Anoati's Great Adventure, Part 2
Battle For The Minds

“So they really sacrificed a virgin every single year?”
Sarah, with her back to the van wall, black hair whipping across her orange jumpsuit, sat on a large black metal box across from the sizeable clay head sculpture that called itself “Anoati.” The two zoomed across the California desert landscape in the back of an unassuming van filled with humming metallic black boxes, the stowaways still unnoticed by their drivers. They had been waiting there for a long while, idley biding their time.
“Yes! It is a small price for my eternal presence and protection!” The head loudly said in its characteristic deep voice.
They had finally escaped from Foundation imprisonment, in the back of this van. Anoati was there to return to his island home in the Pacific Ocean, while Sarah was there to be anywhere but in Foundation custody. The fact that they had taken the wrong van and were heading to another Foundation site, however, would be an unwelcome hindrance to both of their goals.
“It just seems like such a waste. I mean, how does it benefit you to kill those girls?”
It had been a few hours on the road, and Sarah had learned who Anoati was: a “god” among his people at an isolated Polynesian island, a god that, while loud and prideful, was also dedicated and caring… sometimes.
“Why, I do not kill them! What a waste of mortals! I simply keep them in continual service and worship to me until the next one is offered! Then they go free!”
“Oh.”
A silence set in between the two. Sarah watched out the back of the van through a dirty window in the door. Dull orange dunes sprinkled with greying bushes rolled past, a landscape stuck on loop over and over again. She grew impatient.
“What's in these boxes, anyways?”
“Why, they are the van-beast's organs, simple Sarah! Is that not obvious?”
“No, vans aren't- this isn't- you know what? I'll explain later. But no, these aren't organs and the van isn't a living animal.”
Anoati stayed silent, probably at a loss of understanding. While he did so, Sarah looked through the identical metallic boxes; each one was rectangular, about two feet in length, with a glowing blue button where a keyhole would be.
“Anoati, can you open this? Looks sort of complicated.”
“The Great Anoati can do anything!”
Sarah once again found herself very thankful for the heavy soundproofing in Foundation vans, though she had still tried to make Anoati talk a little quieter during the trip. The metal box next to Sarah hissed as steam and cold air flew from the widening crack in the box. As the top opened on automatic hinges, Sarah peered in and gasped.
“Holy shit!”
Inside the case was a chilled, fleshy brain, locked behind glass. The organ was a dull, faded pink with a variety of small metallic parts planted on it. Wires extended to ports in the box as the brain pulsated like a heart in slow-motion. Out, in. Out, in.
“Hah! Stupid “Foundation!” Anoati knows, in all of his infinite wiseness, that when you put a mortal in Anoa-stone, they simply die!” Anoati could turn things to metal as one of his abilities, and called it ”Anoa-stone.”
“Fuck no, that thing's moving.”
“Agh! What vile sorcery!”
“Shh, you hear that!?” No sooner had Sarah said this than the van slowed to a halt.
“Anoati hushes for nobody!”
“Just-! If you quiet down, I can tell you what they're doing.”
Peering at the end of the window, Sarah saw the dusty white and blue of a local police car.
“Shit, police.”
“Police?”
“Law-enforcers. We don't want them to catch us.”
Two officers stood waiting in front of their car as the two drivers of the van walked out to meet them. Sarah couldn't make out any words inside of the van, just stern conversation. One officer presented what looked like a badge, and the cops bolted into their own car.
Suddenly, the driver standing on the left started twitching. His arms began flailing as his legs buckled under him. He collapsed to the ground, stirring dust with convulsing limbs. It was seconds after the other van driver tried to help him that he too started to spasm, losing control and foaming at the mouth. After a minute, they were both motionless on the ground.
“It looks like they showed the drivers some crap and they just started spasming. I think they're dead.” Sarah described.
“Then we shall slay them!”
“No, we don't want to do that. Assaulting a cop is not good.”
Anoati began to float off of a box towards the doors.
“Onwards! We take the van-beast for ourselves!” He shouted, slamming the van doors open and flying towards the cop car. Sarah could only chase after him. The cops had already gotten close to the back of the van by the time the unlikely duo of woman and sculpture erupted from the back of it. One of the cops was just finishing his sentence in a hand-held intercom.
“Drivers down. Heading to the payload now. Tell Nathan that the cognitohazard worked just fine.”
Flying metal boxes launched towards the police officers as Anoati shouted deeply towards them.
“Back! You do not stop the Powerful Anoati!”
Sarah watched behind him as both officers rolled out of the way of the flung cases. The shorter officer pulled out a pistol as the other carried a large, strangely-shaped rifle. A blob of greyish fluid flew from the rifle and struck Anoati, encasing him in the substance. Something stinging shot from the shorter man's pistol and hit Sarah in the shoulder before everything went dark.
—————
The next thing she remembered was lying down, tied up, in a different van full of the same boxes the previous one had been carrying. A muffled, angry screaming sound came from a grey circlish blob besides her. Somewhere behind her head, the “officers” were shouting to each other over the continuous scream.
“Goddammit, why can't that thing just shut up?”
“Well I tried covering its mouth, but it doesn't seem to be talking from its mouth!”
“Isn't that perfect?! I have half a mind to just smash the thing and call it an accident! You know the GOC wouldn't mind!”
“Knowing Craggs, you do that and you'll end up a test subject!”
“What?”
“It doesn't matter!”
“What?”
Everything became blurry again.
—————
She woke up to hard metal pressing against her back and a harsh light against her face. An unfamiliar voice spoke calmly, meticulously, intriguedly above her.
“…so the question is, what can you do?” The vague shape of a lab-coated woman muttered, looking over Sarah.
“Craggs, you know she's still knocked out, right? I just don't know how much of this is actually directed at me or what.” A bored male voice responded from a PA.
“All of it. Pay attention to all of it.” Hunching closer to Sarah, Dr. Craggs saw Sarah's opened eyes. “Finally. You're awake.”
Straining her head to the right, Sarah could see Anoati held in a transparent cage, slamming himself into it repeatedly. She must have been in a lab, but the lab coat that lurked above her didn't have a Foundation logo. Cold fingers tilted her head back to the overwhelming light above her.
“Head straight. Can't scan brain functions when you move your head.”
“What?”
“Stay still or I put you under again.” The doctor turned to the one-way viewing glass behind her. “Nathan, how's the feed looking?”
“Something seems off, it's not-!” The PA feed turned to static for a second, before coming back on. “Okay, I think that sounded authentic. Cameras and all other recording devices are off. We've got five minutes.”
Dr. Craggs removed her surgical mask to reveal a well-aged face, striding from Sarah's table to a familiar black box to her left. As she briskly opened the case, she uttered a dry chuckle.
“Finally, we've got the brains. This'll be good.” She turned back to Sarah, increasing to a commanding volume. “Listen here, anonymous Foundation prisoner. That “test” wasn't real and you are inside a Global Occult Coalition base. So, you got two options.” She held up two fingers. “One, you don't cooperate. I inject what's in my pocket into your arm. You're dead in ten, maybe twenty, seconds. Even if you do survive, you are brutally interrogated and killed by the Coalition agents that will arrive in five minutes. Option two, come with me.”
“Where…where are you going?” She asked, still blinded by that stupid light.
“The guy behind the screen and I are blowing up that wall there.” Dr. Craggs pointed towards a distant wall, and then towards the metal cases. “We're taking those brains, stealing a van and getting out of here. Now, do I kill you or not? You got ten seconds.” She pulled a syringe from her pocket, filled with clear liquid.
Sarah thought about the offer for five seconds.
“Sure.”
“Great. Also, I need you to shut up that flying head so it doesn't rat us out.” Anoati was still ramming itself against the glass case. Faint yells could be heard from it. “Nathan? Let her go. And the angry tiki-thing. They're coming with us.”
“Craggs, you didn't tell me you were bringing them.”
“Sorry, no time. Wall's gotta go down in the next thirty seconds.”
“Shit!” The clamps holding Sarah to the table were released, and she groggily got to her feet. Anoati flew from his cage as soon as a side automatically opened.. Sarah intercepted him before he could attack anyone.
“Anoati we don't have time, just follow me!”
“Countdown in ten seconds!” The PA shouted.
“No one cages Anoati!”
“Not right now! We're escaping again!”
“Five seconds!”
A thin, young, unkempt man rushed from a sliding door next to the viewing glass. Dr. Craggs called to the room.
“Cover your ears!”
And the wall next to them exploded.
There was on overwhelming blast of sound and a rain of rubble. The outlines of Nathan and Dr. Craggs races through the dust cloud around them. Sarah and Anoati followed their mysterious benefactors through an enclosed parking area behind the wall into a large black van. In the back of it were the rest of the black brain boxes Sarah had ridden with. No sooner had she and Anoati slammed the doors than the car took off. Tactically-clad soldiers rushed the burst wall, letting loose their weapons. The sound of automatic gunfire echoed throughout the spacious concrete lot.
“Don't worry, I left a new variant of memetic virus in the lab. They won't be chasing us far.” Nathan commented as Dr. Craggs slammed the gas haphazardly through the exit of the parking space. Though they were too far away to see exactly why, the gunfire had indeed stopped. “I think I really outdid myself. They'll be lucky if the whole base doesn't go down.”
“That's more like it!” Dr. Craggs shouted proudly. They cruised down the road and out into the California desert.
“So, maybe you can tell me what's actually going on? Are those the same brains we had in the back of the van?”
“Now it is time for answers! Who are you humans?” Anoati floated above the car seat, bumping the car roof on every snag in the road. “Give me a reason I should not slay you now!”
“Dr. Craggs, why did you bring those two?” Nathan nodded towards the two in the back as he pulled out a laptop he had brought. Dr. Craggs sighed.
“Alright children, everyone shut up or I'm pulling this thing over! Listen, Anoati, you don't want to kill us because we just took you out of a highly guarded facility of individuals who would gladly destroy you at the first chance they got. Nathan, we brought them because they somehow managed to hide out in the back of a van carrying what may be the most important technological revolution this decade without getting killed, and at worst they'll be fine bullet sponges for us. And Sarah, yes, those are the brains.” Dr. Craggs said sternly. “Everyone happy?”
“But what are those brains?”
“Yes! Why is there Anoa-stone within those mortal guts?”
“Anoa-stone?” Dr. Craggs looked at Anoati inquisitively.
“He calls metal that.”
Dr. Craggs chuckled. “Well, this van is carrying twenty cybernetically-outfitted brains, still kept in a state of suspended life. They are a breakthrough in modern technology, and right now every organization under the sun wants their hands on them.”
“And what organization do you work for?”
Dr. Craggs chuckled again. “I work for myself! I'm Dr. Madison Craggs, independent scientist extraordinaire. And this here is Nathan Snyder. He makes contagious memes on his laptop. Nathan has a hideout outside El Centro which we're heading for now.”
“I have a few hideouts around the area. I like my anonymity, which does become important when you start controlling minds through the internet.” Nathan seemed to take delight in saying the last part.
“We're gonna make something great from these brains, and hopefully you can help us.”
“Mad woman Craggs and skinny man Nathan talk too much! They will not take us home! Let us leave now, Sarah!”
“Good luck with that, Anoati. I'm sure we're being trailed by every organization with an R&D department right now. What do you think, Nathan?”
Nathan, with a few more quick taps on his computer, looked up at Craggs and then to Sarah and Anoati. “Yeah, we've got at least five trackers on us right now. Doesn't help that this is a Coalition van and we're the only van in the middle of nowhere.”
“Can't you just…block us from them? You do computer work, right?”
“Yes! You do magic on the strange moving tablet, do you not?”
“Well I'm not a miracle worker! I'm a coder, not a magician. I can't just make something that protects us out of the blue.” Nathan's frown turned to a smile, and he pulled out a small black disk from his pocket. “That's why I bought this.” He tossed it out the car window. “Should attract all the signals. Now they're all tracking that disk, not us. We're invisible. You can thank me now.”
“Anoati can clearly see you!”
“Goddammit you know what I-“
“Okay, all in-fighting aside, I'd just like to warn you that we may still have to worry about real fighting. In preparation, I've got a secret weapon in the back that should keep us safe.” Craggs took one hand off the wheel to point to the back. “But we still will want to avoid larger numbers.”
“What is it?”
“Scientist's secret. Hopefully you won't need to find out.”
––––
They had been driving for nearly half an hour with no distraction. Most of the time was spent explaining the situation further to Anoati and trying to stop him from going on a confused rampage. He was not coping with the confusion well. Sarah wasn't either, but someone had to be strong in the situation, and she certainly wasn't putting all her trust in these two strange deviants.
“Damn. We got company.” Nathan looked ahead and closed the laptop he'd been typing away on. On the horizon was the small outline of a military blockade.
“Mhmm. Well, figured someone'd find us eventually.” Dr. Craggs stated. “Nathan, have you figured out some type of safeguard to the brain viruses? With this many people, we might be in trouble if we can't use it.” She swerved the van in a 180, hitting the gas pedal hard.
“Do not flee them! Cowards!” Anoati called as he slammed against the side of the car due to his continued levitation.
“Erm, how much trouble are we in, exactly?” Sarah asked meekly.
“Not too much, unless it's-“ Nathan was interrupted by the increasing feeling of shaking. With an abrupt jerk, the van stopped moving and was thrown off of the ground, stopping with another abrupt jerk twelve feet in the air. Craggs slammed her hands on the steering wheel.
“-the Chaos Insurgency.” Dr. Craggs finished. “This might get messy. Take this!” Craggs tossed Sarah a pistol. Upon contact with it she dropped the thing immediately. She couldn't touch it. She just stared, despite the chaos building around her. When was the last time she'd held a gun?
“Sarah, do not cry! I shall slay them!” Anoati declared. Sarah didn't even notice the few tears running down her nose. This was not the time to remember things. The present was scary enough.
“ ‘Scuse me.” Dr. Craggs quickly said, crawling from the now-functionless driver's seat and into the back of the van. Sarah looked over at a clicking sound to see her open a large box and pull out an unconscious person from inside.
“What the fuck? How long was he in there?” Sarah yelled, breaking from her daze.
“All persons within the van, surrender immediately!” A harsh megaphone blared from outside. “All objects within the van are now under professional custody!” Looking out, Sarah saw dozens of tactically-clad soldiers surrounding the van. Her eyes widened.
Sarah's heart was beating. The van was helpless, stranded motionless in the air. What would she do? Dr. Craggs was passing a small white crystal under the muscular man's nose, causing him to jolt up. Nathan retrieved a small semiautomatic from the glove compartment. Sarah looked at the soldiers poised below the van. Before she could think of anything, Anoati crashed through the car window out to the military brigade.
“Taste the wrath of your god!” He shouted mightily, flinging himself at the armed figures. Guns wrested themselves from soldiers' hands with the power of Anoati's telekinesis, turned into bludgeoning tools against their own wielders. Anoati laughed as he attacked. Insurgency soldiers looked around for the hostile head among them, afraid to shoot their own allies. Nathan took the opportunity to open the car window and fire into the confused crowd, though a frightened look was sprawled across his face.
Sarah saw the men go down, saw blood seeping from bullet wounds and blunt attacks. Her vision began to get blurry. She felt sick. The blood. Bullets were hitting the van. All of the blood. And screams. It was at this moment that the back of the floating van was pushed open by the muscled man.
“Take ‘em out, Arthur.” Dr. Craggs said as the man jumped from the back. She turned to the rest of the van. “Don't worry, I've got implants in him that will make him do anything. He's our super-soldier.”
Arthur strode towards the soldiers, striking one brutally in the head as he grabbed another as a human shield. His combat ability was incredible, and he fought well, but it wasn't enough for dozens of surprise bullets. An unforeseen attack brought him down to his knees.
“Fuckin' really?” Dr. Craggs stared in amazement. “Dammit Arthur!”
Sarah peered from the window as the man was killed. His skin was torn up in the blink of an eye, a splash of red blood covering gun-toting agents. A whole life over, just like that. The rattling of gunfire started to flare up more, rising to a deafening crescendo. Insurgency agents began falling over, screams the only other sound than bullet shots.
The Insurgency troops found themselves now being shot at from a new foe. From behind the Insurgency, a wall of grey combat trucks were driving in. The soldiers in these trucks were shooting down the Insurgency force, mowing them down in their surprise. As the procession rode to a halt, a megaphone announcement came from one of the trucks.
“Chaos Insurgency stand down! The SCP Foundation has you outnumbered! Surrender the van immediately!”
Now there were three forces at conflict. More death. More running. Chaos. All around Sarah, there was chaos. Nathan was staring at his gun, sweating and shaking. Dr. Craggs was hiding behind her. Anoati was lost somewhere in the fray.
“Well this is an interesting turnaround.” Dr. Craggs commented, facing the team in the van. “Arthur's gone, and Anoati's not gonna be taking out all those men himself.”
“Jesus Christ this it I'm gonna die.” Nathan said, losing his cool immediately. “What the fuck do we do what the fuck?”
“Calm down, Snyder, this isn't the end. I'm turning myself into the Foundation. I've made deals with them before and I'll do it again. All of you, come with me.” Dr. Craggs proposed.
“N-no. No!” Sarah was shaking. “I was D-class with the Foundation. I can't go back. I can't go!”
“Listen, you and I just escaped from a GOC facility and the Foundation'll want to know about it. We're safe! Now hurry it up because this van won't take much more gunfire!” Dr. Craggs snarled.
“No.” Nathan sent a grim look at Sarah.
“No?”
“I don't work with the Foundation. They want to take away my software. They can't.” Nathan said, picking up volume and hugging his laptop, the semiautomatic now cast aside.
“Forget about it! We're saving our skins with or without you and your software!”
“You don't get it. This is all I have! I've lost my life, my friends, my home, to keep this software!” Nathan shouted. “And those fuckers are gonna have to take it over my dead motherfuckin' body, cuz I'm not gonna lose it all!”
“Your choice.” Dr. Craggs replied, moving to the open end of the van with arms raised. Some straggling Insurgeny agents pointed and shouted “Shit! It's Craggs!” and “Get the traitor!” They were shot down as the Foundation moved in. Sarah moved behind Craggs, raising her arms too.
“Sorry Craggs. Just remember that you turned on me.” Nathan muttered from the front of the van.
“What in the hell-“ Dr. Craggs muttered, only interrupted by an outburst of commotion around a group of panicked Insurgency soldiers. Armored troops began running chaotically before each and every one started to pull out their tactical knives. One by one, they brought the knives into their chests with fatal force, wincing and crying as they took their own lives.
“He released one of his viruses! When-!?” Dr. Craggs looked around agitatedly. “C'mon Sarah, we're moving now!”
She grabbed Sarah by the hand and the two jumped from the back of the floating van just as it collapsed from its levitating state. As she ran towards an open Foundation truck, Sarah saw her contained life. The hours and days blurred together in a blank cell, herself being a broken person in hallways full of broken people. She couldn't go back. She roppwd her hand from Dr. Craggs' grip and ran to her left, towards the still-rampaging Anoati. All around her, people were running and stabbing themselves, screaming in fear.
“Fools! Do not slay yourselves before I'm finished!” Anoati laughed as he kept flinging guns at people.
“Anoati! This is our chance! We need to go!” Sarah shouted to him. The soldiers around her were too busy with their own knives to shoot at her now.
“No! These men must suffer!”
“Anoati, you need to go home! We need to go home! This is our chance!”
Anoati floated for a second, quiet.
“Yes! Homeward bound!”
Anoati floated behind her as she ran to one of the few Chaos Insurgency vans that hadn't already driven away. A slumped figure hung out of the driver's seat. A quick search-through of her pockets provided a key, and Sarah quickly revved up the truck and drove off with Anoati beside her. The last thing she saw looking back was Dr. Craggs climbing into a Foundation truck as it left the battleground. On the steering wheel, her hands were still shaking.
—————
“Sarah, explain again why the metal bird flies across the Earth on the mortal's whims!”
“Again, they're called airplanes. And they're not alive. Like cars aren't alive?” This was not the first time Sarah had to explain this in the long conversation she'd had with Anoati. “Anyways, as soon we can find some type of civilization, and a bit of cash, we'll get directions to the airport and fly to where you need to go.”
“I shall bend that metal bird's will to mine!” Anoati proudly stated. Sarah sighed before noticing the sound of a police siren behind her.
“Where the heck did they come from?” She quietly asked, peering out the window to see the singular police car behind them.
“No! They shall not catch us again!”
“Shit, maybe they are from another one of these crazy organizations. We're speeding up.” They continued for a while on increasing speed until they heard the gunshot. A new hole added itself to the truck's back window and, afraid, Sarah slowed the car to a halt. The police car rolled up, and a formidable, grey-haired man in police uniform pulled out.
“Ma'am, I'm afraid we're going to need you and your-“ He was interrupted by Anoati pelting a fist-sized rock, now turned to metal, at his head. He whipped out a pistol as the second officer ran over.
“Anoati, please stop or I'm going to get shot.” Sarah's voice became quiet, her body staying as still as possible. Anoati scoffed, but didn't attack.
The officer pulled out a badge displaying a blue symbol Sarah vaguely remembered. Where was it from?
“On orders from the Global Occult Coalition, you and the anomalous artifact are going to come with us.”
“A-alright. Which one's the Global…whatever Organization again?”
“The Global Occult Coalition protects humanity from the unknown and anomalous, representing-“
“Nevermind, they all blend together.” Sarah said, following the officer into the car, Anoati grumbling and threatening behind her. Inside, the officer talked to them, still pointing the pistol at Sarah's head.
“Right now you are going to direct us to the scene of the battle wherein The Chaos Insurgency and SCP Foundation had a conflict approximately twenty minutes ago. I think you understand the consequence of failing to obey.” He waved his pistol slightly.
“No I do not! I refuse! Nobody controls the All-Mighty Anoati!”
“What I'm saying is that your friend here will be shot if she does not obey. Your fate would be similar. You have both committed criminal acts.”
“I will-“
“You wanna take a left down that road there.” Sarah pointed to a rocky side road. “I'm sorry, Anoati. But seriously, that gun there can kill me any moment.”
“Fine! But I will kill these men later!”
“Sure you will, pal.”
They drove for about twenty minutes, occasionally changing from one sparse road to another, before reaching the now-deserted battleground. Barely a bloodstain was now left on the street, like it hadn't happened. Sparse splotches of red were the ghostly remnants of secret organizations fighting in the shadows. The driver left the car and looked around the area, while the second kept his pistol aimed at Sarah. He was back in minutes, and he brought the car off the road and into the desert, all without a word.
Within minutes, dozens of similar police cars accompanied by military trucks converged on the car Sarah was captive in, all driving together. They reached an unassuming concrete structure, barely noticeable among the desert hills. Though it was a big entrance to something, it was flanked by steep hills, blending in to its dull surroundings. The large garage doors opened to a wall of gun-clad operatives.
“What have we gotten into now, Anoati?”
A megaphone near Sarah's car broke the tension.
“SCP Foundation, hand over the defected Dr. Craggs and the supply of augmented human brains! This is not a request, it is a command!”
Coalition operatives scuttled from their cars, the clicks of ammunition loading becoming ever more common from both sides. The tension was thick. Hushed whispers filled both sides. Suddenly, a lone agent walked out of the Foundation garage, mute. He dropped his gun and sat down right in the middle of the two forces. Then, more followed. Coalition operatives began to do the same, walking to the middle of the field, dropping their weapons and sitting down onto the ground.
A realization dawned on Sarah.
“Anoati, don't listen to anything!”
“Anoati does not listen when he pleases!”
With her ears plugged, she saw the men in front of her confused, quietly talking to each other. Soon, the fake officers both opened their car doors and joined the sitting crowd. Everyone but Sarah and Anoati sat together in front of the Foundation base with blank expressions.
A beaten-up Chevrolet revved out of nowhere. A tall, scrawny figure, none other than Nathan Snyder, slowly strolled out among the crowd, the only upright man among sitting soldiers. He was smiling.
“Alright,” he said, smug and content, pulling out his phone. “Let's see…I'll use you, you, and you four. That should do. Look at this.” He walked over to the people he pointed out, each being visibly stronger than those around them, and showed them something on the phone. In response, they stood up and walked to the garage. In minutes, they came back carrying familiar black cases and loaded them in to his old truck.
“No Dr. Craggs?” Nathan peered through the crowd. “Wonder where she is. She knows too much.” He showed his phone to another sitting soldier. He got up and hustled into the garage.
“Rule one: always prepare. Targeted assassination meme is a go.” Nathan said to absolutely nobody.
Nathan chuckled as he tossed his keys, walking over to his car. It revved up and he drove off, dust flying into the sitting Foundation and Coalition agents.
“Anoati, we need to follow him!” Sarah got out of the car as soon as he was in the distance.
“Yes! He has betrayed us! But first, I slay these sitting cowards!” Anoati began knocking agents to the ground as he floated through the sitting huddle.
“No, we gotta focus on Nathan. He's getting away!” Sarah searched for faces among the blank group. Spotting the driver of her car, she fished the keys from his pocket and ran back to the police car, starting the engine. Anoati followed, but only did so after some hesitation.
“If we can nab those brains from Nathan, we can negotiate with the Foundation or whoever and get enough money to buy plane tickets!” The car was moving fast now, approaching a dusty road still fresh with Nathan's tracks.
“Tickets? For plane-birds?”
“Again, not birds, Anoati. Anyways, I think we can overpower him, right? I can surprise him and you can take him down. Then, we take the brains.”
“Indeed! I shall slay him!”
“Go for it, Anoati.” Sarah said as she drove off in the tracks of Nathan Snyder's Chevrolet.
—————
The dusty red and brownish rust of the beaten-up junker of a car rested on the side of the abandoned desert stretch. Nathan stood a couple feet away from it, head tilted back, taking a piss. Now was her chance. Sarah kicked up the car's speed towards him.
“Anoati, knock him out!”
“Aha! He will suffer!” Anoati barrelled out of the window with a police baton flying near him as the speeding police car neared Nathan.
Nathan noticed the speeding car, but too late. He dashed back to his car, but this, too, was late. A metallic sheen enveloped the floating baton as it connected with Nathan's head.
Crack
Sarah only saw him bend backwards in the corner of her eye. She slowed the car to a screeching halt.
Crack
“Holy shit.” She muttered as she ran out of the stopped police car. She heard Nathan's voice, now desperate and strained.
“Stop! Stop! I'll give you anything! Stop!”
Crack
“Anoati, stop! You're killing him!”
She could hear Anoati shouting as the baton violently thrashed Nathan's body, “You impudent fool!”
Crack
“I am your god!”
Crack
“You do not betray me!”
Crack
“Like no mortal ever shall!”
Crack
“Face the wrath of the Great Anoati!”
Crack
The last crack was wet and painful. Hard to hear. Sarah's vision blurred. The body before her was a twisted, agonizing shell of a body, submerged in a lake of blood. Sarah stood over the body. It was dead. There was a dead body in front of her.
There was a dead body in front of her. It was three years ago. She stood over it. There was a gun in her hand. She was shaking so bad she could hardly hold it. The barrel smoked. The man in front of her whimpered, eyes wide in shock. They stayed wide, even when the light in them went out. There was a dead body in front of her, and now her life was over. Her husband was dead. And she killed him. And she could never take it back.
Sarah was in the present again, collapsed on the ground in a crying mess.
“Anoati, what the fuck?! What the fuck?!” She screamed as hard as she could, her throat straining. “You fucking killed him!”
Anoati looked unfazed, although this may have been the fact that he was incapable of facial expressions. “No one betrays the All-Powerful Anoati. I am not afraid to show this.”
“I can't…I can't…”
“Sarah, this is Anoati's path. He must lead the people, and they must know to obey him!”
Sarah stood up. She looked at what was once Nathan, and her husband stared back. “I'm leaving.” She said resolutely. She took the keys from Nathan's still, reddened hand. She walked to his car and unlocked it.
“Don't follow me.”
“Sarah! This is the duty of a god! Trust Anoati! Do not leave!”
She drove away. Anoati didn't follow.
He was alone among the California sands, with only the dead body and the stolen police car.
He was alone.

Now take the time to enjoy other variations of this fateful meetup, with Attila the Pun's entry here and Lazar Lyusternik's entry here.

« Ducks, Yucks and a God | Battle for the Brains |


A flash of narrative color flooded the Department Of Pataphysics at Site-87, and a woman stepped out of a copy of The Combined Works Of William Shakespeare. She sighed heavily, and set down her numerous copies of old Scottish law scripts on her faux mahogany desk with an equally heavy thump.
"Fuuuuuuucking hell…" Researcher Kimba Laslow tore off her coat, pulled the hairband out of her blonde ponytail, and searched for the closest available soft furnishing to sink herself into. She had just mediated a legal dispute between H.R.H. King Duncan of Scotland, and Katniss Everdeen of District 12, after their narratives were mushed together by way of a heavy suitcase being set on top. It was a scenario she was used to: most people fail to realize that book covers aren't infallible, and that narratives can become connected if enough external pressure is applied.
"How was she gonna know the difference between a rabbit in District 12 and a rabbit in Dunsinane?"
She paused for a second, got up, and pulled The Hunger Games out of the Fiction Press (In reality just a very colorful flower press with "Department Of Pataphysics - Do Not Touch" on top in permanent marker, but it did the job.) The narrative link was severed, and both the books were put on the desk, well away from each other and soon to be returned to their rightful owner. She stopped to stare at the off-white ceiling, gave the book a moment to settle back down, grabbed it again, and opened it to a random page.

"Thank you." Katniss sighed, stepping into the familiar, if humble interior of her home.

Two returned books, and one extended lecture on the dangers of tight bookshelves later…
And she was sitting down in the Site-87 cafeteria, rereading the tale of Scout and Atticus Finch for the 6th time this month in between mouthfuls of pumpkin soup. For such a well read book, it was in surprisingly immaculate condition, especially considering how much The Narrative liked to drench, stain or shred her other books through multiple unfortunate events. She had a localized monsoon douse Fahrenheit 451 yesterday. In the middle of summer. Through her raincoat.
"How many times are you going to read that thing?" A fiery-haired woman queried, and sat herself in a white plastic chair across from the lonely pataphysicist.
"Until I get bored of it, or I can fiction-jump into it unaided. Why do you care anyway, Kat?"
"Sinclair, pleas-"
"Too much effort," Kimba groaned, sinking into the table. "Two syllables is too much."
Dr. Sinclair paused for a moment, mulling it over in her head whether to let the tired girl go, or chase the matter further. "…Fiction-jumping unaided, huh? As I understand it, that's very ambitious." Naturally, she didn't understand it in the slightest.
"Not really. If you can read it well enough, fiction-jumping is easy peasy lemon squeezy. It's not altering the text while you're in there that's difficult difficult lemon difficult."
"difficult difficult… lemon difficult?" She whispered to herself. She was told pataphysicists were strange, but this took the cake. "So, how's the research going?"
"Haven't been able to do any, too many tight bookshelves that needed fixing. Don Quixote went on a crusade in Howlett's office, and I just had to tell King Duncan that when somebody from another book accidentally hunts on your land they don't deserve the death penalty."
"Well, at least everyone knows now, you're all settled in, and you can start doing what you came here to do, no?"
A noncommittal noise that was roughly equivalent to a "sorta" was made, and the conversation tailed off, one participant lost in prose again. Katherine pulled the book away from her and reinserted the bookmark, setting the paper sandwich down on the table.
"Come on, talk to me… I don't know, take me to Hogwarts or something, that would be amazing!"
"You just wanna steal books and yell at Snape." Kimba retorted.
"Well… Yes, but…" The pataphysicist was correct, but the thaumatologist didn't want to admit it. "Come on, come play poker with us tonight or something. You won't make any friends if you're always buried in Lee or Bradbury."
"I still have to fix your… Werewolf book and your anatomy book, Kat."
Dr. Sinclair proceeded to turn a shade of red. She had no idea Kimba knew about her copy of Bram Stroker. She didn't want her to know for a while.
"Why are you blushing? My girlfriend's a werewolf."
A slight sense of relief came to Katherine in the knowledge Kimba understood her a little, but she was embarrassed all the same. "I thought you lived alone?"
"Yeah, she's in Eventide. Long distance. Don't worry Kat-"
"Sinclair."
"-Sinclair," She conceded. "Your secret's safe with me."

"I… I love you, but…" She bit her prochellion, not sure what to say. She knew that such a love would be forbidden, but the sweet swelling feeling in her sternum told her that to leave such a fine specimen of both homo sapiens and canis lupus would tear her apart1.
"Yes, my dear? Is it my… Wild tendencies that upset you?" His muscular2 canine form bristled, breath frosting the air3 as it left his bronchii. He-
"SIR!" Wait, what? The sound of flicking pages from a distance. Umm… Fair skin, blonde hair, hazel eyes… ch-ch-ch-ch-chhhhh… No, madam, I don't believe this is your part yet.
"Mr. Narrator, I'm not from this book. I'm from outside." Oh! Well, why didn't you say so?
"Who's she?" The buxom young female jutted in before leaving the "Aww, c'mo" LEAVING THE SCENE. This is a matter for the Narrator alone. The young lady walked away, her lupine lover padding close behind.
"Uhh… Thanks. Well, You're the Narrator of Gray's Anatomy, yes?" Indeed I am, young madam. I believe you've stumbled upon the reproduction pag- "Well, actually, to put it bluntly, this isn't your book. This is a romance novel called…" She falter- "You don't need to narrate me, pataphysical laws don't affect me the same as the inhabitants of this book. Now, as I was saying, you've stumbled into a book called… Licked By The Lupine Lover, by… Bram Stroker. Not Stoker, Stroker."
The sound of retching. A-Apologies, madam, that explains an awful lot. I believe I must be on my way then. "Yeah, I'm sure there's a horny American accent out there getting very confused about the structure of the brain a few pages over. If you could pass on the info please? That would be lovely." Of course, I do believe I'll be going then. Farewell
"Well, nothing left to do here…"

Katherine Sinclair set down her copy of Goblet Of Fire, trying to find the optimal chapter, sentence and word to jump into so as to nab a copy of Ancient Runes Made Easy… Maybe the Standard Book Of Spells, A Guide To Adanced Transfiguration… But her daydreams of being a powerful witch would have to wait: it was almost time for poker night. She rose, and walked to the door with a purse reasonably full of money, and a sense of determination this time. No more would low cards screw her over this evening, it was her time.
Her footsteps click-clacked down the hallways, seemingly endless reams of sterile white wallpaper rolling past her. Suddenly, a bluster of wind struck her from her right.
"And who do you think you are, outsider?" Sinclair paused, turning towards the source of the muffled sound. Department of Pataphysics. Was she really still in… that book? The flat white door creaked at Katherine's touch, before being blown around it's hinge to slam against the hallway, eliciting a yelp of fear from the thaumatologist.
A narrative tornado sat in the center of the dark wood-paneled room. Pages were flying everywhere, books desperately clung to their shelves, and lampshades writhed in fear. The tempest appeared to center on a single book lying open on the floor. The title, Sinclair could not discern, but judging from the sounds coming from within, it was medieval, and there were a lot of swords.
"I AM LADY LASLOW OF THE PIT! AND THIS… IS A KNIFE." There were a lot of clinking noises, and Sinclair felt compelled to step closer. The wind whipped at her hair, and she looked down through the eye of the conceptual storm. Was that… Nigella Lawson? It was hard to tell. There was egg everywhere, and the butter-knife wielding Laslow clashed with the cook, who was equipped with a cake tin hat and appeared to be using a wooden spoon as a lance atop a collection of spaghetti strands in the shape of a horse.
"KIMBA?!" The pataphysicist looked up in response, deftly deflecting a kneading attempt by her adversary.
"Sinclair! Umm… Can you help? There should be a fountain pen on my desk with a button on it!'
"HANG ON!" There were many fountain pens. Red ones, blue ones, gold ones, black ones, one that had colour changing LEDs in it, and enough anomalous pens to deserve their own log. But one took pride of place, made of an exquisite smooth smoky quartz, with gold highlighting and nib, and a little crystal that she only guessed could be a button embedded in the end. She grabbed it from it's resting place. "FOUND IT!"
"That's the one! Chuck it down here!" She made a grabbing motion with one hand as she waved a newly found cake-pop-pike-ball around wildly, keeping the dark haired woman at bay.
Sinclair threw the pen down into the paper realm, and time seemed to stand still.

A perfect catch! Kimba smiled at Nigella, and pressed the precious stone on the end of her pen. Narrative colour spilled over the room, and in an instant both women were flat on their faces on the wooden floor, breathing heavily as Simply Nigella slammed shut.
"Thanks Ka- Sinclair."
The thaumatologist smiled at the floor. The floor didn't smile back. "Katherine's fine, I guess. Pardon my french… But what the fuck was up, with that cookbook?"
"…Nothing." The strange woman giggled. "They're all like that."

Three minutes of dusting themselves off, Two burritos and One bottle of Coke later…
"Call."
"Call."
"Raise 10." A tell, index finger rubbed over thumbnail. Pike picked it up in an instant, naturally.
"Raise 20." Laslow was anxious, to say the least, but three of a kind was a good hand. She saw the eagle-like look in Cassandra's eyes. She had picked up some sort of tell from Bailey, but there was a drop of fear in there as well…
"Kimba? You gonna go, or not?" Resolve formed in her as the tension in the room hit it's peak. Might as well live dangerously.
"…Screw it, raise 50." A cacophony erupted, before deadening in an instant, waiting for Tristan's reaction. 4 pairs of eyes pierced daggers through the back of his cards.
"…Fold." More yelling, then more silence, occasionally dispersed by the clacking of betting chips together by Dr. Sinclair in a sort of mock drumroll.
"…" Cassandra's eyes passed around the table, to the pot, to her cards, to Kimba, back again. The tension was palpable, but her poker face remained dead straight.
"…"
It then shattered into a million pieces as she cracked a smile. "Fold." Utter madness descended as the pataphysicist squeaked like a mouse, revealed her three sevens and raked in the rest of the pot, a neat $60, less her large contribution in the final round. Pike turned over a full house, eights full of fives. Tristan had junk. "You're actually… pretty good!"
"Not at all, you just don't know my tells yet," She giggled. "I'm a nervous wreck when money's involved." She smiled to herself, knowing The Narrative probably had something to do with this turn of events. A few minutes passed of excited chatter, the occasional clink! of a glass, and a bit of good old-fashioned playing for matchsticks. No-one wanted to lose money anymore. Everyone was fine with that.
"So, not to be rude, I know the work you're doing is important and all, but…" Tristan finally piped up mid round with a question he'd been meaning to ask all evening. "We've never had to deal with all these 'fiction crossings' before you showed up. Is it you? Or…?" His two aces frowned at him. This might not have been a great time to ask. Kimba didn't mind though.
"I don't know, honestly. Part of me thinks it's just the nexus adapting to my presence, giving me things to do. Another part of me thinks that maybe I am bringing some sort of disturbance." She shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, every time a character gets introduced in a story, something has to happen to make their presence known, right?" She nonchalantly chucked two matchsticks in, not bothering to announce her call.
"Don't ask me, it's your area of expertise."
"Well, either way, I don't mind the extra work. I get to know all the dirty secrets, cool fictional characters, guilty pleasure reads…" Sinclair blushed again. Everyone else laughed. "And all the people who don't take proper care of books." She stated with a bizarre mixture of glee and malice. Sarcasm didn't quite describe it as the table fell silent like before, but for a very different reason.
"…"
"So, who wants to go to Hogwarts?"

Footnotes
1. "Uhh… Sir? Sir? I understand you're the narrator of Gray's Anatomy, yes?"
2. "Sir?"
3. "Sir, I believe you're narrating the wrong book."


Travis leaned back in his seat. "So, Doctor, I have good news and bad news."
"I never liked subjective terms."
"The good news is that we appear to be in the clear, no one on our six, and less than five minutes from the next Foundation site."
"Appearances can be deceiving."
"The bad news, is you're headed for the Waiting Room."
"The what room?"
Travis snickered. "You'll just have to find out."

"I can't believe the dumb bastard finally managed it."
"I know! Doc Jamison owes me twenty bucks."
"You bet on Anoat-, wait, you place wagers on a containment breach?"
"Sure, there's even a point spread on casualty counts."
"Unbelievable. We don't have a suitable cell for 3416 when he gets here - just stick him in the Waiting Room."

For the first time since the seventh grade, Nathan Snyder had been caught.
Sure, he had close calls. With just about every three-letter agency one could think of - FBI, CIA, FSB, MSS (how was he supposed to know that was illegal in Hong Kong?), GOC, MCD, you name it.
But this time, the SCP Foundation had been not one, but two steps ahead. And now, buried in the broom closet of a condemned apartment building, he found himself out of options. What he presumed to be one of those crazy Foundation special forces teams was mere meters away.
It could be worse. As long as he didn't resist, they wouldn't shoot on sight. Probably. He'd be arrested, probably taken to some preliminary holding facility that he could bre-
Wait, 'contain' is literally in the name. Shit.
So, escape was out of the question. Could he cut a deal? He possessed valuable skills and experience.
Whether that would be worth saving a bullet, he would know, right about no-
"Hands in the air! Now!" Bright light shone on his face. A short-barreled rifle leveled at his torso.
"Okay, okay, I comply. Not looking to get my face shot off today." Nathan rather liked his face, just the way it was.
SpecOps didn't react. Three of his friends dragged him from the broom closet, and out into what one may have formerly called a living room.
Within minutes, he had been blackbagged, tossed into a van, and destined for the Waiting Room.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Craggs, but them's the rules."
"My contract specifies that in the event of a -"
"I know, I know. I am eminently familiar with your contract. It also specifies that if that kind of event happens, we are allowed to place you in temporary containment for 72 hours while other arrangements are made."
"Maximum security lockup is not 'temporary containment'."
"Look, it's not that bad. Just count yourself lucky it's just 3416 and a couple prisoners in there. You'll be out of there in three days. Probably less."
Craggs found it futile to resist. The Foundation may have won the battle against her freedom to experiment and advance the cause of science, but not the war.
The existence of the Waiting Room had already blindsided her enough - being stuck in there with slimy D-class was the last thing she needed right now.
If she were lucky, there could be an interesting anomaly to fiddle with.
She was not.

Nathan was the last to arrive in the Waiting Room. Concrete walls, concrete bench, cellmates. Pretty much what he expected.
But upon further review, he came to realize just how much engineering went into this cell. SRA mounted underneath the floor. Full camera coverage. Concrete inlaid with anti-pretty-much-everything sigils. Fentanyl gas dispenser in the ceiling. VX gas dispenser next to that. He hoped they didn't get those two mixed up.
More importantly, it looked liked he hadn't been the only one the Foundation was two steps ahead of.
"Hi, Dr. Craggs. We haven't met. Did you know you have an Interpol Red Notice?"
Craggs wore a chemical protection suit, helmet missing, revealing the kind of face that might be compared with Hitler, Stalin, or some other cartoonishly evil stereotype. Older, late fifties, later, even. Expressionless. A little wrinkly. Nathan wasn't sure if all evil people had faces like that, or there was some kind of subconscious conditioning at work.
"Yes, I'm very proud of it. Who are you?"
Definitely the first one. Not so much as a reaction.
"Nathan. Who's the floating head guy?"
"I am your god, the Great Anoati! Bow before my might!"
Just what he needed right now. Damned thing barely qualifies as comic relief.
"'Might' is an overstatement. He'll mind-probe you, but not very well."
"Thanks for the warning. I don't want to know how either of you got here, do I?"
"I had foiled my captors and made my escape to my island and my people. Alas, those-who-make-weak-anoa-stone tricked me into being captured once again."
"However could they subvert your genius…"
"The Great Anoati knows no superior."
"Hey, I'm just a wholesome Foundation employee."
"You work here? The Foundation didn't execute you for the little Barcelona incident, among other crimes?"
"Those children produced valuable data. I'm not sure what more you could want. But yes, the Foundation uses my skills, and in exchange I get to continue to evade that aforementioned Interpol Red Notice and conduct research. Albeit with all sorts of silly moralistic restrictions."
Nathan could hardly believe his ears. As much as the rest of his life seemed like it could be narrated by Rod Serling and billed as an epsode of The Twilight Zone, this seemed like the closest he'd get to actually being aired.
"Ah, yes. Completely nonsensical."
"I'm glad you agree."
"If you work for them, why are you here in lockup?"
"An apparent lack of clarity in my employment contract allowed the present circumstances to occur."
"Foolish mortal! Anoati's contracts are ironclad."
"I'll make sure you're on retainer next time."
"Your turn, hacker. What put you on the Foundation's bad side?"
"How did you know I was a hacker?"
"You look the part. Trenchcoat, fingerless gloves…"
"You're describing a neckbeard, not a hacker."
"There's some overlap. Also, the subdermal on your neck."
"That's creepy, but good eye. But yes. I wrote some anomalous software. Maybe it's also a meme. Maybe it kills people too."
"Ah, so you're looking at 25 to life. Or death."
"Don't be so optimistic."
Nathan shot a glance to toward the stone head.
"I think we both know why you're here."
"The Great Anoati is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma!"
"Ah, the dark and mysterious type."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Trenchcoat."
"At least I'm not featured on GOC's Most Wanted."
"A great travesty this is, to have been locked away with you foul criminals!"
"You wound me, Anoati."
"This is the beginning of a bad joke. An incompetent god, a war criminal, and a hacker walk into a maximum security cell…"
"How dare you accuse the Great Anoati of something so vile as incompetence! I will crush you!"
"That would imply this was something funny. The only funny part about this is that the one time I get unfettered, hands-on access to an anomaly, it's this floating head. 34-16 is the only joke in here."
"You lie! I met the joke anomaly earlier. He was a faithful servant of Anoati!"
"Uhhuh. What exactly should we do?"
"You mean, what should you do. I just have to wait until the Foundation gets its head out of its ass."
"If you assist me, the Great Anoati, in his daring escape, I will reward you greatly!"
"What is your brilliant plan, oh great Anoati?"
"Your deference is refreshing!
Anoati gave his nearest wall a cautious tap, and hung his head in disappointment when it did not immediately vaporize.
"Those-who-make-weak-anoastone have warded these walls against my immense power! If you can break through them, I will see us the rest of the way."
"You don't ask for much."
"Anoati does not ask! Anoati demands!"
"I'll see what I can do."
"Hacker, are you any good at SQL? Database administration?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?"
"I'm trying to decide if you're worth helping."
Nathan swallowed.
"Yes, yes I am."
This was technically correct.

"So, hold on, there's just one thing about this I don't get."
"Yes?"
"Why is it we toss anomalies and prisoners alike into the Waiting Room? That just seems unsafe for everyone."
"Waiting Room is temporary, and it's pretty much the only all-purpose containment chamber we have."
"That doesn't really answer the question. 3416 is a dangero-"
"Don't make me laugh. If we consider the range of danger we usually deal with, 3416 is about as dangerous as a sapient pair of safety scissors."
"But why put the high-value prisoners in there with 3416? "
"What are they going to do? Convert to his religion? Besides, Craggs will be on her merry way in a few days, Snyder on a somewhat-less-merry way soon after that. There's not that much they can do in 48 hours."

After a long period of silence, Craggs finally spoke up again.
"What state are we in?"
"Wrongfully imprisoned!"
"Oklahoma. Why is that relevant?"
"Just answer the questions. I can't keep track of everything. Anoati, do you perform marriages?"
"Wait, wha-Anoati has performed many a marriage in his time! But I would not wed filth like you or this despicable ha-ker."
"Not even to get back at 'those-who-make-weak-anoastone'?"
"…any slight upon them is a valid and honorable reason for Anoati to use his righteous powers of matrimony. It shall be so!"
"Who is marrying who?"
"How would you feel about getting married?"
"But, Dr. Craggs, this is all so sudden! We've only known each other for all of two hours!"
"Let me make this easier for you. Substitute 'getting married' with 'not dying horribly in the course of testing'."
"You can't be serious. How are those two even remotely related? What does this have to do with database administration? Or Oklahoma?"
"I need a database administrator. Foundation won't fund one. I'm also a little bit pissed I'm stuck in here when I could be doing research. Our favorite levitating stone head is going to be stuck in containment, and you're looking at a life sentence. All of us have reasons to want to stick it the Foundation, yes?"
"One of these things is not like the others."
"Anything to spite those-who-make-weak-anoastone!"
"I'm glad you're excited, Anoati."
"It has been many moons since Anoati has had the pleasure of wedding a worthy pair!"
"Okay, fine. You still haven't explained why Oklahoma is important… or why marriage solves anything. Is there a church around the corner? Maybe one of those drive-though chapels?"
"Marriage solves things in that as I am contractually bound to the Foundation, they are also bound to me. My contract does have some more stringent requirements regarding 'life partners.'"
"'Life partners?'"
"Look, it was the 90s, same-sex marriage wasn't really accepted, and I had to find a way to write it that could support a female database admin.'"
"The Great Anoati does not tolerate discrimination on the basis of sexual preference, only on the basis of loyalty to Anoati!"
"Thanks, Anoati. That's your metric?"
Motionless throughout the discussion, Craggs finally yielded a shrug.
"Some people marry for love, others for money. I marry to spite the Foundation and unfuck a 15 year old MS Access database.'"
"Assuming I go along with this. You STILL haven't explained Oklahoma."
"Common law marriages are a mess in Oklahoma. I'm banking on the fact the Foundation is willing to let me win this small victory rather than litigating that bureaucratic cesspool.'"
"You think the Foundation plays by rules?"
"Refusal to recognize any marriage officiated by the Great Anoati, can only bring doom!"
"There exists leverage. Let's say we both defer to a higher power in this regard.'"
"In that case, can we just declare marriage? And be done?"
"It's not that simple. That would clearly be a bad-faith marriage. But with a precedent and someone to officiate a ceremony, however obscure…'"
"Ah. So…"
"Play by Anoati's rules, cheat death for a little longer. At the cost of being my database admin for an indeterminate period of time.'"
"So… Great Anoati… where do we begin?"
"Anoatese marriages require only three parts! The first is the creation of the wedding rings, by Anoati himself, transmuted from material provided by each partner!"
"What kind of material?"
"A small handful of non-fabric/clothing-based material will suffice."
Craggs handed over a spare oxygen tube from the chemical suit.
"I uh, don't have anything. Just the clothes on my back."
"Then the wedding cannot continue!"
"You have ninety seconds to find something before I rip out the subdermal or your fingernails, whichever is closest.'"
Nathan panicked. He really didn't have anything. He turned his pockets. Looking for something, anything.
Nothing but lint.
"Does… does this work?"
Nathan squeezed his fingers into his hand.
"Anoati will provide for his subjects! I will take these, and form magnificent rings!"
Nothing happened.
"How long does this take?"
"Patience is a virtue! Anoati takes time to perform such precise craftsmanship!"
"What are the next two steps?'"
"You must truthfully state your feelings toward the other person, before Anoati! Anoati will judge these feelings, and, finding them true and honorable, allow the final step of the marriage to take place!"
"I am, uh, really grateful that you're saving my life, albeit through convoluted and somewhat dubious means."
"You'd better be worth all this trouble.'"
"Anoati finds that these sentiments warm his heart, and will consent to final step of the marriage taking place!"
"That was more straightforward than I expected. Turns out honesty is the best policy after all."
"I don't think he's that picky.'"
Anoati then produced two rings. Well, 'rings' in the sense that a clay mug made in a child's art class is a 'cup'.
"These rings are… nice."
"'Unique', for sure.'"
"But how do we wear the-Third step?"
"You must consummate the marriage!"
"What."
"Oh, fuck no."
"What are you being squeamish about?'"
"You're okay with this?"
"It's about what I expected.'"
"Okay, one, as much as I am sure I appeal to you-"
"I have exactly zero preferences in this regard."
"You might not, but I'm not really into boning Evil Margaret Thatcher."
"Harsh. And isn't that redundant?"
"The marriage is not complete until it occurs!"
"Even that notwithstanding, Anoati is right there, not to mention, oh, I don't know, the security cameras, pointing right at us."
Craggs yielded another shrug.
"Shame is for the weak. Neither of us get what we want unless this proceeds. And the stakes are a bit higher for you."
Nathan took a breath, and thought. He thought hard. He could either pull out (pardon the pun), and take his chances with the Foundation. Or he could do… this… and have similar chances with Cragg's legal stunt.
What the hell.

"Uh, boss, you probably don't want to see this."
"Then why are you telling me?"
"Because it's in the Waiting Room security feed?"
"God damn it. Show m- oh, god, are they doing what I think they're doing?"
"She doesn't look as bad as you'd think she would."
"Pump the fentanyl. Green button, not red. Craggs has some explaining to do."

Back in the debriefing room. Cragg's new second least favorite place to be, after the Waiting Room.
"Why the hell were you engaging in sexual intercourse with a class-3 prisoner?"
"I think you mean 'my husband'."
"Excuse me?"
"Check sections 17, 25, and 37 of my contract, on the topic of life partners and/or companions. Also wherever Oklahoma keeps its marriage laws now, because they're definitely not where they used to be."
"Just what are you trying to pull here?"
"That 'class-3 prisoner' is now legally my husband, and now has all of the legal protections that implies. Contact your supervisor."
"I am the supervisor."
"Then get a hold of a Site Director or someone else, because you do not want to violate an EL contract, even incidentally."

Tossed unceremoniously back into the Waiting Room, Craggs landed at the feet of her new husband.
"Remind me not to get gassed next time. What now?"
"I've bought you some time, at least."
"Thanks. Really. You didn't have to do any of this."
Craggs frowned. The honeymoon period was over.
"Don't confuse my actions with any sentimentality. I need those databases fixed. Years of research in there. Besides, Anoati's in the best mood ever recorded in Foundation history."
"We have struck a mighty blow against those-who-make-weak-anoastone! It is only a matter of time before our legal challenges leave them with nothing!"
"Also, keep in mind that bigamy is illegal in all fifty states, and adultery is a felony in Oklahoma."
"That's important, why?"
"No reason."

Written for Bonus Round 2 of the Original Character Tournament.
Attila the Pun's entry: Puppets and Their Masters
DrDromeus's entry: Battle for the Minds
« If I Tried to Run, Would You Give Me a Shot? | Tying the Gordian Knot | More to come! »


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Anabasis This is a journey back
Start here
Eat more of my SCPs. Eat them all.
Also please eat some of these

Anabasis Hub Probably the greatest story involving a pair of redheaded siblings whose infighting causes the end of the world
Manna Charitable Foundation 2000 The sequel to the above, collaborationed with Dr Reach
The Stuff Industry What happens when everyone around you at work is a complete idiot and so are you, but not only does no one get fired, but you actually turn a profit? I don't know, some stuff.
When MCF and Stuff happen A fun story of incompetence

The bacteria were dying. They knew it and they hated it. Bacteria had to live to be bacteria. They were being brutalized by the fatness of the air and sought refuge in the living. But the living were packed full of other bacteria. These bacteria were unhappy with the newcomers. There was not enough to go around, and the bacteria that lived in the living began to flee. Then the living became the dead, and the bacteria panicked. They could not live in the dead.
They settled down to the task of fixing the dead, to try to make them live again.

Priscilla Locke sat on the couch, gripping the armrest, dragging her fingers up along the rough stitching, watching the news on low volume. A bomb had gone off in China. It was a dirty bomb, and it was being carried by the wind, and it was fast.
Was it the Vietnamese or the Qing? No clear answers. Only thing on the news was video of Haikou, where the sky was red and there was red mist, like a stylized vision of hell. Buildings were on fire, and people were on the street, running in all directions. Some stopped running, dropping and flailing wildly. Some people stopped moving altogether, only to start moving again.
Priss acknowledged it. She knew it was terrible, and might involve the Foundation at some point. She could feign concern and sadness, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything for them, not truly.
"To be fair, I wouldn't feel anything if it hit Australia." She mumbled out loud to herself. It sounded less convincing than she wanted. Someone will help them, she figured. Even the United States gave humanitarian aid to nations they considered genetically inferior.
She was still bothered, head cocked slightly, frozen, staring at the television without comprehending the images. Normally when some calamity struck somewhere in the world, she felt safe, confident that it could be fixed and people could be helped. She didn't feel that way anymore, and she couldn't understand why. Like a wound that wouldn't coagulate.
They were half a world apart, completely unrelated, yet she couldn't help connecting the disaster in China with Key Biscayne and her sister. There was no justification to it; this was a now-international crisis. Her sister was just a local criminal. A wannabe terrorist. But then there were similar protests and riots happening elsewhere, pre-dating her sister's "turn". And the core of the conflict was the refugees. Refugees from southeast Asia, where the dirty bomb had just gone off.
"Maybe it's connected. Or maybe Rhie's just an opportunist psychopath." She still couldn't imagine her sister being violent. She snorted and grinned, "Violent? Her?" Rhiannon had been troublesome in school, but never to a degree of getting people killed or qualifying as a domestic terrorist.
"She doesn't matter anymore. Neither do I." She muted the television and leaned back in her couch. She was starting to think seriously about planning ahead, for the "after".

"You know, I'm not the one always starting shit." Rhiannon was grinning, eyes wide and giddy.
"Yes you are," Priss retorted flatly.
Rhiannon seemed to be dancing in front of the broken chair, shifting from foot to foot, nimbly avoiding the shards of glass, leaning her face right up to Priss, wanting her to strike out, "Think about it."
Priss seemed ready to give in, putting her hand on Rhie's face. She could feel the girl's face tense in anticipation. Instead Priss gently shoved her back.
"Remember Charlie?"
Priss stared down at her, as she rushed back into position, wanting to be struck again.
"Little Chuckie Locke. Charlie Lockey. Charlie Prissy Pants. Is that where you took your name from?"
"What are you doing? It's like you want me to just, fucking… beat you down." Priss felt a sudden rise of anger.
"Did Charlie Prissy Pants want to strike out? Take that word back? What kind of a name is 'Priss' anyway? That's the only thing I can make of it."
Priss exhaled and shook her head. "That doesn't get me angry anymore."
"You're easy, Prissy. That's been your biggest problem." Rhiannon didn't let up, though she'd given up hope of getting her sister to hit her, "Remember when you almost broke my jaw? I'd barely gotten out a word and you already knew."
"I thought you did it to hurt me. I didn't realize until later that's the only way you know how to express yourself safely."
"Nuh uh," Rhiannon said with a smile, unflinching and unwavering.
"Our childhood sucked and you had to be strong for us both, and that meant becoming hard. You became a bully as a preemptive measure."
Rhiannon didn't stop. "Can you still get hard down there, Prissy pants?" Her pale cheeks flushed even before she'd finished. She had gone too far again, and hurt her sister again.
"I have to leave, Rhie."
Rhiannon kept bouncing from foot to foot. "No you don't. Stay here with me. Work doesn't need you."
Priss was already at the door. Rhiannon rushed over to hug her before she could go.
"See you tonight." Priss half-heartedly returned the hug, then drifted away.
"Bye, Charlie."

She couldn't remember when that particular moment happened. She remembered every word, every bounce from foot to foot Rhiannon had took, and every awkward second that trailed Rhiannon's clumsy comeback. She hadn't even realized what Rhie had meant until after she was out the door. And then she'd staggered down the steps, snorting with laughter. The look on her face afterwards had left her confused, but the more she replayed the encounter, the more Priss realized Rhiannon felt genuinely hurt by what she'd said. And now Priss felt genuinely hurt that she hadn't brought it up again. The more she replayed it, the more she felt convinced that Rhiannon was fixated on it as well, reliving it and reliving the moment of cold shock as she lashed out at her sister with an ugly transphobic joke, an unexpected slip after having teased and toyed with her for years joking about the hormones.
Priss looked up and realized no time had passed. The news was still on the China story, and it frustrated her. She occasionally felt a need to convince herself she wasn't a racist like everyone else; she felt sympathy for people regardless of where they were and who they were. The problem was just… distance. She wanted to hear about some horrible calamity happening in Miami, where she could at least step out the door and offer some help, to pretend to be able to do something about it. A bio-weapon holocaust happening six thousand miles away on the complete other side of the world might as well be happening six thousand years in the past.
"Then consider yourself a fuckin' time traveler," Rhiannon snarled, slumping against the armrest.
Priss looked over and saw no one. After a few seconds she began to wonder if she had even heard that or thought it out loud. She groaned and got up off the couch, turned on her phone, hoping it was the start of some mental illness. She felt lucky to be in a line of work where a freak incident like that being the result of burgeoning schizophrenia was the best case scenario.

Jaime Marlowe wasn't let in to the big meetings, when the work of the Foundation started to spill out into the real world. 'Real world,' she thought, face blank, as if we somehow aren't real.
The difference now was that it was her project that had spilled out into the real world. Now she was the inept research head who would be the subject of notations and addenda, rather than the author of them.
"She's just average," Dr. C had said, not realizing she could hear him through the no-longer-white drywall of that sad little office years ago. "Painfully, painfully, painfully, painfully average."
She remembered it exactly. The exact tone and inflection. The exact number of times he'd used the word "painfully". It should have been a moment to test her, for her to face down the criticism and rise above it. Instead she'd gone on being average. Someone who had inexplicable outbursts not severe enough to be detrimental to their career, while putting out reports not interesting enough and research not intense enough to merit much more than average. The only thing resembling a spark of interest when people looked over her work was the novelty of her being a woman.
The door to the board room opened and Dr. Kohn stepped out, breathing in the cooler air out in the hall, and glancing sidelong at Marlowe, slumped against the wall mid-way between a crouch and a curled up ball.
"You want to add anything to them?"
She frowned, "I want to know what was discussed."
He shook his head, and leaned against the door, just as it opened again, nudging him aside for someone in a suit to slip out and walk purposefully down the hall. Kohn looked back down at her, "Mostly beyond your security clearance, but that's all going to be temporary. I can fill you in on the majors, so long as you keep it quiet for a day or two."
"Is there another Anabasis?"
"We still don't know. The Qing have no idea, and they've been surprisingly open with us in the past few days since it started. Some elements seem to think the Jinyiwei know about an Anabasis-type thing, but the Jinyiwei have pretty much opened up their entire office to us. It's a lot worse than we think."
"Where do we fit in?"
"We have the only other specimen of this bacteria. Here, in this building. This is us. As far as the Qing are concerned, this is us."
Marlowe grunted softly, sliding her butt up against the wall to get back up to her feet. "But you said the Jinny-way- Jinyi… They're giving us all their documents and stuff, right?"
"The Jinyiwei don't believe we were responsible for the bomb, or whatever it was spread the bacteria. The fact that they do is what makes some of the Emperor's court think that they're hiding an Anabasis of their own."
"This is all Locke's fault. Somehow. How did they even tie the bacteria with our experiments?"
Kohn stepped back from the door as it opened again, letting another well-dressed individual out with a terse expression and stiff gait. "Spies? No one knows. Maybe they're just bluffing. Maybe they just heard about the Anabasis leak, put two and two together, and decided we were pissing them off the most."
"Why us? What do they know about the Foundation's work?"
"That's why you weren't in the meeting."

Priscilla Locke intentionally kept herself oblivious as to how everyone in the neighborhood was responding. Her usual walk to and from the school had been uneventful up until Key Biscayne. Then people started to freak out more easily, and more often around her, it seemed.
A girl was smiling at her as she exited the school, 6:30 in the afternoon, long past the end of classes and past the point where aftercare would have kept her. She was wearing a pale blue jacket too big for her. Locke recognized it as Rhiannon's. She was probably giving away everything she had, again.
"Did you hear?" The girl yelled to her as she walked swiftly past.
Locke turned to her, walking backwards. "I don't care." She said simply, then went back on her way.
An elderly man looked at her as she crossed the street over to him. He had a hand on his belt, the thumb idly rubbing along the rim betraying the slightest bit of frail white skin beside a leather strap that could only be a holster. She didn't see anything else, and kept away from him. As she passed, he gave an unusually giddy chuckle.
A block further on, a tall, muscular black man stepped out in front of her. He was bare-chested, tattooed, hair in short dreadlocks, glaring down at her.
"You scared of me, white girl? You afraid?"
She sighed and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. She should have been afraid; her entire upbringing in this society had taught her to fear him. He was almost unreal, a figure come to life from a WestCiv pamphlet. Somehow, that put her at ease. "No. What do you want?"
He cocked his head slightly, taking a step back and holding his hands out at his sides, "I want to be saved. You think I don't know? Ain't enough room for all of us. It's gonna be a sick, shameful display when it comes."
Priss pressed her lips tightly and sighed, exasperated at being held up by someone who probably knew who she was, probably associated with her cult leader sister, and had been sent by her to harass her on her way home. She sighed and furrowed her brow at him, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's fine. Just remember when it comes."
"Who the fuck even are you? Did my sister send you to harass me? What are you all planning to do?"
"Who's your sister?"
"Rhiannon Locke."
The man lowered his arms, and looked down at his feet. He shook his head and glanced back up at her, "Naw. Never heard of her." He smiled at her, and stepped aside, holding a hand up, "Take care of yourself. You the only one who can, now."
She wanted to keep engaging him. She recognized his style; the way he spoke and the way he moved. He was lying about not knowing Rhiannon Locke. She wanted to explode, rage at him, demand to see her sister, demand that she stop, demand that everyone just stop and behave. Just be normal.
Much more than that, she wanted to go home. So she left and continued on.

The veil of secrecy behind the meeting Jaime Marlowe wasn't allowed in lasted four full days. Then she was brought in to the conference room. Eight people sat around two instructors' desks pushed together, with a slightly shorter table behind it with an overhead projector displaying on a nearby whiteboard. She recognized two of the people in the room, Dr. Kohn and Dr. Alton. The others all had the look of administrators about them. She sat behind the projector and to the left, until Kohn motioned for her to sit closer, across from him.
"You know why you're here."
"Yes," Marlowe said flatly, unsure what else to say.
"The bacteria is moving south and east. Australia is most likely the next significant target. The Qing aren't doing anything about it; they remain convinced we were somehow involved, and that the Jinyiwei are holding back on an Anabasis of their own."
"This means," said one of the other people at the table, a tall, overweight man with a close cropped beard, "If the Jinyiwei are legit and they don't have an Anabasis, and more people die, the Qing will drop them. And right now, they're the only thing linking us to the court."
"This is politics," Marlowe said, blinking at them. When they didn't react, she went on, "We don't deal in… the research staff here doesn't deal in politics."
"How blessed you've been," one of the other men said, slouching in his seat and not quite looking at Marlowe. "To be so coddled and sheltered from reality that politics is a distant sideshow you can just avoid when it's unpleasant to you, and not your every day life."
The others looked uncomfortable, but no one said anything. Marlowe furrowed her brow and reclined back in her seat a bit. "What do we do?"
"Right now, everything is very uneasy, so we don't want to start a panic with any drastic action right away," Kohn responded, hands uncomfortably moving between his lap and the table, with nothing to occupy them. "For now, just stay on top of events as much as possible. Start clearing out used rooms and lock down the bacteria samples tightly. No one should in the same room with them without you present. Also, Locke."
She didn't move, but felt what ever force was keeping her calm and steady give way under a rush of pure exhaustion. Everything always seemed to be tied to Locke. It didn't matter that it was illogical to blame her; Marlowe blamed her.
"MDPD have a warrant for Rhiannon Locke's arrest, and they're definitely going to look into questioning Agent Locke. For the time being, we're letting them question her under our supervision, but we need her in order to get ahold of Rhiannon Locke. Normally it'd be easier to let the police do their thing before we come in, but the amount of coverage this is liable to get would only make it harder for us."
"So… Stalk Locke and take her sister into custody, if practicable?"
Kohn looked as if he was going to elaborate, shrugging slightly and sighing as he again moved his fingers along the surface of the table, leaving them in his lap. "Yes."

The walls of the conference room were thin enough that Locke could hear every word of their conversation, sitting up against the opposing wall outside in the hall. By now they'd moved on from her, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She wished she could tell her sister… something. She didn't want to be held responsible for her being taken in by the Foundation. But she also didn't want to help her escape justice.
All Locke wanted to do was sit comfortably on the floor.

The bacteria were traumatized by the results of their efforts. The living were not quite living. The more the bacteria tried to fix them, the more the living fought them. The air was too fat, and getting fatter the more the bacteria drifted. Hot air was pushing them one way, and the bacteria, terrified by the increasing heat, pushed back the other way.
More of the bacteria joined them, and in the confusion, the flood began to break apart. Some were too frightened to move, and let the fat air push them where it was hotter. A few forced themselves on across the endless ocean, left to wonder what to do next.

Priss had been home for four hours now, and hadn't moved from the couch. She'd set her laptop down beside her and turned it on, but hadn't even looked at it the entire time. Her eyes were slowly dragged to the screen, where her instant messenger window was open. All her lethargy faded as she saw Rhiannon was online. She took the laptop and messaged her.

(01:22:15) P_Locke: Hey.

She waited, then stiffened as the window showed she was typing something. After a long moment, nothing came.

(01:23:01) P_Locke: I know you're there, I saw you about to type something

This time she got a response. She knew immediately it was her sister.

(01:23:55) subhuman-mongrel: u try to see. u pride yorself on your perception. but you cant claim blindness any longer

Priss squeezed her eyes and grunted softly. She started to wonder if it even was her sister. Of course, it was Rhiannon Locke behind the other screen, but whoever was behind Rhiannon Locke seemed not to know themselves.

(01:25:00) P_Locke: You can't drop the "charismatic cult leader" act for your own sister, even?
(01:25:11) subhuman-mongrel: what act?

Priss scoffed, and started to type more angrily, well aware the Foundation might be monitoring, and no longer caring.

(01:26:40) P_Locke: Rhiannon, this is different from Key Biscayne, -I- might get in trouble.
(01:27:02) subhuman-mongrel: you think i didn't forsee this and plan accordingly?
(01:28:11) P_Locke: I know you don't give a shit, but think about me— you get yourself proscribed, the Foundation will start asking me questions and trying to use me to get to you
(01:30:05) subhuman-mongrel: theyre coming to get meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!111eleventyone11!! Ho ho hoooooo! Men In Black with their amnesty memory erasers- who am i? ur who we say u are now

Priss winced, feeling her throat tighten. It was like a caricature of her sister, all wackiness and no substance. She was starting to regret even trying.

(01:33:12) P_Locke: I said they'd come after ME. They're not like you think, not like the feds, but if they know what I told you, I won't be able to contact you for a while.

Minutes passed, and Priss grit angrily on the inside of her lower lip. Not even a series of ellipses indicating Rhiannon was typing something.

(01:37:01) P_Locke: Are you listening to me you prick?

More time passed. Priss slumped back against the couch, staring emptily.

(01:40:26) subhuman-mongrel: speekin of which, how'r the hormones treating you, Prissy?

Priss flashed back again to that encounter, the one she couldn't pinpoint in time, but could remember every little detail in full. Can you still get hard down there, Prissy pants? Priss smiled, tears starting to well in her eyes. She hadn't ever gone over it with her afterwards. It still wracked her with guilt. Rhiannon hadn't made another penis-related quip until now, and she knew her too well to suspect she was being deliberately hurtful.

(01:41:00) P_Locke: I hate you
(01:41:17) subhuman-mongrel: <3<3<3
(01:41:22) subhuman-mongrel: ok fine
(01:41:25) subhuman-mongrel: srs talk
(01:42:00) subhuman-mongrel: I'm keepin it quiet. happy?

It was too late for that, Priss thought. Anabasis was public now, even if hardly anyone knew anything other than the word itself.

(01:42:14) P_Locke: That's not enough
(01:42:33) subhuman-mongrel: no amnesty drugs, baby sister. I know wut I know and I know I ain't gonna un-know what I know
(01:43:07) P_Locke: What do you know?
(01:45:50) subhuman-mongrel: I know that a small child was at Key Biscayne. she couldn't have been older than 4 or 5. the west civvies had guns on her because she wouldn't stop followin momma cuffed and chained up. the mongrels were foamin', and some dirty white boy with a cleanshaven face—a SIN in the eyes of GOD —wasn't ready to be in the shit. TRIGGER DISCIPLINE dont they teach that in th army?
(01:46:13) P_Locke: They were West-Civ local militia, not the army. And your cult drew first blood.
(01:48:44) subhuman-mongrel: the dirty white boys didnt even wait for her body to drop before they started to open fire on the rest of the mongrels. they didn't even bother to stop when their magazine subscriptions ran low. Did u honestly think the mongrels would squeal and say uncle? Remember when u taught me how to make a molotov, you dirty jeckel?

Priss groaned. Rhiannon surely knew the Foundation would be monitoring her by now. She was intentionally trying to provoke them.

(01:49:14) P_Locke: You shouldn't have said that just now.
(01:49:59) subhuman-mongrel: No free speech for the race traitor? freedom is only free for the WHITE MAN. you shoulda stuck with them, Prissy, theyd keep you as one of their own. Instead u choose to be a "phony". You know the laawwwwww Prissy; nothing stops them from killin you. Everyone knows you're a fake.
(01:51:48) P_Locke: I told you already, the Foundation isn't like that. And you haven't answered me.
(01:52:10) subhuman-mongrel: Anna Basset?
(01:52:15) P_Locke: Yes.
(01:55:11) subhuman-mongrel: I know Anal Bassist is apposed to go up. UP. UP in space. Up in time. I know Anal Bassist is a fffffffffraud. u oughtn't have shown me those pics, Prissy

Now Priss began to panic. She hadn't even realized it when she did it. She gave her digital camera to Rhiannon, and it had all the pictures she'd taken, from its discovery through its first few experiments. She hadn't even said anything when Rhiannon borrowed it a second time. If Rhiannon had seen those pictures, and the Foundation questioned her, Priscilla Locke was flat out fucked.
She decided to ignore it, try to draw attention away from the statement.

(01:56:20) P_Locke: What do you mean a fraud?
(01:57:10) subhuman-mongrel: You know. U no. Ewe neaux.
(01:57:44) P_Locke: Assume that I don't.
(01:58:07) subhuman-mongrel: u want on record just how badly u fucked up
(01:58:15) subhuman-mongrel: fine

Then Rhiannon sent pictures. Multiple pictures. All of them from the digital camera, which meant she had not only seen them, but uploaded them to her own computer and kept them. Priss sobbed and pressed her trembling fingers down on the spacebar, not letting up until the CPU started beeping obnoxiously. She was absolutely fucked. The only thing she could do was try to contain it.

(01:59:40) subhuman-mongrel: I saw those pics and I read those experiments. Uou saw the numbers. 1, 2, 5, 7, 80, 6200. killo-meters, you said. Killo-meters, you believed. Am I wrong?
(02:00:03) P_Locke: It is. The tests showed that.
(02:01:32) subhuman-mongrel: test 1 encompassed a third of the room. test 2 encompassed the whole room. I kno Killy-meeders ain't as big as imperial Miles, but that's not even fuckin close, do u see?
(02:02:02) P_Locke: What
(02:04:11) subhuman-mongrel: Oh no, little girly, was that pterodacted and sponged? I kno the men in black love X-sponging the truth. Have u so badly failed math, baby girl?

Priss clenched her jaw, well aware that there was no containing this. The staff had discussed using Anabasis as a worst case scenario; evacuating as many people as possible to another universe or dimension, whichever one was most habitable for them. The range of the device was supposed to be massive, up to six thousand two hundred square kilometers, enough to save millions.
It was obvious in the experiments that wasn't the case. They'd chalked it up to damage to the device, or interference from some source or another. That was still the consensus among the research staff; find a means to repair or resupply Anabasis with power, and get it to reach 6,200 kilometers.
What they didn't know was there was nothing wrong with Anabasis. The numbers on the knobs, if they had ever meant something, were meaningless now. Anabasis's maximum reach fell just short of the school faculty parking lot.

(02:05:32) P_Locke: No
(02:06:00) subhuman-mongrel: then you are just as guilty. Speak your crime, Prissy. confess your sin

This act was exhausting her. She pounded away at the keys, more frustrated than angry.

(02:07:41) P_Locke: You act like we did it intentionally. It's not ours, Rhie—we found it like that, and we can't just "fix it" like a fucking cable box. this is above and beyond anything we can understand. We can't afford to lose it now.
(02:08:50) subhuman-mongrel: Fly, little birds, fly away. Leave us to ur mess, cowards
(02:10:10) P_Locke: You expect us to just tell everyone? "Sorry, if you don't live here, you're fucked"?
(02:11:30) subhuman-mongrel: They would eat you by your own light
(02:12:02) subhuman-mongrel: But who cares. youll be safe, the Omg 5ives will be safe, every man in black who matters will be safe.
(02:13:40) subhuman-mongrel: how many Anabasioi are there, Prissy?

That caught her rather unexpected, but she responded quickly and confidently.

(02:14:00) P_Locke: One
(02:14:43) subhuman-mongrel: You're lying to me Prissy and if you lie to me I will block you and then you will be forced to pick up the fucking phone and actually talk to me.
(02:15:02) subhuman-mongrel: How Many Anabasis machines are there in your custody, in the world, Priscilla Locke?

How much did she know? Did she have eyes and ears in the school? Was she still lingering around, questioning personnel? Maybe some of the kids were overhearing snippets from that godawful conference room with its paper-thin walls and reporting it around, not fully understanding what they were hearing.
Or maybe Rhiannon herself knew about others, and was testing her. Priscilla had no way of knowing either way.

(02:16:10) P_Locke: One

She recognized right away what happened; Rhiannon blocked her. She tried to type in more, but the messenger wouldn't allow it. Priss just knew that was the last thing she would ever say to her sister. She just knew Rhiannon would never be picked up if she didn't want to.
She sighed and sat back on the couch, suddenly keenly aware of what the man on the street had cryptically said to her.
Take care of yourself. You the only one who can, now.

« The Frail | Fear, Guilt, Anxiety | Lights in the Sky »
Anabasis Hub


Life without a name
Perhaps you should be its friend
Life returns to death

Afloat in a lake
Monsters come in from the fog
So it floats in peace

Black White Yellow Red
The Hanged King above it all
Black White Yellow Red

Hate sealed in acid
Kill it as soon as we can
We are disgusting

All things are unclean
Pure water washes away
The world that we know

Visions of five sides,
Coven of mushroom eaters.
Can you trust your past?

Weapon of Vishnu
Chimpanzee in a trench coat
Gift from Lord Shiva

The room smells like shit
A neck snaps where no-one sees
Rain at Site-19

When a toilet says
Believe me, I've seen some shit
You should lock it up

Keep it a legend.
The burned one soars overhead.
What's your sacrifice?

Portrait of a man
We all die cold and alone
Forever in paint

A cold and grey death
Don't look too long or we'll see
A portrait of you

A city in song
The one that never belonged
We can help her heal

I'll speak not of it
Some forest; names are not safe
This is just karma

In the storm, she digs
Mother's love lasts forever
Now, then, we can rest

Lavender and death.
Does this doctor know what's best?
Were you ever well?

Friends from childhood
It's a small world after all
Careful what you read

A world of green dreams
You can expect a fair deal
Come back anytime

Two halves of the same
Look at all the friends I've made
Purpose forsaken

The primeval king
strikes a bargain for mankind
'till the black moon howls.

The first of many
Florida saves all the Earth
While he walks through walls

He played Elrond, right?
Why is he playing Kane's sled?
I want a refund!

To create greatness,
An artist must suffer well.
Gladly I endure.

This here is horse shit
And I can't stop eating it
Happy notdeath day

Once in a blue moon,
The world is in agreement.
The blue moon screeches

All life becomes death.
Green flourishes a farewell,
And then it doesn't.

I don't remember
what I was writing about
so I guess I'll stop

I'll do this later


You can call yourself a joke

 but that doesn't make you funny.

 Do you know what you are?

Buck sat in front of the sheet of paper. The room he was in, incredibly humid. The chair squeaked whenever he moved. The desk was X grade plywood, with coffee stains all over it. The floor was the shittiest shag carpet he could ever imagine, and the walls were nothing more than drywall, and a single lightbulb hung without even a lampshade, illuminating the room.
The page had only three lines of English on it. A shitty joke about airline food, a cardboard box, an airplane bathroom sink, and three pounds of powdered milk.
SCP-3369.
Ehh, what's up, doc? Mister Joke at your service. Can I getcha anything? Water? A laugh?

No, thank you. I'm here to give you something, actually.

Aww, thanks! You're a peach. What've ya got for me?

I'm here to give you a punchline.

Punchline? The only punch line I know of is the spiked kind! For real, though, what do ya mean, Mr. Foghorn?

I mean I'm going to kill you.

Heh. You ever think about taking up comedy? You wanna kill me? You're beating a dead horse. Nobody gives a care about me, friend, 'cept you, I guess, and some nobodies in the slammer.

I know that. But I still want to kill you.

W-why are you so intent on this, bud?

It's because I know exactly what you are.

 You're a joke nobody cares about. You're a joke that's afraid of dying.

 You're a fucking loser who has to resort to injecting themselves into the minds of other people to
 stay relevant. A fucking hack who can't stand under their own weight, who punches their own
 footholds out to climb.

 You're so afraid of being passed by but you only have one option to keep your head above
 the water.

 You reach relevance through violence.

Oooh, fancy formattin', huh? Lemme give it a try.

There once was a joke from a hack

 which comedy from was in lack

 so it cram'd it self in

 to a brain hence wherein

 it unfairly came under attack.

How was that?

Time to die.
"The millstones of Heaven grind exceedingly fine; but the Red Right Hand of our Lord doth break our skulls upon the rock."

Simple memetic kill agent for a simple memetic kill. PHYSICS division had immunized Buck, so it didn't leave as much as a scratch on his psyche.
But it's unpleasant to experience the death of a thoughtform in your head, and none of the training they make you go through, no natural resilience, can really prepare you for that.
What the $#@& did you do to me?
Buck smashed his head on the desk, breaking and bringing a chunk of the plywood with it, before kicking out and punching the back of his chair right into the drywall.
what the $#@&?
He rolled out of his chair and tried bashing his head against the thick carpet to no effect before he started punching himself in the face with one wing while he fended it off with the other.
No, no, no no no
He reached for his pistol-
But he expected that. Empty holster. He woozily got back up before he stepped halfway onto the table, grabbing the light and yanking on it, the cable snapping free easily. Fuck. He backed against the wall, and the bulb was broken against the wall before being brought up to his throat, his other arm struggling to keep it at distance.
And it faded…
and it faded…
and Buck was in control again.
He tossed the once-light away into the shag before sliding down the drywall into the soft embrace of carpet, falling on his side the way down.
He stayed there a while.
Fucking worthless.

This was written for the SCP Original Character Tournament. Make sure to readAleph-Null's entry for round one, A god, a joke, and some ducks.

The ACT
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