerstrom."
Jarvis's jaw clenched, his collected haughtiness gone. "Well Andrea, rumor has it you've seen first-hand what the pressure of the workplace does to a man. Perhaps if you were a bit less uptight, certain people wouldn't have to resort to extremes."
Dr. Segerstrom sighed inwardly, bottling her anger. She could drag out this session for the next nine minutes, but it would only be prolonging the inevitable. She jotted down a few more notes on her clipboard before putting on her icy clinical face again. "Well, Michael, I believe we're done here. You've got a few more minutes left but I don't think they'll be very productive." She stood, opened her office door, and motioned the soon to be ex-Research Assistant Jarvis through. "Please exit to your left. When Nurse Takagawa calls your name, she will help you sign off on your required paperwork and give you any further instructions." When Jarvis had made his sneering exit, Dr. Segerstrom exited to her right and handed the papers to the older nurse. "Michiko, please pull up a list of all Foundation sites in need of Level 0 Clearance personnel."
"I shall be sorry to see him go," said Takagawa. Andrea wondered, impressed, how anyone could maintain both genteel politeness and utter contempt in the same sentence.
"Nothing for it, I'm afraid," said Andrea lightly. "He's completely unwilling to address his condition. Unless he begins to display even the vaguest understanding of the responsibilities that come with the title of Research Assistant, it's my professional opinion that he will better serve the Foundation as a Level 0."
Nurse Takagawa handed Doctor Segerstrom the next patient's file. "Research Assistant Connor Graves," she said before pausing. "Have fun with this one." Andrea sighed. No matter what kind of doctor you were or where you practiced, vague statements like that never boded well.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Segerstrom was rubbing her temples again. Graves refused to lie down on her couch and was staring at her with the twitchy nervousness of a guilty conscience. She sighed. "Connor, I'm not here to judge you."
Graves barked short, humorless laughs. "Then what's the clipboard for?"
"The clipboard is for me to make sure that you are healthy enough to continue to work for the Foundation. I'm here to find the best possible way for the Foundation and you to continue to work together."
"Really?"
"Connor, we won't consider ending your employment unless you pose a risk to yourself or the Foundation. This is for your own good, Connor. I'm here to help you, not condemn you," Dr. Segerstrom said soothingly. Andrea's Good Doc manner always worked wonders. Graves relaxed visibly as she went on. "Now, what led to today's visit? Don't leave anything out. Remember, I'm on your side."
Graves sighed.
"Do you know why you're here today, Connor?"
Connor Graves clenched his fists. "Doctor, I get off to anthro skip porn."
"I see."
"But Doctor, I wanna make one thing clear," Graves looked Dr. Segerstrom dead in the eye as a new determination entered his face. "The vernacular 'anthro porn' comes from 'anthropomorphic', from the Greek root 'anthro-' denoting gender neutral human characteristics. It should say 'gynomorphic', from the Greek 'gyno-', relating to that associated with women."
"And is that significant?"
"Of course! I'm not gay or anything!"
Dr. Segerstrom's thin veneer of professionalism began to crack around her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth. "I see. I'm going to have to ask you a few more questions, of course."
Thirty minutes later, Research Assistant Connor Graves exited Dr. Segerstrom's office with his position intact. Andrea left her office for lunch, checking her PDA. There was one more small work-related task she would have to complete over lunch.

Many considered Overwatch HQ to be the heart of the Foundation. Andrea thought that title belonged to each and every Foundation site cafeteria on Earth. Loose lips may free skips, but a skilled Foundation ear can glean just as much from what's left out of the gossip as what's in it.
Site-33 was, like most Site cafeterias and non-anomalous high schools, separated into cliques based specialty or interest. Biologists there, linguists here, MTFers in the corner. However, because this was Site-33, the mental health (hah!) specialists took up half the cafeteria. The shrink bloc was further subdivided, as psychiatrists regarded their psychologist counterparts as touchy-feely hippie types, while psychologists derided their physician colleagues as soulless pill dispensers. Nothing too different from the outside world.
Andrea was looking for a spot where one could hold a reasonably intimate conversation without being too isolated. She settled for row of seats on the fringe of one of the Psychiatrist tables, towards the first Psychologist table. Perfect. The presence of others would be comforting, but they wouldn't be disturbed. Andrea scanned the room for the lost little figure with the short, halo-like afro framing her face. Finally, she found it. "Dr. Baxter! There's a seat right here. Why don't you join me?"
The nervous young woman smiled at Andrea as she skittered to the table, her blush mercifully hidden by her dark brown complexion. "Thank you so much, Dr…Segerstrom?"
"Yes, but please call me Andrea."
"Then call me Alex! Thanks for inviting me over."
"Oh, don't mention it. I was just as lost as you during my first couple of weeks. Now, you said you wanted to talk to me sometime. About what, exactly?"
Dr. Baxter fiddled with her napkin. "Well, I guess I want to know what to expect."
"You've completed your orientations, haven't you?"
Alex snorted. "Actually, Dr. Segerstrom, I'd like to know what actually goes on around here."
Andrea laughed. "You're a bit more wary than most new hires, aren't you?" Alex cracked a smile as Andrea continued. "Well, congratulations. As a Site-33 psychiatrist, you're privy to the most disturbing secrets of the Special Containment Procedures Foundation."
Alex's eyebrows shot up. "Really? So what does SCP-"
"No, no, not those kinds of secrets. I mean really disturbing."
"Like what?"
Andrea opened her mouth, then paused. She was a very self-aware woman with an in-depth knowledge of her strengths and flaws. One of her failings was that she was both an indefatigable gossip and intensely secretive. Andrea loved to dish out little tidbits of information, making her listener work for the whole story. That way, she could prolong the thrill of sharing a juicy bit of knowledge while remaining as aloof and mysterious as she chose to be. Now, Andrea knew that she'd be a spectacular failure as psychiatrist if she couldn't exert a fantastic amount of control over her more destructive urges. But, she reasoned, there wasn't that much harm to be done in indulging just this once. Besides, the kid was going to have to learn sooner or later. "Let me give you a case study. Bet you haven't heard one of those in a while."
Alex laughed. "Go ahead."
"John Doe. Late twenties. Research Assistant, transferred here within the past few months. Sought out psychiatric evaluation after colleague found pornographic images featuring various anomalies in his possession and threatened to publicize them."
Alex's eyes got wide. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I am not. I was bound to run into it sooner or later. Dr. Macmillan's written a fantastic paper on paraphilias of the anomalous. Give it a read, it's fascinating. Anyway, the patient showed no other psychiatric abnormalities. I've found him completely able to fulfill his duties and sent him on his merry way."
Alex's eyebrows shot up. "Really? You just…let him go? No mandatory follow-up?"
"Other than the required yearly mental checkup? No. His paraphilia wasn't ego-dystonic, but I recommended he see me again if that changes."
"But…"
Andrea smiled indulgently. "At the risk of sounding old before my time, you kids don't learn the things you need to learn in med school. It's easy to say we're non-judgmental healers and scientists until you come up against something that you, personally have an objection to. Well, Alex, you get over it eventually."
"So this man is still in the Foundation dreaming of the type of erotic ecstasy only an eldritch abomination can bring?"
"Yes. I should mention that this particular research assistant is particularly gifted, even among such a well-educated and professional group. The man's a positive asset to the Foundation, and his…proclivities…do not get in the way of him doing his job."
Alex shrugged. "I suppose."
"Not to mention that his paraphilia is relatively mild. Even if he was the foulest rapist to walk the Earth, the Foundation still might not discharge him if he was useful enough," Andrea said with a dark smile. "If you are important enough, certain indulgences may be granted to you. Sometimes horrible perversions are an asset for containment."
Dr. Baxter's face suddenly looked very drawn. Andrea leaned forward. "That's your first hard lesson, Alex. The Foundation needs competence more than it needs virtue. You, just like every bright-eyed hopeful in here, came to this site in the middle of Cousinhump, USA because you wanted to be with the superheroes saving the world. Well, put up the capes and eye masks because you won't be needing them here."
Alex began fiddling with her napkin, working it into a felted wad. "So…we're…I mean, if those people get certain immunities…"
Andrea had to keep herself from rolling her eyes by reminding herself that her fellow women learned from experience that the institutions they stood for would not stand for them. "Don't worry about that, Alex. You're among one of the most talented members of an already indispensable class. The last thing the Foundation needs is for its best and brightest defecting to the GOC or CI because it can't keep its other members in check. No, there are other allowances. But you'll learn all about that later."
The cafeteria continued to bubble with lively chatter and acerbic scientific arguments, but the two women were silent together.
Andrea broke the silence. "Jack Doe, also in his late 20s. Ordered to undergo psychiatric evaluation after concern was raised over Doe's behaviors outside of his work. Surveillance of Doe's personal life revealed financial problems, excessive gambling, and his most recent routine neurological tests revealed structures and dopamine levels consistent with addiction. Subject was obstinate and showed an acute lack of insight into his condition. Doe's security clearance was subsequently revoked and he is being remanded to Level 0 Maintenance duties."
"It's…very strange. I know that's probably the wisest option to take, but compared with the earlier case file, it just seems…excessive."
Andrea shook her head. "Once again, you're not really thinking like an impartial scientist yet. Why are you so much more uncomfortable with a minor sexual deviation than a condition which is known to affect judgment? You still haven't learned to think like a doctor. It takes time, but if it's meant to be, you'll get used to it."
"I just don't get it." Alex motioned to the busy cafeteria. "We're scientists! We're specialists! We're all the best minds humanity has to offer. How can people like Jack Doe slip through the cracks? You'd think the Foundation was run by complete idiots, playing with skips and hiring psychopaths for laughs."
"Not idiots, Alex. Just people."
Alex fidgeted uncomfortably as Andrea went on resignedly. "Just people. People who pursue things that will ruin them just because they feel like it, people with unimaginably fragile grips on reality, people who are so unpredictably affected by the sort of trauma that's par for the course here that we never know for sure when Researcher Doe is going to snap and take half the site with him. That's the Foundation's most awful secret, Dr. Baxter, that we're all far closer to utter collapse than we dare to admit because the Foundation is made up of people."
Andrea leaned back and continued pensively. "When Jack Doe, the one with the gambling problem was hired, he was completely stable. Cleanest bill of psychiatric health I've ever seen. My colleagues will say that he was a time bomb, but I don't think that's it."
"What do you think happened?"
"Do you really want to know?"
Alex paused before replying, indecisively, "Yes."
"It's working here that did it. We've got so many anomalies that we might as well start referring to 'the friendly suggestions of physics'. Everyone reacts to trauma and extreme chronic stress in different ways, and some people develop defense mechanisms that can end the world as we know it."
"And we can't really tell in advance who those people are going to be, can we?" whispered Alex.
Andrea leaned forward with a sardonic smile. "Oh, we can to some extent. That battery of tests they put you through wasn't for the pleasure of the examiners. But despite our best efforts, some people just slip through the cracks. My esteemed colleagues believe that's a failing of our methods and that we just need bigger and better tests. Me, I think doing what we do here will cause some of the most stable people in the world to snap, and no test will tell you who. All you can do is stay vigilant and hope that you're not one of those people." She stood up to throw away her leftovers and looked back for a parting remark. "I hope you understand just how important your job is now. Psychiatrists are the immune system of the Foundation. We secure the unstable. We contain the effects of their symptoms on the workplace. And we protect the asylum from being taken over by the patients." Andrea grabbed Alex's trash as Alex stared in shock at the table. "Welcome to your first day on the job. It's not too late to hand in your resignation," said Dr. Segerstrom as she walked away.
Alex looked around the cafeteria with a new sense of vigilance. The high pitched, almost hysterical giggle of a research assistant, a dulled affect of a MTF captain, the silent weeping of a security guard. Panic welled in Dr. Baxter's chest. Reflexively, she began tapping a structured, exacting fifteen-beat rhythm on the table with her left pointer fingernail. The panic flowed out of her chest and through her arm, dripped out of her fingernail like a medicine dropper, and expelled itself onto the table. As she calmed down, Dr. Baxter continued to tap, ritualistically, robotically, precisely. Nothing bad would happen, as long as she continued to tap. The tapping would save everyone. The tapping would jar loose the unstable elements of the site and restore the Foundation. A tapping a day keeps the nutjobs at bay.
The friendly din of the Site 33 cafeteria continued, and the tapping went unheard, unseen.


0) I, Jeremiah the Flayed, who was at Betar and knew blood under the eagle with bronze wings, write these words. At Betar, in blood that was of drowning-depth, I drowned Speaks-With-Self, and made a word-womb from his body. I took it from his heart and wandered among the Branches and Roots and Ways. In this word-womb I placed my sight, for in drowning-blood I was blinded, and my eyes had no truth to them.
And I am Eyal Shamaym, his… disciple, I suppose? Apprentice? The old bastard never really bothered to make that clear. As you see, any attempt by the untrained to make any sense of his mumbling nonsense is an exercise in futility, and so I, gracious and high-minded as I am, decided to provide the all-too vital service of annotating his notes so that sensible (if not too clever) people could understand them. So, let us begin. All he's really saying here is that bad shit happened, and he somehow found his way into… the Ways.
1) Upon the drowning of Speaks-With-Self in the blood of Betar under the winged bronze, the drowning-bubbles opened for me the dusted path, where I walked upon the Trailing Way. I bore the word-womb at my side until I came upon Convocation of Paths. I saw a great multitude of gods stretched out before me, and these gods wore many crowns which had no facets, and held kingship among many holds, and among them and their holds there was division, for in their realms the borders of north and south and east and west and knuft and thirt were sharp-edged like soft words. Many realms held no gods, and the gods abandoned these to blindness, and many gods died and were born before my eyes. The strands that connected the kingdoms had become loose, and some had rotted, and some had broken, and those that remain were pulled tight.
Psst. When he says 'Speaks-With-Self' he just means his crazy ass is talking to himself.
Speaks-With-Self uttered truth-lies then, saying “By your sight I see a great multitude that stretches out to the end of all things, and there is contention on their midst. When I speak of scars, you know and understand?”
I answered: “Perhaps I will find the words.”
This is where Ol' Jeremiah (one of the two of them, anyhow) first became aware of the war between the gods of the infinite worlds of creation. It's all very vast and terrifying and beyond our feeble mortal ken. Oh, I don't mean the endless insecticidal process of the gods dying and being reborn, I mean what the hell 'knuft' and 'thirt' are supposed to mean.
2) Speak-With-Self's words opened up a tear which wept, and upon stepping through I was draped in its ragged truth and saw the gods who wore facets, for they are of the scarred sphere with many faces. These faces bellowed long-songs, and engaged in debate at length with each other, and the meanings of them I could not understand. Upon the many brows was inscribed the name “Yesod-With-Faces”, for they were the foundation of what was above. It [Yesod-With-Faces] was pierced through by seven taproots, and their way-names were True-Record, Succession-of-Peoples, Arts-of-Fiction, Home-of-Word-men, House-of-Small-Gods, and Forgotten-Tales. The seventh's true name was not to be uttered, for it was beyond the tongues of gods to pronounce, but it had been called Gift once.
These roots led up to Knowledge, which towered above Yesod-With-Faces, and in this formed the foundation of a mighty tree, and I realized that the gods who did not wear facets were scattered amongst the lesser roots and old Ways, and this was the cause of their dissolution.
Speaks-With-Self uttered then, and said “See how they speak? They list the ordering of gods who wear facets, and list the days of their contradiction,” but I did not know this or find understanding in those words.
Of all of Jeremiah's teachings, his discussion of the foundation-gods was always the part I least understood. And hey, you can read almost as well as I can, can you really blame me? Stuff is bonkers. From what little I can gleam for this, at the base of creation Jeremiah found the seven disputing foundation-gods, "Yesod-With-Faces", upon which the rest of creation is built. As gods are want to do, they're arguing with themselves and with other gods and they can never just be happy to sit in the shade and have a nice drink or something. You know, the all-encompassing eternal wonder of creation would be a helluva lot more wondrous if more people just stopped for a sec to have a drink.
3) Troubled by the things that had been whispered to me by Speaks-With-Self, I ascended upon a taproot, that which is called by the Docents “The Way of Forgotten Tales”. In my ascent, I passed by many gods and their realms, of which I will speak now:
These gods also bore neither crowns nor facets: they needed no signs of authority, for they were old gods, and they had no facets, for they were immutable. They were few in number compared to the gods who wore facets and the gods who stood before Yesod-With-Faces, but their power filled me with awe.
Speaks-With-Self spoke to me then, and said “Their age has rendered them mighty, but they are separated. See, their Ways are few, and they do not bicker about about like the gods who wear facets and the gods who stand before Yesod-With-Faces. They are quiet gods, slow to act, and distant. Do you understand the meaning of this?”
I answered: “As one can be said to hold his breath in his hands.”
The Eldest Gods, the ones with the real power, sit around and do nothing. What else is new?
4) I came upon the Eternal House of Death, that which separates the lower parts of the Tree from the higher. Here I rested for a time, and leaned against the doorpost. Death came to the door and spoke to me; “You rest against the doorpost of the Eternal House of Death. Have you no fear of our might?”
I answered: “Nay, sir, I have no fear of you or your brothers, for I have seen you at Betar, and know your power. I do not fear you, for I know your power is utter.”
Death said: “Aye, our domain is all things that exist within the shade of the Tree, and within its branches, and within its roots. You are wise, mortal. I will permit you to rest against the doorpost of the house of my brothers."
I rested a while longer, and rolled dice with Death, and learned from him secret arts and hidden Ways.
Uh uh. I'm not saying anything more about this. You have to be a very specific sort of idiot to tangle with the Brothers, and that idiot ain't me. I'll just say this- whatever mojo the Brothers taught the old man, it worked. Both him and I are living proof of that. With an emphasis on 'living'.
5, 6, 7) When my rest had ended, I passed through the gate and resumed my wandering. Up the taproot I travelled, and passed through the realms of the dead. They remained on the grounds of the Eternal House of Death, and under the watch of the brothers, and so will remain when all else ends.
Of those realms there are many, but these were all but children of the older lands, of which there were three. I asked Speaks-With-Self if it knew the number of those who lived in those lands, and it responded “There are many, but there are many who have been waylaid by the King.”
I thought then of the blood of Betar, and the eagle with bronze wings, and I wept.
“There is no Way to enter,” I said.
“No,” said Speaks-With-Self. “There are ways to enter. But there are no Ways to leave. Those paths have been severed, to protect the lands of the dead from what is to come.”
I tarried little in the lands of the dead, for the peace pained me, and I wept long after having passed them on the Way.
Of the three great lands, they were these, in short:
Of the first was the Land of Glory. It was empty, but it would in time be filled, when the brothers claim all things.
Of the second was the Land of Valor, and it was filled with great deeds and mighty heroes.
Of the third was the Land of Kindness, and it was too painful for me to look upon it.
In the end, we'll all end up there. There are worse fates.
8) After passing through the lands of the dead, my journey on the taproot came to an end at its source, and I came to the core of the Tree.
Here I found the seat of all Knowledge, a place where all wanderers come to rest. Within this realm was all knowledge that is and is not, and all that was and was not, and all that will be, and will not be. Amongst its words reclined many gods, and many mortal beings studied at their feet. They were all pilgrims, come to the seat of all Knowledge so that they might learn. The stores of knowledge were guarded by a great legion of keepers: blind Archivists, and Docents with their lanterns, and the Pages that swing between the shelves.
I spoke with many gods and mortals in my time there, across the scope of Creation from its first moments to its last times, from the many facets of Yesod-With-Faces and the free kingships and all the other spheres. I spoke with beings of sunlight, who had danced amongst the youngest stars. I met with the First Empress of the Furthest South, and laughed with her at the jokes told by Loret, the three-faced god who had long since passed out of living memory. I drank with witches of the cold countries and listened to their bawdy tales. I debated philosophy with the green ones of Elrich, discussed the passage of time with a scholar from twenty-five hundred years hence my own and spoke with Malaclypse the Younger, a sorcerer of the tribe that would eventually become the Unspeakable Empire of the East.
Too many more to count did I enjoy company with, and I read of hidden knowledge in the shadowed-time I spent there. I was filled with desire to stay, and spend the remainder of all my days under its roof, but it was not to be. The Seat of Knowledge allowed few to stay: those who came to it were to wander out in time, and spread the knowledge learned.
Before I departed, I met with the master of the place, a vast Serpent coiled in the center of the realm. It looked upon on me, and, shedding its skin, spoke thus:
“Please return your books on time.”
And I was greatly troubled by this.
The old man took me there once, when we first began our training, or whatever it is you'd want to call it. Something about the place always had a calming influence on him, as if it almost allowed him to forget whatever happened to him. It was there that I came to respect the man, which is as rare an honor as you're ever likely to find. Oh, and he is not kidding about that serpent- it takes something special to rattle Jeremiah the Flayed, but a bespectacled serpent the size of a small planet, well, that's just about special enough.
Didn't rattle me, of course. I didn't even return my books on time.
Er. Don't tell the serpent though, if you don't mind.
9) Speaks-With-Self, who had not spoken in some time, now uttered these words:
“You have knowledge, both of the Serpent and of Death, but do you have methods in which to apply it? The Ways of ascent are treacherous, and you will need all of your arts to pass forward.”
I agreed with this, and acted then to meditate on what I had learned in my wanderings. I sat at the foot of the Great Voice, and listened to its gentle whisper in copper and iron.
In time, I understood, and I passed through the Twin Gates as I began the ascent.
And ascend he did.
10) I came upon a throne, upon which sat a Secret, and the Secret was ALEXYLVA. Upon the feet of the secret was written ALEXYLVA, and upon its left hand was written ALEXYLVA, and upon its right hand was written ALEXYLVA, and upon its forehead was written ALEXYLVA, and from the Secret's spirit, which was ALEXYLVA, which was hidden from the Secret by means of a wight-lock whose key was ALEXYLVA. The spirit whispered in a stream, which flowed through the lock that was ALEXYLVA. I gathered the stream into the word-womb of Speaks-With-Self and stoppered it with a secret, and the secret that was whispered was ALEXYLVA.
With the secret stream I drowned Speaks-With-Self again, and when the word-womb was laden with the Secret's spirit I readied myself for the final ascent, and sang preparation songs.
Don't ask me, I have no bloody idea what he's talking about. Probably something to do with ALEXYLVA.
11) The Way now was only one, and it was a treacherous path. With fortitude and wisdom, I managed to reach its end. Upon the summit, upon the uppermost Way, I beheld the visages of the elder gods: the Secret's spirit within the word-womb protected my sight, for I would have been struck down without. I was dwarfed in their presence: each was crowned with itself, a crown without facet or flaw or change. Here stood the oldest, those that would span the entirety of creation, who could be called upon in any realm lower, for their power ran deep, and they were mighty to behold. They were slow to act, and subtle in action, for they knew their power, and withheld their full might, lest they destroy those lower regions of the Tree.
I can describe little more: the wisdom of the secret ALEXYLVA, the teachings of the Serpent's Library, and the gifts of Death could not avail me for more than a few moments in the glory of the elder gods.
Remember what I said before about the lower elders? Goes double for these guys. 'Too powerful and subtle' my ass, they're all just a bunch of rotten cowards. Old fruit isn't the same as good fruit, that's a lesson Jeremiah never learned.
12) I could go no farther beyond the elder gods, and the Light I saw beyond my grasp remained ever thus. Thus it is said “He knew the length of his arms,” and also “He stood in the shadow of the All-Mighty.”
From this height, I fell.
0) Of my descent from the home of the elder gods, I will say little: the horrors of those twisted Ways and hellish realms are fit only for the King and his servants.
1) I fell from the Light, and the summit of the uppermost Way, and there was Nothing. There was Nothing, and I knew fear.
My mind left me in the Nothing, burned away from my soul. I tore Speaks-With-Self from its place at my side and ate it. I did this to protect it from what was to become of it, and I was inured to its screams.
And this, this is what those doddering fools are afraid of. They know that the fall is coming for them, and sooner rather than later.
2) I passed from Nothing to Something, into the dregs of primordial chaos that existed before. Here I found the other elder gods, and they were terrible to behold, scabbling at the foot of the King's first throne. My wisdom fled me, my gifts were of no avail under the gaze of those cruel, unthinking gods. As I passed, they sought domination of me, for that is their only goal. They fought in mindless rage over possession of me, and so they retreated enough for me to pass from their home and fall further.
To witness gods of such scope move to such an extent, I knew that untold epochs were passing me, but the horror was lost upon me. All things were lost upon me.
But not this one. Not the King. Never was one for fear, the King.
3) I approached the concealed border between the home of the mad elder gods of the Darkness Beneath, and the Domain of the King. I remember that I screamed, and fell through a great cloud, and that is all I recall.
4) I fell through the cloud and witnessed the engine churning at the center of the great smoke-pit, its metal body slicked with blood, its gears turned by the flayed backs of long-enslaved gods. It devoured all in its path, and in its gluttony spread further, so that it might devour more.
It devoured me, and I knew pain in its stomach.
Jeremiah always had a knack for understatement. Don't go through that machine. It hurts.
5, 6, 7) I passed through the Lands of the Damned, and I saw there were realms uncountable there, spewed forth by their bloated mothers. There was the Land of the Burning, and the Land of Grief and Tears, and the Land of Carrion, and I saw that the Ways to these lands were wide open, and witnessed the uncountable throngs that marched into their roiling guts. The guardians of Carrion, the fiery scavengers who stole souls from the brothers Death, tore at me with beak and talon, screeching their praises to the King.
So… not very pleasant, being subjugated to the King, is what he's saying.
8) I passed from the bowels of the Devouring Engine, and came to the Domain of the King. In the desolation I could see a great fallen multitude among the wastes of the realms that had once been: old gods and facet-gods and smooth-gods, kneeling with broken back before the Throne of the King.
Upon the Throne I did see the blood-wreathed Scarlet King, and I saw his seven spears, and I saw his seven daughter-brides, and I saw the seven seals on their brows. I saw his children, the vast Leviathans in their ranks, and many others sworn to the King's service.
The King spoke to me, and said:
TELL THEM WHAT YOU HAVE SEEN.
Way ahead of ya, buddy.
9) From the Domain of the King I passed through the path he had carved, the path he is carving. I saw the tangle of rotting Ways wrapped around dead, shattered realms, where there was nothing whole and all was polluted with the corpses of gods. Little remained, though I saw that many foul creatures had taken up residence in the wake of the King, and the Ways were stalking by the Rotting Men. Those monsters and demons, misshapen scraps left over from the King's unending war, ate away at their boundaries like maggots, like moths eating at clothing, and I knew that they sought what was beyond. In truth, I saw many holes from which the long-songs of Yesod-With-Faces, and I understood by what means that faceted realm had gained its scars.
Let it be said that the King's lesser brothers and sisters are not exactly the best company themselves. Trust me, you do not want to see what a rotten Way looks like. Not to mention the smell, ye gods.
10) I passed beyond this, and there was emptiness, and naught but the low groaning wind among the ashes.
0) I fell asleep, and knew no more.
For now.


As I sit on the subway home from work, I light up a cigarette and stare out the window when the train pulls into a station. There's an advertisement for Anderson's Auto Parts, boasting 140 locations in the tri-state area. I chuckle quietly to myself before looking away, observing the people who get on and off of the train.
Lying is essentially half of what I do outside of work. I lie to my neighbors, I lie to my friends, I even lie to my husband, straight to his face. It's not even a compulsion, either, it's genuinely part of my day-to-day job. If you were a curious stranger, I would tell you that I'm the assistant CFO of Anderson's Auto Parts, that my daily work life consists of desktop after desktop of paperwork, and that I hate my job enough to rant about it every day, but that "someone has to do it".
However, my actual job title is Biological Object Study Specialist. My work life consists of peering over supernatural animals and people, studying their anomalous effects on themselves and others, determining their danger to the outside world, and keeping them contained within my worksite. It can get monotonous from time to time, but it is not the kind of job you get used to, I assure you.
After the subway pulls into my stop, I stand up and walk out of the station, flicking my cigarette into an ashtray on the way up. My home is only a couple of blocks away from the station, so I'm there within minutes. As I step through the door, my husband greets me with a peck on the cheek.
"Hey, darling, how was your day?" He says in a chipper voice as he heads back into the kitchen to finish what I assume is our dinner.
"Oh god, honey, it just dragged on and on. My boss screamed for what seemed like almost an hour." I reply, thinking of the incredibly frail and alien-like man who roared at the top of his lungs for around 52 minutes at a D-class.
"I don't know how he thinks he has the right to yell at his staff like that." He muses as I take off my coat and hang it up. "Come sit down, dinner's ready."
I nod and place my shoes next to the door, then step into the dining room to sit down. He grins at me when I notice what he's done. He's set up quite the romantic dinner, with steaks, green beans and potatoes, along with a glass of red wine.
"Oh, honey, this is beautiful…" I exclaim, admiring his handiwork and moving to take a seat.
"No, no, let me get that for you." He smirks and pulls my chair out for me. I sigh and laugh a bit, sitting down. He takes a seat across from me and we both start to eat our dinner. I smile at him when he shoots me a look, swallowing a bite of green beans.
"You know, darling," he begins, setting his fork down gently. "I found something rather strange today."
"Did you, now?" I ask, taking another bite of the steak. So perfectly cooked, with just the right amount of fat for flavor.
"It was some form that was in your desk, something about the 'SCP Foundation' and some kind of statue that kills people when no one's looking at it."
I immediately stop mid-chew and look up at him, staring. I must have accidentally mixed up part of my actual paperwork with my cover paperwork…oh god, we'll both be terminated if the Foundation finds out about this… My palms almost start to sweat before I tilt my head and ask, "Huh?"
"Yeah, I know! It's weird, right?" He chuckles and takes another bite of his steak. "I mean, I figured it was just some kind of dark fiction from the internet. …you're not looking up that sort of thing, are you?" He says, half-joking.
I stare at him for a moment before sighing. "No, honey, it's a real thing and it's something I'm studying every time I go in to work." I say, laughing. "Alright, you got me. I…I kind of like that sort of dark and bloody storytale stuff."
Unsuspecting, he chuckles. "Yeah, I figured you've always had a, um…a thing for stuff like that." A weight is lifted off my chest. I would sigh in relief if I didn't have food in my mouth. Swallowing, I reach over to my glass of wine and take a sip, smiling at him. "I hope this doesn't make me any less attractive to you." I say as I take something out of my pocket before standing up and getting the wine bottle.
"Nothing could ever make you less attractive to me, darling. Not since the day I met you." He replies with a somewhat sultry tone in his voice.
"And that's why I love you." I grin and lean forward, kissing him on the lips. As he closes his eyes, I use my thumb to slip a Class-A amnestic into the wine bottle. "Perhaps later, we can…make this evening a bit more romantic." I insist as I refill his empty glass.
"Ooh, I thought you'd never ask." He laughs a bit. "Let's finish our dinner first, though, shall we?"
I nod and sit back down, watching him take a sip of his fresh wine. Our dinner continues and we idly chit-chat back and forth before he starts to rub his head. "Are you alright, honey?" I ask in a concerned tone.
"Ngh…I think there was something in my steak…" He says weakly before falling out of his chair. I quickly stand from my seat, walk over to him and drag his unconscious body into the living room, where I lay him down on the couch. "You stupid moron, Nicole, you just nearly caused a breach…" I rub my face in anger before running upstairs and going into my office, shoving the door open.
I frantically shuffle through my desk drawers, looking for the object log. If this were to get out, losing my job would be the least of my worries. Unable to find it, I slam my fists down, running my hands through my hair as I nervously look around the room. Then, I remembered…he probably wouldn't have just put it back where he found it. Not something like that. I run downstairs to the garbage bin, practically sliding on the floor to it like a baseball player rushing to home plate.
After yanking an apple core and today's paper out of the bin, I find it. That fucking statue. I take it into our backyard and pull my lighter from my pocket, igniting the flame and burning the page until nothing is left. Satisfied, I step back inside and lock the back door behind me.
When I walk back into the living room, I look at my husband and try to think about what I should do. I gave him an amnestic, but what if it doesn't take? What if he wakes up and still remembers it? What then? If this gets out, the Foundation would cover everything up, with prejudice. I think about the gun I keep hidden in the basement and wonder if I should use it. I can't let anyone know about this by any means necessary, but…I can't just kill my husband. Not after everything we've been through together.
Overwhelmed by the situation, tears start running down my face as I look back and forth between him and the basement door, but before I can make either choice, he stirs. I quickly move over to him. "Honey, are you okay?" I ask.
"…Nicole…? What happened? Why am I on the couch?" He asks, rubbing his forehead.
"We were eating the dinner you made for us and you passed out." I say, sniffling as I caress his cheek gently.
"I…was? Last thing I remember is getting home from work…" He sits up.
I let out a gasp of relief. "Yes, honey…you did. I think something was wrong with your steak. It did look slightly off…" I smile.
"Heh…uh, are you alright? You're crying…" He worries.
"I…I was worried about you. I thought I was going to have to call 911." I say, smiling. He smiles back and kisses me on the cheek. I was so relieved that everything was okay.
"Should…we finish the dinner?" He asks.
"No, let's just watch a movie. We already ate most of the dinner anyway. You just go up and take a nice shower and I'll clean up. You deserve it." I kiss his head and he nods, standing up from the couch and walking upstairs.
I rub my eye, thinking about how close I just came to killing my own husband. After cleaning up the dishes, I take the bottle of wine and pour it down the drain in the sink, staring outside and looking at the sky.
I'm never happy about how I have to handle my life. Almost everything I say to my husband is a lie, and I have to maintain those lies, often with force. My job can leave me feeling too drained to care about it, but when I do, I wonder if it's even worth the trouble sometimes.


toadking07

After some feedback on the forums for the SCP Field Codes, this version was designed to fit the Serpent's Hand GOI and Wanderer's Library world. Anomalous hippy hobos make a lot of sense actually.

Documentation 095-SH-11836.
Document secured during raid on known █████████ ████ camp on ██/██/████.
No doors successfully identified.
Full list of confiscated artifacts, see parent document, raid classification "Nest Breaker"


we took the damned thing
and wiped the blood and shit and piss and tears from its face
nothing was beneath
light shone through the cracks
reality itself bent to the wills of madmen
only words remain
sliced through severed stones
redundancies enough to keep back a hidden king
trees in the forest
deep uncertainty
undirected hatred fear and loathing shapes it all
and remains unshaped
fresh porphyria
dry and wet and old and new and everything between
solemnly inept
a few swift stabbings
ten thousand steel doors broken down to scraps of concepts
moderately gnawed
knowledge lies in parts
puzzles upon ciphers upon riddles open doors
revolving in place
eternity now
all clocks and time compressed to an instant variance
cannot change again
WARNING PERSONNEL
PENDING XK CLASS END OF THE WORLD SCENARIO
THANK YOU AND FAREWELL


The man looked around the back of the van at his assembled team. Three agents, a driver, and himself. He quietly checked his equipment once more. They were going after something that definitely didn't belong in this world. Some days it was good to be a team leader. It was even better to have a wonderful, glorious team.
"This is Team Alpha. We've got a Cart in sight and we are in pursuit. Do you copy? Over."
"Team Alpha, this is your SAC, we copy. What do you have a cart of? Over."
Agent Aaron Jay, team leader of Team Alpha of the FBI's Unusual Incident Unit sighed. Sometimes, it seemed like he was the only competent person in the agency. Or at least his branch of the agency.
"A Cart, a confirmed artifact, Sally! At least try to remember the…you know what, fuck it. Sally we've got something funny here, we can see it, and we're going after it now. I'll report in when we finish. Over."
"Roger Team Alpha. And don't call me Sally, this shit is recorded. I mean, over."
Jay tossed the radio into the back of the van, where it clattered at the feet of the rest of his team. His wonderful, glorious, bumbling, absolutely incompetent team.
Some…no, most days, I hate this job, he thought.
Looking over at the driver, he said, "Charlie, keep the artifact in sight. And keep your eyes on the damn road this time, please. We don't need another wrecked vehicle and I don't need more paperwork."
"Right, sure thing boss."
Some days I'd kill for just one "yes sir," he thought.
He turned to address the rest of the team.
"Everyone, after a month of searching we have finally found a Ca — artifact. For now, this is observation only. As soon as we can get that thing alone and in our custody, we are to do so. Agent Callahan, you are to — Agent Calla — KEVIN."
"…huh?"
"Kevin, just…stay with the group and don't shoot anything until I say so, okay?"
"Don't shoot until you say so. Got it."
Other teams…well, not UIU teams, but other teams…have snipers with nicknames like "Sharpshooter," "Ace," "Singleshot," and I get stuck with Kevin "Spray and Pray" Callahan. What did I do to deserve this?
He looked over to the team's resident explosive "expert" DiMaggio, who was slightly overequipped with standard issue flashbangs, a few tear gas grenades, a couple smoke grenades and…
Shit, are those frags? Not again…third time he's smuggled them from the weapons locker this week…
"Agent Di — you know what? Forget it. Don. Don't blow shit up when we're within ten feet of it okay? Gina is still in the hospital after the last one. Let's get this over with. Charlie, just…gun it. Ram the damn thing. We'll knock it out, drag it in the back, take it back to HQ and maybe, just maybe, for ONCE get a little bit of respect. And maybe I'll finally get transferred OUT of this shithole and back into a halfway decent job!"
"…Sooo…ram it?"
"Just do it Charlie."
"Yes sir. Let's see how fast this thing can go!"
You've got to be fucking kidding me. Now he "yes sirs?"
"Everybody hold on! We're about to hit!"
The three men in the back of the van held tight to the seats, ready for the bone-jarring crash that was sure to follow. Charlie was driving. The results could be no less than catastrophic.
"Annddd….NOW!"
The rest of the team looked around expectantly before turning to stare at Charlie.
"What the…we just went right through that fuckin' thing! It's behind us! And it looks pissed!"
"Shit, Kevin, open the back doors, Don grab the rifles and pass me one. No, don't throw it, that thing's loaded!"
Kevin opened the doors, revealing the artifact in full. It appeared to be a large dog until it opened its mouth. Teeth the size of knives burst from slavering jaws as a hungry growl rolled from the depths of its chest.
"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, WHAT IS THAT THING?! SHOOT IT SHOOT IT SHOOT IT!"
Most of the team took one look at the thing and let loose, firing every round they had into the artifact. Most missing wildly. The woman who had screamed was the worst of all, hitting the van more frequently than the open air.
Jay looked curiously over at the one member of the team he had thought wouldn't fuck it up.
Can't I have one person that can do this job? Just one?
"It's a dog! Problem Agent Rona?"
"I don't do dogs!"
"Karen, we knew from the start that intel said it looked like a wolf!"
"I'm fine with wolves! I don't do dogs!"
Jay blinked twice and rubbed his eyes. "…I think I'm getting a headache."
The Cart took a leap forward and easily bit through the van's bumper, leaving a jagged hole behind.
"Whoa, shit, shoot it! That is an order from your superior Agent Rona! SHOOT THE DAMN DOG!"
Three of the four agents in the back opened fire on the artifact, while Kevin stared mutely at it.
"Kevin, what the hell! Shoot the damn thing!"
"But…you said…"
"SHOOT IT! Don, do something, blow it up, I don't care! Charlie, get us out of here!"
"Sir, this old thing can only go so fast!"
"Then make it go faster! That thing is gaining!"
The Cart got closer still, panting heavily but gaining with each step. It lunged again, snapping at the members of the team.
"Shit! Keep shooting!"
Don started pulling pins and throwing grenades randomly, hoping to hit something, anything that would slow the Cart down. The street quickly became pocked with craters from his seemingly endless supply of explosives.
"Uh…oops. Flashbang! Look away!" he yelled a moment too late.
Jay, partially blinded by the intense light, turned towards the front of the vehicle to try and recover.
"Shit Charlie, watch the bridge!" Their driver had apparently fared little better than the rest of them, having seen some of the flash in the van's rearview mirror.
"Bridge? Shit, BRIDGE!"
The van broke through the guard rail and plummeted thirty feet into the water below, the group in the back saved only by death grips on the nearest solid objects.
The last thing Jay saw through the open doors was a metallic net cover the Cart and men in full gear swarm it, quickly subduing it.
Ten minutes later, Jay, along with the rest of his team, washed up on the opposite bank of the river.
From across the river, a different van could be seen pulling away. The words Safely Capturing lost Pets could be faintly seen stenciled on the van's side.
"Everybody okay? Report in!" Jay spluttered.
"We lost the dog, so I'm good."
"Lost the van, but I'm good."
"Lost the grenades, but I'm good."
"Saved the gun, but I think I broke my leg."
"Oh good. We're all alive. Anyone have a working radio?"
Charlie reached into a waterproof pouch around his waist, pulled out a slightly smashed radio, and handed it to Jay.
"SAC come in, this is J- Team Alpha reporting on the status of the op. Do you copy? Over."
"Team Alpha, this is SAC. We copy. What is your status? Over."
"We need an extract. We lost the van and most of the equipment. But we almost had it. We were literally right on top of it. Over."
"Sure you were. We'll have an extraction team to your location ASAP. Over. SAC out."
Aaron Jay sighed again, looking at his bruised and battered team.
Well, at least I got a "yes sir," he thought ruefully.


I could never see clearly, no,
But five times blind,
Five times declined.
She stared into the cloudy surface of her tea, and tried to remember the song. It was on the tip of her tongue, she was sure of that, but she couldn't quite find the right words. With each idle spin of her teaspoon words swirled like dried leaves. She used to sing that song every night when she was young. How could she not remember?
I could never be happy, no,
But fives times broke,
Five times a joke.
"It sounds so close to what it was, but it's not. Never is. Ain't it so, Taps?" the old wolfhound lying motionless on the threadbare sofa turned his head slightly, but made no reply. Taps wasn't much of a talker most days. Was… was his name Taps? She could swear it was something with a 't'. Tangle? Torpor? She couldn't recall. She'd forget her own head if it wasn't loosely screwed on her scrawny shoulders. "Comes with age, Tansy" she told the dog, who turned his one working eye at her direction. A baleful glare, that dog had. Hmm… must be hungry.
I could never find love, no,
But five times hate,
Five times too late.
She went to the kitchen to get the hound something to eat. The fridge was empty, as it always was, so she went to the counter to see if there was anything canned left. As she searched the mostly bare shelves she felt her eyes drawn to the wooden cutting block. There was a knife, a butcher's cleaver, stuck right in the middle of the scarred wooden surface, though she couldn't for the life of her remember how that got there. Wasn't because she was cutting any meat, since she couldn't afford any, not for a long while now. And how was it stuck like that? She didn't have the muscles for that, unless that thing was incredibly sharp. Why did she own a cleaver anyway? When did she get that? "Is that yours, Tipsy? Been cutting some meat, have you?" she asked the hound. He didn't bother answering, of course. Ungrateful pest. She couldn't find anything to give him. "Sorry, boy. Ain't nothing left for you to eat. You'll have to wait until something shows up, I suppose."
I could never have a life, no,
But five times dead,
Five times I fled.
It was raining outside. Seemed to her it was always raining lately. She returned to her chair by the window and took another sip of her… coffee? Wasn't that tea just a second ago? She could have sworn… ah, but never mind that. Tea, coffee, cocoa, hemlock, it was all the same when push came to shove. "Did it rain so often when I was young, Temper?" she asked the dog, but the thing just kept staring at her, gaze unwavering, unrelenting. She remember when she used to like dogs, before that mangy thing somehow found his way into her apartment and on to her sofa. Or… did she like cats? Birds? Someone once brought a bird to the old club, when she was singing. She remembered its feathers, as it sat there in its cage below the stage. Reds and blues and greens, and the low lights played on them, making them glow in a thousand different hues. When she reached the high notes it would squawk and flap its wings, like the sound made it feel like it was flying again. Nostalgic, the silly thing. How could she remember that bird, but not the song?
I could never find a voice, no,
But five times mute,
Five times a brute.
A knock, followed by two more. Polite yet hesitant. She sighed and reached for her purse, looking for something. Mints, maybe? Cigarettes? Did she smoke? There were no cigarettes inside, so she decided she probably didn't. Another knock, a bit less polite this time. She rose from her worn rocking chair by the window and went to the front door of the tiny apartment. Had she still been young, she might have stopped to peer through the peephole first, but those days were long gone. She had nothing left worth taking anyway. So she opened the door to find a small bespectacled man in a white coat, holding a brown paper pad in front of him as if it was a shield. His bald head glistened in the dull florescent light. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut his mouth again. He looked at her, looked at the dreary grey corridor he was standing on, attempted to look behind her shoulder to see what was inside her apartment. He again opened his mouth, again shut it back without saying anything. He began to sweat.
"Can I help you with anything, honey?"
"Er…hi?"
His eyes darted to and fro, and the sweating intensified, dark stains appearing on the white coat around the man's armpits.
"You alright there?"
"I'm…fine? Yeah, I'm fine. I just… I don't know what I was expecting when I… huh. Not this, that's for sure."
"I'm sorry, I don't really follow. What is it you wanted?"
"Um… to find out about… something."
"You'll have to be a bit more specific, sugar."
The man cleared his throat and looked desperately around him. Finally, his gaze settled on one of the other doors in the hallway. "What's over there?"
"Over there? Just an apartment. People, I suppose. You'll have to excuse me, I don't exactly go out much."
"People? We never expected… none of the others said anything about people, or apartments. Hmm, they wouldn't though, would they? I don't understand, why couldn't they remember? I can remember just fine, I can-"
With that, he retrieved a ballpoint pen from a pocket and began scrawling on the paper pad, first rapidly and with great certainty, then increasingly slowly. As his hand slowed his eyes became increasingly unfocused, pupils dilated, rolled to and fro on the white surface of his eyes. It reminded her of camels, for some reason. Once, one of her rich suitors took her on a trip to the Sahara, and they rode on fine Arabian horses to the top of a dune, where they could watch that endless, pristine waste that was the desert, its surface broken by nothing but the occasional herd of camels. Or… was it Alaska, and were the camels elks? She couldn't remember. Whatever it was, it reminded her of the man's eyes, which now stared at her in a dazed confusion. The hand stopped entirely. She reached out to shake the man's shoulder when she felt a presence at her side. Looking down, she saw the wolfhound, Tapper, practically boring a hole into the poor dazed man's chest with his single eye.
"What's that, boy?"
The hound slowly advanced on the bespectacled man, never taking his eye down off him. It appeared that the sight of the hound was enough to make the man come to his senses, as he began to slowly back away from the dog, pen poised at the ready like a saber. The dog didn't bark or growl (and she could never recall him making any sound at all, now that she thought about it), but she still got the sense of what he wanted. It was in moments like this that she remembered why she let the thing sleep on her sofa, why she kept him fed. He had a way with danger, that dog. He could smell it. So she withdrew her hand and left the bespectacled man standing there in the hallway, sweating a hole through his shoes, pen raised, and closed the door, the wolfhound silently padding in as she did. She crossed the tiny room and returned to her seat by the window. She lit a cigarette from the packet that was surely there the whole time, and watched the smoke blow out through the open window, saw it disappear in the watery dance of the rain.
I could never find no peace, no,
But five times strife,
Five times a…knife?
There was something about that pose the bespectacled man took before she closed the door. Something familiar. A… a knife, was it? Yes, she remembered a knife. In the kitchen, stuck in the plastic cutting board. Metal in plastic, yeah. "I don't think that man meant us any good, my boy." she told the dog, as she pulled the long-handled dagger from the cutting board. It was odd, the hole it left seemed like it came from a much wider blade, but that really wasn't worth worrying about. A blade was a blade, after all. That was a universal truth if she ever knew one.
I could never have a soul, no,
But five times took,
Five times a hook.
"All those… people coming here, bothering us, it's not wholesome, my boy. Don't you think?" for a moment, she could swear the dog was nodding, but that couldn't be right. His eye was so steady, after all. Like a… like a little sun in the abyss, casting its baleful shine on all those poor lost souls.
"They always come around but it's never because of what was, isn't it? It's because of what's now. And what's now… I don't understand that at all. But they keep on coming regardless, and they ask and they prod and they sweat on my carpet and they only see the wrinkles, my boy, only the wrinkles and nothing more." Not a blink from old Tatters. He knew all of this already.
"Do any of them remember how I used to be? Do they even care that I was like a bolt from the blue, everlasting, iridescent, incandescent? I used to live, my boy, I was young, I was strong, I was beautiful. I… sang. But they don't care how that old song went. And they don't care that I can't remember anymore."
I could never keep a secret, no,
But five times spoke,
Five times I choked.
The blade felt so light in her hands as she stepped through the door. The small bespectacled man didn't even move as she plunged the blade deep into his forehead. Didn't even scream. They never did, after all. They just forgot to.
I could never be alone, no,
But five times owed,
Five times a load.
What was behind those doors which lined the corridor? She remembered he asked that. They all did, when they showed up. She didn't remember how many, but she knew it was enough. Enough for what, though? Enough to forget. Yes, that was another truth, wasn't it? You had to have enough in order to forget. She dragged the body with some difficulty, aiming for the apartment to the left of the fire exit. "Could use some help here, you know." she told the hound, who followed her from her apartment and was now silently regarding the cooling corpse. Lazy bum, that dog. Finally she managed to drag the corpse to the doorstep and open the door.
"Hmm. Going to be a tight fit, don't you think? I always remind myself to make some room around here, but I never seem to get around to it. There's always so much nothing to do, you know how it is."
White coats, and note pads, and pens, and spectacles. She wondered why they never bothered to search for those who were gone, but she didn't wonder for very long. There was work to be done, after all. It was a tight fit, aye, but she made it work. She was old, and weak, and she couldn't remember the song, but some things you never forgot how to do. And flesh… mmm, flesh didn't forget that easily. It dented, and flowed and molded and moldered until it was piling up to the ceiling. Room after room of it. So much flesh needed just to let one old woman forget. What a world that was. She could feel the song fade away once more, strangled by the muted cry of a thousand corpses, sacrifices to oblivion. And she was glad, though she didn't know why. She thought she wanted to remember, but that was a lie. Aye, you never forgot how to lie to yourself, that was another truth. A truth that rotted like meat. She closed the door after her and shuffled back to her apartment, old hound in toe. The bespectacled man's blood was already gone. Why, she'd forgotten he was there at all. She was humming under her breath, though, humming a song that was always there hiding, hiding with all those universal truths that no amount of meat could hide for very long.
I could never remember, no,
But five times wrong…
Yeah. Five times gone.


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They promised me glory.
I wanted peace.
They told me "This shall advance the glorious Revolution."
I wanted nothing to do with the Revolution.
They said it would barely hurt.
I screamed until I could scream no more.
They said it would be over quickly.
The doctors came again and again.
…
Why? Why was I chosen? I was no revolutionary. I was no Nationalist. I was nobody. Why?
They changed me. They broke my body and rebuilt it to do their bidding. The young men told me that I was truly an honor to the Revolution. I did not feel like one. I knew what I really was. A tool. That's all. A tool. A magical tool, but a tool nonetheless.
At first, I tried to stop it. I ripped the magic metal out of me. The doctors saw. They told the young men, who told me the bad words. I stopped.
I was put into a room. It was cold, and bare. Just a bed, nothing more. I curled up into it and cried. Why did they choose me? Why?
They took me on a plane. They told me I needed to repay their "gift" to me. What gift? I did not see a gift. Tools are not made to be given as gifts.
They took me off the plane, and I saw that we were far from the cold, cold place where I had been. The trees were tall, and the sounds were strange. The plants grew in strange colors, and the air was thick and sticky.
The soldiers took me to a field of death. There were bodies everywhere. Young men cut down in the prime of their youth like the rice and wheat I cut down in my past life. Blood streamed and pooled in eddies in the flow of a river of death.
Then, people started shooting at us, from the trees. Bullets ripped through the air.
They told me to kill. I did not want to. They said the words, and I killed. And I killed again. And again. And again.
I hacked through a tree to kill the boy behind it. His friend tried to shoot me. I stopped him, and then, he was dead too. I tried to stop. They said the words again, and I began to cry, as the magic metal inside of me pulled me forward.
The river swelled.
The next time the young men came to see me, they told me I was in for a surprise.
I asked them if I was going home.
They laughed.
They told me that I was being sent for a special mission.
"Finally, we will wipe out the Nationalists forever. You will do your country a great service. We have begun by taking the islands that they held onto. You will follow when we finally invade them."
I asked them why. They did not answer, and insisted that it was "For the Revolution." I told them that I did not love the Revolution. They became angry.
"The Revolution gave you your gift. You will show your gratitude to the Revolution, or else."
I refused. There would be no more killing.
"You will obey!"
No.
Then, they said the words. And they made them hurt. I was a coward.
They put me on a beach. They pointed towards the "enemy."
The slope of the beach was covered in walls, bunkers, and barbed wire, manned by soldiers. I saw no enemies, though. Only scared men and boys.
"Kill."
I ran forward. I tried to stop myself. The magic was stronger.
I was tired. So very tired. No more death. No more killing. I wanted nothing but peace. Peace. Peace. Peace.
And the magic stopped.
The magic stopped.
They screamed "Kill" again.
The magic pulled me forward again, and one of the enemy cried out as he died.
Then I stopped.
"Kill!"
I did.
"Kill the rest of them!"
No.
"Do it!"
I killed already.
"They are escaping! Go after them!"
I ran after them. But I did not stop them.
"You are a tool! You will obey us!"
No.
They took me away. They put me away. I left my cold cell for an even colder one. The doctors locked me inside, and spat on me, saying that I was counter-revolutionary scum.
I did not care. They had finally let me go.
Before I fell asleep, I thought that I had finally gotten peace. No more killing. No more death. Only peace.
…
…
…
When I awoke, the sky was grey. It was pouring rain. I blinked.
No.
No.
No.
I thought I was free. No more killing. No more death. Had they finally come for me again?
I burst into tears. Where was my home? Where were the young men? Where was I?
The lab and the doctors and the young men and the officers and the soldiers were gone. I was in a ruin of a building, with the sky weeping above me. The landscape was bleak and ruined.
There was no one in sight.
But what if they came back?
What if they made me kill again?
What if I could not stop them?
I screamed. I would not listen to them anymore.
I would never kill again.
An abandoned rusty screwdriver lay on the ground. A discarded tool for a discarded tool. How poetic.
I took it, and stabbed it into my ear. Blood gushed out, and the inside of my ears exploded in sticky and hot agony. I screamed again, as tears, rain, and blood mixed together. I bit my lip, and stabbed the screwdriver deep inside my ear again and again and again until I could feel nothing except the blood in my mouth.
I did it again for the other ear. I cried out again, the screwdriver falling from my hand as I fell to the ground, sobbing. I wanted no more death. No more killing. The magic metal came out again, covering me, though I beat against it, screaming and crying. I hated it. I hated it I hated it I hated it.
Why would it not go away?
Where had my life gone?
I curled up, tears streaming down my face once again.
In the distance, I saw men coming. They had come for me. I did not care. Nothing could make me kill again.

"What do you think it is?" the field specialist asked.
"Best not to get near it. It could be dangerous," the team leader said, scratching his chin. "Let's get back to finding that damn skip."
"C'mon, man, it's an old woman. Look, we gotta inspect her at least."
"…fine. Let's take a look."
They slowly approached the woman, weapons leveled at the curled-up body. They stopped 5 meters away from the body, just in case.
"Ma'am? Are you alright? Ma'am?" the lead specialist asked, still with his gun on the woman.
"I don't think she can hear us. Look, her ears are bleeding."
"What do you suggest?"
"Let's get closer." The lead agent nodded, and moved closer slowly, while the rest of the team stayed back, still aiming at the curled-up woman.
The first agent got nearer. The woman made no move to respond, and the team saw that she was sobbing. The lead containment specialist leaned down and touched her shoulder.
Suddenly, thick metal arms erupted out of scars on the woman's arms, legs, and spine. They formed a wall, and the specialist barely managed to yank his hand away in time.
"Fuck!" The specialist tripped and fell backwards.
The woman mumbled. Her voice was hoarse, tired, but above all, sad.
"What's she saying? That's not Mandarin or Cantonese. What language is that? Anyone know?"
The containment agent's brow furrowed. "I think it's Hangzhou, or… no, Pinghua. Definitely Pinghua." He leaned closer.
"Well? What's she saying?"
The specialist listened carefully. "She's begging us 'No more. No more.' I don't know what she's talking about. And now's she's saying 'No more pain.'"
"Well, she's definitely anomalous. I'm calling in backup to help us with this one. Chen, see if you can get her to talk. Show her a pen and paper, maybe?"
The woman on the ground curled up tighter. As the containment specialist sat down on the ground next to her, he heard her muttering again.
"I am a tool. Why am I here? I want my peace. I want my home. I am a tool."


"… lately," Jenny said, "I've been feeling a lot more dragonish."
The other nine people sitting around the circle nodded and made sympathetic noises, as Agent Griggs suppressed a groan.
"I've been hoarding cash," Jenny said, "and feeling greedy and gluttonous. Yesterday, I cooked a meatloaf… and I ate it all in one night. And I've been really wondering what it would be like to sleep on a bed of coins…"
So what you're saying is that you're a fat, greedy bitch? Griggs thought.
"… I really don't know what to do. On the one hand, I want to express my dragonish side a bit more. But on the other hand, I've gained ten pounds, and my friends and family think I'm being weird…"
That's because you are weird, you stupid cow.
"Well," Loredinal, Master of the Summer Court of the High Elvish Legions (better known as Tom Smith of La Jolla) said, "Can any of us think of anything that could help our draconian sister with her problems?"
"I can!" said the peppy young Kasumiko (born Vanessa Charleston of San Diego). "Jenny, maybe you should try roleplaying things out? If you ever feel like kidnapping a maiden, maybe you could have a friend volunteer to get tied up for a bit?" She bounced up and down in her chair, the fake fox ears she wore waving a bit in response.
"I don't know if my friends would be up for that," Jenny said, smiling. "And honestly, it's not really the whole kidnapping maidens thing that's getting to me. More the eating too much and wanting to hoard things…"
"Nightshadow?" Loredinal said to Griggs. "You've been quiet. Anything to add?"
"Hm? Not really," Griggs said. "Sorry I've been distracted lately."
"Ah. Problems with the rest of the Vampire Council?" Loredinal asked sympathetically.
More like problems with the rest of you delusional fucks. "You know I can't talk about that, without breaking my vows," Griggs said slowly and carefully.
Everyone else around the circle nodded sympathetically. "Well," Loredinal said. "I think we've done some good work. Just something to keep in mind, though: AWTOK has been snooping around recently, and we're worried that they may try a snatch-and-grab. Remember what happened to Bianca…"
That angry teenage girl who you swore was kidnapped by government agents, but turned up in a crack house in Compton?
"… and be safe. Meeting adjourned."
Everyone stood up and started to gather their things. "By the way," Jenny said. "I'm feeling hungry. Anyone want to come with me to get a burger?"
"Meat? Ugh," Loredinal shuddered.
"I can't eat gluten," Razorfang the White-clawed pointed out.
"I'll come!" Kasumiko giggled. "Wanna come along, Nightshadow?"
Maybe, if it meant I could put a bullet between your eyes. "I don't eat meat, remember?" was all Griggs said.
"Awww… that's right. Welp. Time to go! Ta ta!" She grabbed Jenny by the arm and dragged the quiet girl out of the room.
Thank God, Griggs sighed.

He drove three blocks away before pulling into a parking lot and taking out his cell phone. He checked his contacts, found the number for his AWTOK handler, and hit the "dial" button.
AWTOK here, the voice said, after the first ring. Report.
"They're a bunch of stupid kids playing elves and dragons," Griggs sighed. "I've been spending the past three weeks going to their stupid meetings. Can I stop now?"
Have you confirmed whether any of them are actual past-lifers or nonhumans? the voice asked.
"What? No. I haven't confirmed anything, because there's nothing to confirm! It's just a bunch of stupid kids playing make-believe!" Griggs repeated.
Unacceptable. Capture them and bring them in for further experimentation.
"… damn it, are you kidding me?" Griggs groaned. "You want me to bring in a bunch of stupid kids just in case one of them turns out to actually be some kind of magical fairy person?"
You have your orders. AWTOK out.
Griggs groaned and rested his head against the steering wheel as he heard the dial tone.
"Shit," he groaned. "Now I gotta rent a van."

"… oh, hey, Nightshadow!" Loredinal said, smiling. "You're here early."
"Was just thinking that maybe I could help out a bit, with the snacks or something," Griggs said. "I've kind of been a bit of a jerk recently."
"Understandable. Vampire court politics being what they are. Kasumiko is in the kitchen, making guacamole. Maybe you can help her out?"
"Sounds good." Griggs said. His index finger gently rested against the small vial in his coat pocket.
In the kitchen, the cute young woman with the fox ears on her head was humming quietly to herself as she pitted and peeled a large number of avocados. "Nightshadow!" she squealed, before giving Griggs a big hug. "Good to see you!"
"Loredinal was just asking if you needed some help with your guacamole?" Griggs asked.
"Nah. I'm just setting up my second batch of avocados so that I can make a second batch quick when the first one runs out," Kasumiko said, giggling. "Why don't you take this bowl out to the snacks table?"
"Sure thing," Griggs said. He calmly picked up the bowl of guacamole, carried it out to the snacks table, then, after glancing to either side to make sure he wasn't being watched, opened up the vial of liquid and poured it into the bright green dip. He took a moment to stir it in with the big wooden spoon, and, having completed his mission, slipped the vial back into his coat pocket and…
"So, what is it?" Kasumiko asked coldly. "Flunitrazepam? Gamma-hydroxybutyrate?"
Griggs spun around just in time to get the darts of Kasukimo's TAZER in his chest. He fell to the ground screaming as the lightning coursed through his body.
"LORE!" Kasumiko shouted.
"On it!" Loredinal shouted back. He raced into the room, carrying some kind of crazy headpiece that looked like a colander with a ton of wires attached to it, and put it on the still-twitching Griggs' head.
"You motherfuckers!" Griggs shouted. "Fucking… I WILL FIND AND CONSUME THEM! NOTHING CAN HALT THE HUNGER OF THE AUTOCH!"
"I'm losing it!" Loredinal shouted. "Damn it! Containment is failing…"
"Exec— SHIT!" Kasumiko shouted, just as Griggs levitated two feet off the ground and lunged for her, his mouth stretching impossibly wide open, revealing a gaping maw filled with razor-edged teeth. Loredinal dove for him, tried to pull him off, only to be flung across the room by a massively powerful arm, slumping, unconscious, to the ground. Kasumiko struggled and screamed, trying to reach her TAZER, but the thing that had been Griggs was too damn strong, and it was choking the life out of her, and her vision was blurring and starting to darken, and…
… and then Grigg's head vanished, bitten clean off by a gigantic saurian head covered in adamantine scarlet scales.
The headless corpse of Griggs fell to the ground, as the dragon that had killed him spit its head out onto the carpet. A thousand motes of shimmering light, and Jenny Lee fell to the ground, blood staining her mouth and the front of her shirt. She rolled over and threw up on the kitchen floor, then started to cry.
"Shit," Kasumiko groaned. "Fucking shit…"

"… how long until you think that it'll find another host?" wondered Agent Lore of Assessment Team 296 ("Eagle Pavise").
"The Autoch? No idea. Sometimes it takes a year. Sometimes a month. Sometimes only a day." Agent Miko put her hand on her partner's shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "We'll find it. Look on the bright side. No one got offed by it this time."
"We've still got a lot of amnestics to give out," Lore pointed out, "and a PTE to evaluate."
"Why don't you let me handle that part?" Miko said. "You help coordinate the cleanup."
"Of course," Lore sighed, but he straightened up and walked back into the house to help the Laundrymen deal with the evidence.
Miko took a moment to compose herself, then walked across the back yard to where the miserable-looking Jenny still sat on the stone bench, the front of her black T-shirt still covered in blood, bone, and vomit. She shuddered as Miko sat down next to her and put an arm around the younger girl.
"Nice work, kiddo," Miko whispered, stroking her friend's hair. "Nice work."
"I don't know what happened I just came in to help out and saw him choking you and I got so mad and the next thing I knew I was thirty feet tall and I was biting his head off and…"
… and then it was time for the weeping, and the screaming, and the angry shouting, and then the nervous laughing. It was a good long while before Jenny was looking a bit more like her old self again. But it did, eventually, happen.
"… well," Miko laughed, ruffling her friend's hair. "… I hope you've had your fill of damsels in distress for a while."
"For a long while," Jenny agreed, laughing nervously.
She was going to be okay, Miko thought, and she stood up. "Look, Jenny, I gotta go help clean this stuff up," she said. "There's a guy coming… think of him kind of like a social worker for people like you… and he'll help you get situated in your new life. Now that you're an 'out' para-entity, you're going to have to deal with some extra shit."
"All right," Jenny said, taking a deep breath. "Will I ever see you again?"
I hope not, Miko thought, but she gave Jenny a weak smile and stood up to go back into the house.
"Miko?"
"Hm?"
"Are you really a kitsune? And is Loredinal really a…"
"Prince of the Elves?" Miko laughed. "Past lives and alien souls? Nah. I don't believe in that stuff. It's make-believe."

"Sequence"
« "Farpoint" | Return to GOC Hub | "Joint Venture"»


Jack dropped a handful of change into the mug. A few quarters, a dime, mostly pennies.
"Thank you sir," the beggar replied, "may He bless you."
Jack had noticed this beggar show up a week ago. He'd been in the same place ever since… always spinning a quarter, always marking which side it landed on. He had an entire notebook filled with tally marks.
The bus finally pulled up, late as usual. Jack got on and left his thoughts of the beggar behind. He listened to some oldies on his iPod and let his mind wander, idly counting the yellow cars on the boulevard. Taxis didn't count. Fourty-two by the time his stop arrived. Jack got off the bus and pretended to get his bearings, hesitating a moment to watch a pretty girl walk by. He went into the lobby, took the elevator to the twenty-second floor, found his cubicle, and began to check his e-mails… and reddit.
He finally started actually working around 10 o'clock. The login page needed some CSS tweaks for Opera compatibility. The profile page needed to display a new "gender" field. And some test cases needed to be written for some new classes. Easy stuff. Same old boring day. Jack speculated idly that he wouldn't remember this moment. Two weeks from now he probably wouldn't even remember anything about this day. It was an interesting thought, but it didn't trouble him. That's just how life is; memories blend together, life goes on, you try to enjoy it.
His desk phone rang. Internal call. Shit, did he remember to turn in his timecard last night? Yes, he did. Relief.
"This is Jack," he answered.
"It's me," his boss said seriously, "Lock your workstation right now, and come to my office right away."
Shit. Jack's stomach sank with dread. What did he do wrong? He didn't do anything wrong. His last evaluation was fine. This reassured him a tiny bit as he walked down the cubicle row to the office.
"Come in, sit down, shut the door," his boss said quickly, "you're not in trouble."
"Okay…" Jack said with relief, sitting down, "What's up?"
"Listen to me very carefully, Jack. This is going to be the weirdest goddamn question you have ever heard, but I need you to give me a real, straight answer."
"Errrrr… absolutely?" Jack replied, confused.
"How many yellow cars did you count on the way to work today?"
"What." Jack thought he misheard. He realized he didn't. "The. Fuck."
"Jack," his boss said calmly,"I know this sounds weird and crazy, but I'm being absolutely serious. You need to remember right now… I need a number. Now."
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…" Jack's mind was reeling, but he remembered quickly, "Yuuuuuuuhhh… Forty-two?"
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. Forty-two." Jack said firmly. He remembered hitting forty-two as he stepped off the bus, right before seeing the pretty girl. The boss typed something into his computer, hit return, and breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at Jack and smiled, raising his eyebrows with a 'thanks, you-know-how-it-goes' sort of look. Jack didn't know how it goes.
"Okay. So you want to tell me just what the fuck is going on, and how you know I count yellow cars on the goddamn bus?"
"Well… that's… uhhhh… classified, isn't it?"
"Classified my ass, how the FUCK do you know that shit about me?" Jack asked, anger audible in his voice. He realized his boss was probably spying on him.
"Calm down, Jack, there's a perfectly good explanation for all this…"
"Which is…….?" Jack interrupted.
"Let me finish, Jack. Yesterday, twenty-three Japanese businessmen flew into town at the executive airport."
"Uhhhh……. so?" Jack was now more confused than angry.
"They are on their way to General Electric to negotiate a major deal. Though the Wall Street Journal is reporting only a slim chance that the deal goes through, we've ensured that there is, in reality, a 73% chance that they buy a significant holding. GE stock is going to rally 25% tomorrow morning, the price jumping more than it has, cumulatively, in years. And I just invested my entire retirement portfolio in it. You should, too, if you're smart."
Jack was stunned. He didn't know what to say. "Absolutely," he replied. "I sure will. May I return to my desk."
"Sure. And don't tell anyone about this."
"Of course not."

FROM: moc.hcetilletni|rehsurc.kcaj#moc.hcetilletni|rehsurc.kcaj
TO: moc.hcetilletni|rh#moc.hcetilletni|rh
SUBJECT: Coworker needs immediate help
To whom it may concern,
I have worked here at Intellitech Systems for four years. Over that time period I have grown to know my boss, Steve Howitt very well. We have always been friendly to one another and have had a good working relationship over the years. However, today, I believe he mentally snapped, and requires immediate psychiatric attention. I am leaving work early today, to stay with a friend, as I am afraid for my life. I believe he has been following me home, as he knows details of my commute he could not possibly have known otherwise. Today, he called me into his office and began speaking nonsense about correlating yellow cars to visiting Japanese businessmen, and General Electric, and the stock market, and all sorts of crazy things.
Steve Howitt needs immediate help. I cannot stress this enough.
Please contact me at my emergency contact number once Steve has been professionally evaluated by a psychiatric team.
Sincerely,
Jack Crusher

Two days later, Jack was driving his girlfriend's car, listening to the radio.
"General Electric shares jumped almost 27 percent, reaching $30.21 in trading ahead of the bell on Tuesday, when news of a major investment from Japanese firm Orix hit the market…"
"You must be shitting me." Jack said aloud, to no one.

FROM: moc.hcetilletni|rh#moc.hcetilletni|rh
TO: moc.hcetilletni|rehsurc.kcaj#moc.hcetilletni|rehsurc.kcaj
SUBJECT: RE: Coworker needs immediate help
Mr. Crusher,
Practical jokes of this nature are not tolerated at Intellitech Systems. We pride ourselves on being a professional company and strive to maintain the highest workplace standards.
A written reprimand has been recorded on your personnel file. As per company policy, three written reprimands within one year will result in immediate re-evaluation of continued employment.
Steve Howitt is of perfectly sound mind. He informed us of your frequent tardiness and the verbal altercation between the two of you when he confronted you on the issue. You are NOT to use HR as a tool for revenge. You would normally be fired for this transgression, however, Mr. Howitt stood up for you and insisted that we treat this incident as a "joke."
Please do not act in such an unprofessional manner in the future.
Sincerely,
Beverly Stanley
Intellitech Systems
Human Resources Department

"What the fuck is going on." Jack stood in Mr. Howitt's office, one week later.
"I told you not to tell anyone."
"I don't know what's worse, that you've been following me, that you lied and almost got me fired, or that you were right about the fucking stock market."
"Heh," Mr. Howitt laughed, "You weren't almost fired. I'M your boss. HR can't do anything to you without my consent. And I don't follow you home. And yes, OF COURSE I was right."
"If you don't follow me home, how do you know what I do on the bus?"
"Well, that's classified."
"Classified my ass, this is about MY LIFE! I can't believe I'm even talking to you, you're INSANE!"
"I'm not insane, Jack, though I'm glad that from your perspective, you think so. That's good. You're perceptive, and confident."
"Listen, boss, let's go talk about this together, with someone else. Let's talk to HR about it."
"No, Jack, I've actually been authorized to offer you a job."
"What. No sir, I already work for you. Come on, sir, lets go talk to HR about this. Or we can call them. Right here. It will be easy."
"Heh, Jack, for the last time, I'm not crazy, and we're not talking to HR. Was I not right about the stock market? Did you forget about that? I can tell you how I was right. And you can be part of something important, and make some damn good cash at the same time."
Many geniuses were insane, Jack thought. Was it possible that this crazy person really had a fix on the stock market? Maybe he was like that guy in the movie Pi. Probably not. But at least Jack could catch him in the act and get him some professional help. He decided to play along.
"Okay," Jack said, "I'm in. Sure. Let's go do this… thing."
"Great!" his boss said excitedly, standing up, "This is great! You will be PERFECT! So observant!"
"Yeah. That's me." Jack said dully.
"Okay, okay. Listen. Here's the deal. If you back out… if you tell anyone about this again… well… you're going to forget it ever happened. I'm part of a very powerful group, and we have ways of making people… errrr… forget things."
"Yeah, that's not creepy at all."
"Yeah. I know, you still in?"
"Sure, what the hell."
"Okay, so we're a part of Directorate K. Consider yourself a member starting right now."
"Directorate K?"
"Yep. The Portuguese Swamp Archaeology Authority."
"I… don't know what I was expecting." Jack responded.
"Don't expect any memos or a desk, and don't expect a company card… or even a paycheck."
"So, how do we get paid?"
"Remember the stock market tips?"
"Right, of course. Let's get back to the stock tips."
"No, let's talk about the organization first. I'm not really sure how large it is, no one is, but you, where you're at, you won't be talking TO anyone else. But you will get messages. Sometimes it will be on your computer screen, as anonymous text messages or e-mails disguised as spam, or pre-recorded phone calls. But usually someone random will just come up and talk to you, and you need to listen to them."
"Absolutely. I'll make sure I listen to anyone who comes up to me and starts talking nonsense. I'm getting good at it."
"Great! That's the idea."
"Sooooo… how did you know I count yellow cars?"
"One of our members informed me. You might know him, Jack, he's the guy who spins the coins."
Jack stopped and thought for a moment. "Wait, are you talking about the bum at the bus stop?"
"Yeah."
"You know the bum… at my bus stop? You've been talking to him?!" Mr. Howitt was, impossibly, far crazier than he originally thought.
"Yeah, he's one of ours. He checks for large scale probability-shift anomalies. He's great at it."
"Holy fuuuuuuuuck." Jack said, shaking his head. "ALRIGHT. So. How does the stock market thing work?"
"Okay, well remember I said that the day before, twenty-three Japanese businessmen flew into town?"
"How could I forget?"
"And your bus was late that day."
"Which you knew from talking to the bum who spins quarters…"
"No, I know that because over the past few weeks we've had teams crossing city crosswalks back and forth, going nowhere." Mr. Howitt started talking with his hands, motioning people walking in circles. "This has had the effect of making all of the buses in the city late by an average of six minutes. 11% more bus riders, therefore, are now taking their cars. Combined with the added traffic, this has caused a rise in smog! You'll notice there was a smog advisory last week."
"I don't usually pay attention to that…"
"Well there was. And lots of smog equals a red sunrise. And the Japanese see red sunrises as a sign of good fortune."
"So… you made the Japanese feel lucky… and that's why they bought the stock."
"Invested in the company, yes. Sort of. We've also had teams going around the city, polishing all the yellow street signs to be bright and reflective and blinding. Yellow only, that's important. And those guys in the crosswalk causing traffic jams? They've all been wearing yellow ponchos. Oh, we also set all yellow lights to be four-tenths of a second shorter. We also have been painting rental cars around town a disgusting shade of yellow for weeks."
"Of course you did."
"This has caused a subtle but significant reaction in the public. 37% of people in the city now have an unconscious dislike for yellow. BUT, we've been doing the OPPOSITE in Tokyo! So our visiting Japanese, on the other hand, have a strong preference for yellow! We've ensured that they are in the perfect state for being happy, agreeable, and feeling fortuitous."
"This was all you?"
"No, it was the Directorate. Which I'm a part of. Which WE'RE part of."
"And what do we actually do? What does Directorate K do?"
"You know… I don't actually know."
"Let me be honest with you, boss."
"Sure."
"I don't believe a goddamn word you're saying."
"Sure."
"But, what WILL make me believe in what you're saying, is a stock tip. You give me a stock tip every day for the next few weeks, and then we'll take it slow, and see what happens."
"Proctor and Gamble."
"Thanks."

"Hey Carl," Jack said, dropping a fifty dollar bill into his mug. "How're the odds?"
"50/50." he smiled back. For a bum, Carl sure had a great attitude.