A thousand voices sighed.
The flight had gone well. A yellow taxi lost in a sea of motorized machines sputtered its way down crowded streets, late at night. India, Delhi especially, was a place that never quite seemed to sleep in a literal sense of the word — when the normal buskers and street merchants would sleep, and like some capitalistic hydra, two more would come to take their place. Granted, they tended to veer less on selling lassi, cotton candy, and toys, and preferred more illicit wares — bongs, cannabis, hookahs. Alas, who could blame them? A living was a living, if it didn't hurt anyone.
Still, the world outside the windowpane was a foreign one to Jaideep. Certainly, he was home. That much was apparent to him. But it was undeniable this was a place he wasn't, well, all that experienced in. And that was a bit terrifying to him. The smell of rank pollution hanging low in the air, even emanating from the seat cushions. The fact that bathing seemed to be a second concern to people here, sometimes. The nearly hour-long wait he and the driver and to sit through while waiting for a cow to lift its grass-devouring ass off the road. All of it was… a lot.
It was stressful, to say the least. And Jaideep's mind picked up on it. That is, to say, the snake did.

Yeah, I wonder how you guessed, huh, Naga?

Stop being such a pissant, petulant child. Accept some responsibility within your current situation, and grow up.

You're one to talk, living in my head rent-free.

I prefer it to be referred to as returning a favor.

Uh huh. That reminds me. You know… y'think I'll be alright?

Regrettably, yes. You'll survive. Just don't let this driver overcharge you.

Taking the snake's advice, and running the numbers in his head, Jaideep thumbed his wad of cash, quickly forking over a few dollars (seeing as he'd forgotten to convert currency at the airport) to the thankful driver. He couldn't quite be sure if the man had overcharged him or not, in truth — who knows how much taxi rates were, anyways, without the little card on the back of the seat that people in Brooklyn typically have. But hey, he was here. Or at least, as close as he could be — the taxi refused to go further due to the cramped condition of the streets ahead.
Yet as Jaideep exited the taxi, he felt as if he was stepping into a new, fresh hell. Dear gods, his feet were on the ground and he certainly did not expect India to be this way. Perhaps his perception was a bit skewed.
When he was little, he always admired the heroes of the screen. The movies his cousins showed him, where they spoke his language, looked like him, were the ones he secretly enjoyed the most. The over-the-top action, the way everything always seemed to stay… better. Or improve. It never quite got worse. Jaideep wished his life, even then, was more like a movie, and he could be like Shah Rukh Khan. Maybe then he could be a little better for his family.
Bollywood movies are an idealistic view of the world at large. The plot points are largely recycled — hitting the same beats of "boy meets girl, girl does not like boy, boy does crazy thing, boy rescues girl, dance sequence, happy romantic ending" without fail. That, or it happens to be a gritty action flick or thriller with shirtless scenes abounding in such quantity, enough to make even a professional model faint. The colorful existence of this film-world, where no one seemed to be depressed, everything resolved itself if you just… expressed your feelings, and fights could be wrapped up with no more than a fake punch, kick, and grunts a few inches in front of someone's face had rubbed off on Jaideep — it was quite obviously fictional, but the depths of that fiction he had yet to determine consciously.
And those depths ran as bottomless and gaping as Challenger Deep. What he saw there was nothing except pain. Lepers, the starving, sick, poor. Everywhere. There was no dancing, no songs, no happiness. Everything had been stripped away like rabid dogs on a carcass; an image he saw far too frequently there, on most street corners, in alleyways, in ramshackle houses that should have fallen long, long ago. The movies lied to him, like they normally would. Why did he expect anything different?

The elderly man always took his daily promenade and intelligence gathering session at the crack of dawn. It was a rare lull in the hustle and bustle of city life, and he found it also hid him quite well. Despite his age — the man was well past one hundred — he appeared about as young and as spry as someone much less than that. But, if one looked closely, it was easy for his body to betray his true marker of how long he'd existed for.
Not his spine, no. He carried himself with a sense of false importance for that. Not his face, no. Wrinkles were long filled in with some ethereal wisdom. And no, definitely not his joints. The man hardly needed a cane, and had in fact, just run a marathon last month. Then proceeded to vomit violently. Then proceeded to devour a variety of incredibly unhealthy foods after. Despite irredeemable coping mechanisms, the man's body was new.
No, the man's weariness could be easily located if one took even a passing glance at his eyes. They were the sorts of things you'd expect to see on clouds during a rainstorm — gray, sullen, and long, long dead. Hardly a spark carried between them anymore, and the man's view both physically and emotionally had since evaporated to an overcast feeling of numbness.
Taking the same stroll, same path, same beat every day, was supposed to insert a feeling of mindfulness and relaxation to his day - wherein he would hardly give it much of a second thought where he was going, and simply tune out and let his surroundings imprint on his mind. Regrettably, it did the opposite. As the man's brain was allowed to wander, it tended to display some rather self-destructive tendencies.
Nothing more than memories, you see, were what it brought up. Trudged from shallow pools that he never enjoyed digging into, but that his mind always seemed to dive in. Why they brought up what they brought up — he wasn't quite sure. But without fail, it was the same. Always. So he chalked himself up to be a bit of a masochist.
They always started the same. A fleeting feeling of a life once lived, of grief that had never quite gone away. Of time long spent in a strange sense of numbness. He did not want to die. But he did not want to live. He couldn't have the life he wanted. Yet he couldn't bear the life he had found himself stuck with. He'd forgotten what it meant to accept the existence of a future a long time ago. Not without her.
People say that time heals all wounds. It is a universal saying — so the man had heard it in Telugu, in Tamil, in Hindi, in Punjabi, in Urdu, but it never quite helped. It did the opposite, really. Time was but a collection of passing moments that seemed to leave him behind. It simply gave him experience. The ability to feel nothing at any sense of anything, as its barometer ticked in both seconds and eternities, was something he had gained proficiency in. It was years ago that he had gone through with the cremation — yet it still felt like yesterday.
And routine drilled it into his mind. He missed something he could not have. He missed the depth of trust, the feeling of understanding and lightheadedness she gave him. And he had the same thoughts. He grieved. The man grieved. It was all he could do. But it always got worse. There was no way out from its snowballing path.
He never enjoyed looking at who he failed to recognize in the mirror these days.
Saying hello to those he was used to with a false composure and slight smile, but the same weary eyes, was routine. Understanding these things took time, but he was a bloody idiot for taking this long was routine. Losing things he enjoyed — music, plant caretaking, stargazing, all because it lay bare a stark reminder — was routine. Wallowing was unhealthy. He would likely be called sensitive in the times of his childhood but had long grown out of caring what people think, save for himself. Ever since the war, he had cared quite a bit about that.
But this, this walk felt a little different to the man. His living had never quite felt like living, not for decades. Yet a strange sense of vigor snaked its way between his veins, and as the man passed by some, an astute eye could likely notice the tired, the sick, the poor left in his wake having their wrinkles filled in, their spines straightened, their eyesight sharpened. The man looked up at the sky, and his lips cracked into a soft smile, forcing lines long drawn in his skin by the attacks of old age and grief into a steady retreat. He imagined that he saw someone dancing in the clouds, to the tune of a taus.
"It's a beautiful day, love."

A crumpled form was tossed out of a bar at morning, straight into a faceful of dirt and shit. Poetically fitting, Jaideep thought, as he tried to rearrange his neurons to the point where they could probably think. Probably. It was, well, rather annoying to have turned here in his first night back, but his hotel was little more than a glorified inn. 5 stars, his ass, but at least the turbaned owner was kind enough to accept little more than 50 bucks a week, plus the amenities weren't too bad. He couldn't really complain either — he'd come here and booked it of his own volition, so he really had no one but himself to blame.
He was, in all actuality, just thankful to be rid of his home. This was probably the farthest he could get while still remaining comfortable, be it through the time differences, how crowded everything was, or how he practically knew no one here, Jaideep was perfectly fine with not getting into trouble. He seemed to be too good at that, and relegating himself to bars and dives felt correct, in some strange ethical or moral justification of the sort. He was scum of the earth, and that's what he'd known since he was in his teens. It was only fitting.
Yet the snake still felt like conversing.

Get up. You are going to make a scene.

Just… shut up.

You know you can't do this.

I don't fucking deserve shit.

Stop feeling things you know are incorrect.

They are, Naga.

You did what you felt was ri—

And it still left me like this.

It will fix itself eventually.

Seriously? How long have you been up there, listening in to every little thing I tell you? That shit is fucking cheap, Naga. Shit just gets progressively worse, my friend.

You're a glorified hobo. How much worse can it get?

I don't know. But it can. It always has. Please just leave me be.

You can't do this alone.

I have and I will.

You know you can't.

It— it doesn't matter anymore, does it? I got angry. I got angry at them, and I should've just been nicer, and talked, because they raised me, and that's one of many, many things I seem to turn to disgusting piles of shit—

Everyone makes mistakes.

Then tell me when I've stopped making them. When I don't. Because it all feels like one. I don't. Think I can do this. Like, keep holding out hope, y'know?

I know you're not going to do anything. I know that.

You're right, Naga, I'm not. But I just feel so fucking lost.

Just keep fucking going then, you magnificent bastard. Stop leaving from everywhere you go. You are but two, two decades old with change. You have quite the time ahead of you. Stop this.

Look, maybe I just want to do this so I can just disappear.

That'll never happen. Never completely, anyways.

I just want to stop feeling like something that wasn't meant to be here.

I know. I know you do.

I want to stop just… dissociating to post-rock while laying on the floor.

Then get up.

Fine.
And he got up. Dusted himself off, and looked about, with a contorted look of pain on his face. That faceplant would certainly sting. But it wasn't the first, and something in Jaideep told him it wouldn't be the last. He looked out at the street, listening to the quiet chirp of the parrots and crickets, and at the streetlights beginning to shut off, exchanging their place for lights within the homes of those starting their work day, and looked for something he didn't quite know the identity of.
If he had waited just a minute longer, and looked at the street, for the split second before the final light shut off, he would have seen a not-so-elderly man telling something about him. But he did not wait.
A sort of thread connected the old man and Jaideep, though, one the old man could smell, and was quite surprised to find. So he followed him.
But something else took interest in the both of them. That… thing didn't quite have legs. So it watched through the eyes of crows and pigeons, forcing them to move in ways that they had never quite felt, as if a siphon had been hooked up to their bloodstream. If both the old man and Jaideep had looked behind them, differentiating the soft pitter-patter of their footsteps against cobblestone, they would have heard the gentle thump of corpses hitting the ground, and seen a vast, spread-out trail of avian death in a perfectly straight line behind them both.

"Hey! Hey! Wait up!" The elderly man called after Jaideep, waving his arms frantically, running with a haste he hardly realized he still had in him. Well - had is a strong word there. "Slow down, you idiot kid, and wait up!"
Jaideep turned. It's a wild, peace be upon him, a wild beggar. He didn't see him outside the bar, so where the hell did he come from? Jaideep realized with a flash — had he been trailing him? Were the poor that desperate? So Jaideep did what any sane person would do while being chased by an elderly man in somewhat disheveled clothing shouting for him to stop. He took a passing glance, and bolted.
The old man winced. Naturally, he should've expected the younger, more untrusting man to run from some random hobo chasing him all about. But hey — being sheltered with the same crowd every single day would skew the perception of what was and wasn't socially acceptable for everyone, really. When you're stuck with the other members of your "cult," though that was a strong word for it, for literal ages, you lose track of how exactly to say "Hey! Fine morning we're having. Apologies for chasing you there, you see, I was interested in the little demon that you've got inhabiting your brainspace. Could you give me a quick second for inspection? It won't take long." Though, the man did have an advantage or two up his sleeve - the alleyways in this area were fairly complex, with twists and turns unimaginable. Thankfully, the old man knew them like the back of his hand — or, er, the back of where his hands would be.
Jaideep found himself darting and dodging salesmen and shoppers alike in the open-market area they were in, frequently slapping his head against plastic bags of goods hanging from a stall. This was likely a bit disorienting, but the reason for Jaideep quickly finding himself cornered could be chalked up to his unfamiliarity of the area. "Look," he began with a start, "you want money? I don't have much, y'see, I've just gotten off of a flight, and—" The elderly man shook his head. Surprisingly enough — he spoke in nigh-perfect English.
"I just want to talk to you, my friend. What use do I have for your money?" He laughed, displaying two stubs that top his arms, like an overused pencil. "I could not even hold it, no matter how hard I try. All I wish to talk about is what, or who, rather, is on your mind."
Ok, that was rather smooth, Anand, good. The old man told himself. The fruits of his labors were borne quickly as well, as Jaideep tucked his wallet away and grinned. "Ah. That's, well, much more pleasant of a result." Though as the young man considered his words, and ran over what the old man had found interesting about him once more, he raised an eyebrow. "You know of him?"
The old man stroked his salt-and-pepper beard, or at least, attempted to do so. Despite losing his extremities some time ago, some old habits die hard. "Know of him? I… suppose you could say that. In a way. It's a bit early. You look positively famished, what with all the dirt you happened to be eating outside of that bar not giving any nutritional value. Well, there is iron, I suppose. Hm. I should test that sometime. That aside, do you have a place to stay?"
Jaideep nodded slowly. "I do, though you're right on about that hunger. I could go for a good daal-roti right now." At least they shared one thing in common. A subtle sense of humor could go a long way, and it would be nice to make a few friends in a new area.
The old man flashed him a toothy grin, something Jaideep felt he'd be getting a lot more of. "Right on, then. Your generation's new-fangled slang is always amiss, bhaiji."
"It's a beautiful day," thought no one in particular.

« SCP-5265 | IN SAFFRON SANDS | Lend Me Your Ear, Mera Veer: Coming Soon! »


"Years ago the confederates were up 'ere. Some spread rumors about how they had huge armies, tons of thousands of people. Waaaaaaay more than was actually possible. Yaknow, they say there are still some bastards up here, hidin' and waitin', just livin' up here so they can keep control of whatever let em live. Ya believe that Johnny?"
The man next to him shrugged.
"Maybe. Maybe not. What, Iulius are you afraid of some forgotten soldiers that haven't had a damn shower in 11 years?" Johnny laughed at him. "They're probably long dead yaknow? We'll likely find some rotting corpses instead of your rumored immortal soldiers. No one can survive for 11 years without a reliable source of food and water." Johnny smiled as he leaned in close to Iulius.
"Not even the damn confederates."
Some time passed as the pair made their way to a seemingly abandoned ranger station.
Johnny scoffed. "I can't believe we came all this way for this dinky little station! Is this really what all your high-and-mighty rumors are based on? Look at this thing!" He gestured wildly at it. "It looks like it never even made it through construction!"
Iulius sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I get it Johnny, you're tired of all the cool shit I tell ya about turning out like a barren tree durin' Christmas. Look, we can just go home then, and forget all about it. We've still got wood to burn in the fireplace and eating some food together beats freezin' our asses out 'ere right?"
Johnny punched him in the leg.
"Yow! That hurts! Damn Johnny, c'mon what'd I ever do to you?"
Johnny just frowned. "You're telling me, that you wheeled me all the way out here, just to go back home? We're going in now." Johnny's legs had stopped working a long time ago after he was shot in just the wrong place. His ways of transportation were by wheelchair, strapped awkwardly to a horse, or by Iulius's arms. He'd be damned if he let that stop him from getting his hands on whatever advanced technology the confeds had or didn't have.
As he stared ahead determined, Iulius couldn't help but admire him. "Johnny, if you wanna go in, I'm comin' with you."
But it was all over as soon as they entered the seemingly run-down station.
Iulius was attacked first.
Johnny followed soon after.

As Iris approached the ranger station near Sylvan Pass, she felt uneasy.
She always felt uneasy.
Ever since the Old Man had haunted her thoughts, she couldn't shake the feeling she wasn't alone. And not in a positive way.
If she was honest, she had known those yellowed, sunken, eyes had haunted her for a longer time than she had consciously realized. Known the smell of rotting flesh. Known for a long time he was lurking, lurking just outside of her horizon.
However, she no longer had time to worry about the past. She was determined to claim the things inside Yellowstone for her own benefit.
Fuck Maria.
Fuck Gears.
Fuck Lorelei.
All she needed was to get back to Tommy
Unfortunately, everything suddenly went dark as an opaque bag was fitted over her head, the dark plastic suffocating her as she tried to breathe. Any kicks and punches were negated by a swift blow to her head and a sickening crack to the back of her knees.
As her ears began ringing again, she wondered when she'd truly die.

When Iris came to, the natural beauty of Yellowstone park no longer greeted her. She was surrounded by blinding white walls.
Surrounded by blinding white lights.
Surrounded by blinding white coats.
Coats…people… Iris suddenly remembered what she had been doing before. She must've found what Gears had told her about, and someone- No, a lot of people didn't take too kindly to that. She went to stand up, only to realize she was strapped down to a gurney. A sharp pain shot up her legs as she tried to wriggle her legs out of the straps. Her head throbbed in unison and she finally became cognizant of the cooling liquid that was dripping down her face. As she swiped at some of it with her tongue, she recognized the sweet-ish, metallic taste as her blood.
How much of it had she lost?
As her eyes adjusted, the blinding white walls were actually quite grimy, and many things looked dirty and unused. She wanted to look around more, but apparently Iris had made one too many noises as a doctor approached her.
"Ah, finally awake are we? Your vitals seem to be fine, but you did lose quite a lot of blood. I keep telling those scouts to go easier on trespassers but they can't seem to avoid clobbering half of you to death." He smiled and stuck his tongue out playfully.
Iris let out an involuntary whimper as she became nauseous. Her determination had led her to here, and for what? Now she was going to die here.
Useless and unfulfilled.
"wh-" Iris sputtered, coughing violently before continuing. "What are you going to do…to me?"
The doctor smiled at her, his tongue peeking between his lips again. "Nothing much! Nothing much at all! I'm just going to prep you for interrogation and memory….adjustment. Then we'll roll back time again and put you right back where you started! Though this time," He paused, his teeth scraping against his tongue as he let it loll out of his mouth menacingly. "You won't find us again."
Iris screeched as he prepared a needle, writhing against her restraints, before stilling as he held a scalpel to her throat.
"Now, now, don't get feisty. You'll just end up like your fellow trespasser over there if you don't behave." He pouted. "And that's just no fun at all!"
Trembling, Iris turned to where his free hand was gesturing.
A semi-fresh corpse lay in a gurney a few feet away, completely dissected.
She didn't know how she hadn't smelt the sick scent of someone else's blood before now. It overwhelmed her as hot tears spilled from their ducts.
Iris began to lose hope.
"Ya see, some of you are special. So any of you who act like itty bitty children, while under my care, gets dissected all nice like. Juuuust in case we find something useful inside of you. Whether you die or not doesn't matter. We can just re-make you! So are you going to be a good girl and let me prep you?"
She frantically nodded, choking back another strangled sob.

After being injected with unidentifiable liquids and being poked and prodded with various tools, Iris was exhausted and almost missed the conversation just ahead of her. The doctor had wheeled her out in a wheelchair, insisting that she couldn't walk nor run, even if she had wanted to. She couldn't feel her legs, so she guessed he was right and didn't feel like being brutally dissected if she was wrong about it being a bluff.
"Look! 'm tellin' ya, we ain't got nothin' to do with no government! We just came up 'ere to see if any of y'all were still alive and well! We were just curious okay?"
The accented man seemed to be telling the truth and had nothing left to say. But his partner was the complete opposite.
"I don't give a shit if you have this fancy technology! I know you've got to have all your info somewhere. We're going to take it all from you! We'll be the victors!" He spat at the various staff's feet indignantly.
They were both taken back to a dark room. Probably to have their memories erased if Iris could assume anything.
It was her turn now.
She now knew the confederates had a weak point according to the angry one. She just had to find and take it before she lost all her memories.
Easy right? One thing had to be easy. Just one.
Please let it be this one.
As Iris was interrogated, she told strategic lies, except for anything related to Maria. She deserved whatever she had coming to her. But really, her mind was elsewhere. She searched discreetly for anything that looked important. Her eyes finally fell on a seemingly important folder. She was surprised to see it out in the open, but she guessed the confederates thought they had all the power with the steam-powered building that had given them success. If she could just get her hands on it, she'd win.
Iris was determined now.
She didn't come all this way for nothing.
When she was wheeled close to the folder, she groaned loudly, feigning pain and bending over, causing the doctor to stop moving her.
"My stomach…hurts! Do you… do you have any pain medications? I've been good right? Can I have some please?"
Iris's breath was shallow as she waited for him to take the bait.
He licked his lips. "I suppose you've been good enough. Though if you shit your pants, you're on your own."
She stiffly nodded and waited until he was out of view. She stretched her nimble arms towards the folder and grasped it firmly.
Finally.
One thing went right.
She tucked it underneath her outfit, knowing the multiple layers she had on would mask the added bulk.
The doctor came back with painkillers and water, which she took gratefully.
She might forget everything, but at least she had something.
Iris was going to succeed.

They had been drinking, or at least they were supposed to have been. Iris couldn't remember how exactly she had gotten here, but she wasn't in the mood to get drunk. Maria, however, was drinking like no tomorrow.
It was a miracle that Maria hadn't been kicked out of the saloon yet.
"So.. What do you need, Maria?" Iris still felt off. Like she had said this before. She looked at Maria and felt a strange form of emotionless pity. Maria would probably die from her alcoholism.
"I heard-" Maria hiccupped. "I heard stories about what the Confederates," her nose wrinkled in disgust at the word, "used to try and win the war.
Iris frowned.
"Yeah, they used cannons and.. guns, and….uh"
What else did they use?
"No, they used other shit too. Things that weren't right. Weren't natural." Maria locked Iris in her gaze.
"Anomalies." Her voice was almost a hiss.
Iris frowned. She had been keeping her unusual abilities secret for years now and Maria's drunken, but sharp gaze made her feel on edge. And strangely angry.
Maria continued as if nothing had happened.
"So, how have you been..?"
Iris looked at her for a long moment as the question lingered in the air.
The events of the past years bubbled up to the surface of her mind. Her eyes narrowed as she silently reminisced her melancholic memories of Tommy.
But then a flicker of an unfamiliar face in her mind left her confused.
"You killed my brother, Maria." The words left her mouth emptier than usual and Iris found her thoughts lingering on when she had said them before. Nevertheless, it was true. It made her skin crawl thinking about how Maria never gave a shit about anything important.
"Killed? You're… You're really blaming me?" She had the audacity to laugh. "It was his fault Iris, I didn't do shit. He walked into those soldiers himself. I never did a damn thing."
Iris went to slap her, but stopped short.
Her anger felt empty and hollow, so she resorted to dumping Maria's recent order over her head in sheer spite.
"You told him to! You led him there and left him to die." Her lip curled emptily at Maria. "You know what, I'm leaving Maria. You're the type of monster who doesn't care about anyone in the world, not even yourself. Only what fucking drink you decide to guzzle down next." Iris's breath was surprisingly calm and she was consumed with conflicting feelings.
Maria smiled, licking her cheek coyly, indifferent to her alcohol-soaked clothes.
"Now, now, settle down there, missy." She spat the last word, her teeth clacking noisily. "Now that you've had your little tantrum, I'd like you to investigate all this." Maria took out a couple of photos and held them up methodically.
Iris frowned at her behavior. "Why would I do that?"
There was something wrong. Iris was sure of it.
"You owe me one. Remember that bullet you took? Who saved your sorry ass? Hmm? Surely not dear ol' Tommy."
Iris looked down at the bar's counter, her hands gripping the edges tightly. She found it increasingly hard to be angry when something felt strange about all of this.
"Last time you told me to go investigate something, I got shot terribly. No thanks to you, and now I owe you for your mistake?"
"I coulda left you to die." Maria said bluntly, taking a long swig of a newly-ordered drink.
Iris touched her stomach instinctively, remembering the wound. As her fingers jabbed it curiously, she deduced she wasn't dreaming.
Maria slid the group of photos to her, but Iris didn't pick them up. Instead, she let her thoughts roam. Why did everything feel so….wrong?
Iris faintly felt the longing for death. But she had to live. She wanted to reunite with her brother, but she would have to wait. She glanced at Maria sourly.
"Maybe you should have."
"Well, you owe me because I didn't." Maria smiled, all too sweetly. "Forty dollars should be enough. Now, get going, Iris."
Iris was strangely content to leave.
Iris snatched the photos, without giving them so much as a glance, and stuffed them into her bag.
That's when she noticed it.
She slid off the leather barstool and put a couple of coins on the bar's counter and walked outside before taking it out.
A semi-thick folder of various papers was now snug in her grasp.
When and where had she gotten this from?
As she flipped through it, her eyes widened. The information was shocking and yet made perfect sense.
A hastily scrawled note was on the back of the folder.

Success.

Knowledge is a deadly friend if no one sets the rules; the fate of all mankind I see is in the hands of fools

Aces And Eights

The Beat Of Rain...


Iris trembled as she stepped off the train, stumbling and nearly splitting her head open on some miscellaneous railing. Just before impact, impossibly soft, kind, hands caught her and she turned to their owner with a sweet smile.
"Lor-"
The bittersweet name died on her lips, as the face before her greatly mismatched her melancholic memories.
She shoved the figure away, internally burying the wisps of her face deep within the recesses of her mind.
She didn't need them anymore.

Iris's hands were gripped tightly around the reins of her horse as she made her way to Sylvan Pass.
The journey to Chickamauga and to Yellowstone was a long and strenuous one. As her knuckles whitened against the dark leather, her mind drifted back to Georgia and the horrors she had so recently experienced. Or… rather, it wasn't that recent anymore was it? What was recent anymore? It had been more than 3 days now. She couldn't bring herself to leave immediately.
She had wanted to pay respects.

It had rained almost an hour after the explosions, death, and misery had finally settled. Smoke hung thick in the air, and despite her straining lungs, Iris couldn't manage more than a weak sputter.
How long had she been on the ground before a surviving deputy had torn her away from them? She had screamed and kicked, she wouldn't be taken away from him.
Not again.
Eventually they left her to her own devices, warded off by her manic screeching and the weak threat of a half-loaded gun. She held them to her warm body, trying to imbue any part of their cold skin with her warmth.
If they were warm, it'd be all okay.
After another timeless period, she forced herself away from them, barely accepting their resounding chill.
It was as if they'd been in a freezer.
She stunk. And perhaps she deserved it. The horrible smell, the dreadful experiences, the macabre things she'd seen.
All of it was because she broke the promise between them.
Iris began dragging the bodies. The muscles in her throat felt as if they were ablaze, and she was unable to enunciate a sob. Still, the tears streamed down her face.
She had realized Elkoan was easier to carry because of his missing flesh.
When she got to a place where the ground was soft, she returned to Elkoan's once welcoming house. When she stepped in, the atmosphere was stale and empty. It was akin to an unlit candle.
Missing the flame.
She managed to find a shovel and returned to the bodies. The soft squelching of the ground made her vomit as she remembered the noises of the Old Man chewing on flesh. When her eyes flitted to the bodies, she puked again.
She still kept digging.
Once she had dug two decent holes for the bodies, she crumpled to the ground, panting heavily. Her arms ached, her legs ached, and her lungs burned.
And yet, she stood back up and kept going.
Iris dragged them to their final destination, kissing two cold, dirt-stained, foreheads before covering them in the dug-up soil. When she was finished, she grabbed the medium-sized stones she had found in Elkoan's house, marking each grave with one. Iris pulled out a pocket knife and began tediously carving names and dates into the make-shift grave markers.

Alexander Elkoan Born 1852 - Died 07/29/76

Tommi Thompson Born 1871 - Died 07/29/76

She didn't know the little girl's real name, and she felt almost forced to inscribe the name "Tommi Thompson" into the cold rock. She didn't have any real connection to the girl, but since her parents were most likely long dead, Iris felt no guilt about insinuating the child was hers.
Perhaps the girl would be the only child she'd ever have.

Iris felt adrenaline rush through her body as she narrowly avoided crashing, pulling at her horse's reins tightly. She had fallen asleep on her horse, but was comforted by the fact that Sylvan Pass was only 30 miles away. Her journey was coming to an end. She'd find whatever it was Gears had vaguely told her about and could finally go home.
Maybe put on a warm bath, drifting away until she returned to Tommy.
She pushed the thought away, but her mind just plagued her with another discordant memory.

Her bed was warm, and smelt like sage. She laughed softly as one Ovia Lorelei told her about her younger, wilder years. She had known the woman for a long time, but had only now found herself a bit enamored with her company. Iris found herself relaxing for the first time in a long time.
It was short-lived.
"Iris, have you ever thought about getting together?" She chuckled. "I know it sounds strange, the two of us, right? But what'd you think of staying by my side for just a while longer? I sure could use a sweet face like yours to brighten up the place." Lorelei had felt the blossoming connection that had been forming between them over the years.
Her voice was thick and smooth, like honey, and every word felt like velvet to Iris's ears. But as she wrapped an arm around her, she felt ice-cold.
"Are…" She paused, swallowing uncomfortably. "Are you asking for a deeper relationship?"
Lorelei looked away from her for a minute.
"In a way, yes." She could see her face tinted with a beautiful pink tinge, but it only made her feel more distant.
"You're right. It is strange.” The words felt like glass falling out of her mouth, shattering the romantic atmosphere.
She turned away from Lorelei, slithering out of the warm grasp, her skin crawling from the contact. Lorelei looked at her confused, only now starting to feel the chillness across her bare chest.
”I know it's untraditional, but haven't you always been against the world? Maybe after all this, we could go against it together?”
"I simply can't Ovia." Only her back faced Lorelei, and despite the lingering warmth in the sheets, she had never felt more alone with someone in the same room. It as if she was on another planet, lightyears away from her.
She laughed nervously. This couldn't be happening to her. "Can't do what? If you can't stay, I get that, appearances are everything but-" Lorelei had wanted to say more, but the words died in her throat as Iris turned around.
Iris's gaze fell upon her. Or rather, it'd be more accurate to say she looked right through her. As if the idea of Lorelei even existing was wrong.
Iris's eyes glimmered with unbridled contempt.
"I can't settle down. Not even with you." The words were brittle and cheap. Like a plastic toy that broke after breaching the flimsy packaging.
Lorelei frowned, her lips curling ever so slightly. She'd never been embarrassed in her whole life as she felt now.
"Can't or won't?"
The words hung heavy in the air before Iris answered.
"Both. I can't. And I won't." She turned away from him once again.
"I don't need you, Ovia."
She continued after a moment, sounding nothing like the woman who had embraced her so warmly just moments ago and all these years. "The time with you was fun and all, but I refuse to be tied down like a wild hog."
Ovia bristled with anger. She knew that there was a risk to their relationship, and Iris had specific ambitions, but she couldn't help but feel betrayed.
The way Iris said her name clawed at her heart more than any other suitor had before.
"Get out Thompson."
And so she left.

Iris gripped the reins tighter. Lorelei was long gone now. Even if she had ever wanted to be with her long term, there was no chance of that now. Not that she had wanted to. Lorelei was- No, had been, a good person to her. But no matter how good a person may be or have been, there was never a reason to settle.
Iris belonged by herself.
Even her selfish desire to reunite with Tommy had left her alone. All her decisions had. Trusting in Maria led to Tommy's death, and besides Cain and Able, there was no other person she really knew.
She, in a sense, had always been alone.
As she finally approached Sylvan Pass, she let out a small sigh.
The worst was finally behind her.

I crawl a cracked and broken path; If we make it we can all sit back and laugh, but I fear tomorrow I'll be crying

Aces And Eights

When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well, hang on; don't let yourself go 'cause everybody cries and everybody hurts


close

Info

X

"Sun (Sister) and Moon (Champion)"
Meet cute, space edition.
More by this author!

A darkness lay against the stars, from one point of view, only visible in the void as a gap in its pinprick curtain. A being of black and reflective gold stood stark against the sun, from a different point of view, a female form with impossibly long tendrils of shimmering gossamer hair stretching out to the solar halo and beyond.
The first point of view belonged to the sun. The different point of view belonged to the very different being which now sped towards it, and its interlocutor, on a rocket trail stretching back to not-quite-infinity. The man in the space suit, if there was a man in the space suit, waved as he approached.
Perhaps the man was the space suit.
"Felicitations, foul lady," he boomed, reversing his thrust and maneuvering face-to-face with her. "It is I, myself! And also Moon Champion."
"Hello," she said. "You are upside-down."
"Am I?" He awkwardly rotated in place, kicking his legs and waving his arms. "Well, as they say, when in the south solar photosphere…"
Sunlight reflecting from his suit played across her matte black skin, and he observed her delicate features, the glowing glyphs on her body, and the fact that she was pointing at… something, with one hand.
"What's your callsign, photosnaut?" He was mostly right-side up, now.
She blinked. "What?"
"Your name, star citizen!"
"I am Sauelsuesor," she said.
"Salsa somersault to you as well!" he bellowed, turning one himself. "Someone has done a doodle on you. Did you know that?"
Her black eyes widened. "What?"
He pointed at the symbols on her torso and face. "What indeed. On the Moon, nobody ever vandalizes our nudists."
She curled into a ball, smiling shyly at him. "Then what are these?" She reached up to tap the patches on his suit, one by one, with the hand which wasn't pointing.
He clenched one glove into a fist and thumped his chest. "These are my medals. I was awarded them for bravery, and for valour, and for leaving." He pointed to a large, round, blue one. "This is my most favourite. It stands for Not A Sweeper Anymore! All my Moon Friends are sweepers, you see. Because of all the Moon dust."
"Oh."
"On the Moon."
She nodded. "Oh."
"How pulchitrudinously parsimonious. What brings such a nice what-you-are to this neck of the galactic woods?"
She stretched out gracefully into a pirouette, her hair a black vortex which spun down from kilometres to metres and back out again. "This is where I am," she said. "This is where I watch. I am the lookout."
"Look out for what?" Moon Champion theatrically scanned the starscape. "It's just our naked selves out here in the tall drink of nothing, soul sister."
"Sauelsuesor," she corrected. "Sauel-Suesor Sedira Phoibe Ōhirume-no-muchi-no-kami Galatia Nira Servus Tenebris Lucy."
"You're a multitude! No wonder you need your own accretion disk. Do you shampoo it regularly? Do you use conditioner? And what did any of that mean, I wasn't completely paying attention."
"Those are my names," she said.
"And what do they mean?"
"They mean me."
"And who are you?"
"I am the lookout. The sister of the sun."
Moon Champion stared at the brilliant light in the inky dark, and Sauelsuesor saw it reflected in the middle of what might have been his face, or might have concealed it. "Well met, brother sun!" he cried, waving. "My intentions toward your terrifyingly adorable space-sibling are approximately honourable, I assure you."
An arc of flame burst from the star's surface, curving back into the photosphere.
"You remain unassured. Probably because you are an explosion."
Sauelsuesor inclined her head, ever so slightly, and the consequences unfolded in grand scale behind her. "He doesn't know you. We don't get many visitors."
Moon Champion drew himself to his full height, and began drifting upward very slowly. "I am no visitor, m'ladything. I am a star-voyager. That's a much more impressive title. And as for you…" He stroked his ruby-red neck ring thoughtfully. "From the lengthy list of handles you so graciously supplied, I choose, completely at random you understand… Lucy."
She nodded. "Where did you come from?"
He cocked his helmet at her. "…the Moon. That's… nobody's ever been confused about that before."
"There are lots of moons," she said. "But they're all far away. Sauel has no moons, only planets, and they're also far away. You came so far. Why?"
The blank visor regarded her solemnly. "It's lonely out in space."
She leaned back; endless reams of membranous black coiled around her as she basked in the sunlight. "I am never alone."
"Yet you called out to the night, and like a streaking comet with excellent brakes I answered."
She smiled again. "I did?"
"Indeed!" He jammed both gloves against his hips and thrust his chest out proudly. "Any absence of Moon Champion cries out for adventure, and also Moon Champion, who also is adventure. Personified." He sagged back into his unusual shape. "Which is convenient."
She giggled, soundlessly. "I like you. Sauel likes you, too."
He waved at the sun. "Back at you, bright eye. Big fan of your work."
Suddenly, she straightened. She faced the far-distant blue speck which was the Moon's only natural satellite, and with a look of terrible dread raised her free hand and pointed.
He raised one hand, or one glove at least, and pointed at her. "Don't try this at home, kids, we're trained professionals."
She shook her head, with cosmic consequences. "Trouble."
"You have trouble pointing? Is that why you've been doing it this whole time, so you don't forget how?" He pointed at the sun, then pointed at the Moon. "We point at things all the time, back home. Moon-cats, Moon-rats, Moon-wretches. No Moon-dogs." He looked crestfallen, somehow. "Never any Moon-dogs." He snapped back to attention. "And I'm the Moon Champion, so you can bet your endless bangs I'm at least as good at pointing as some weird but charming space-hermit."
She shook her head again, and they were both enveloped in a matte velvet cape. "On Earth," she said. "There's trouble. Bad trouble."
He karate-chopped his visor, peering homewards and to the right. "I don't see any trouble, bad or otherwise. Are you sure you don't have sunstroke?"
"They need you," she whispered.
His jetpack flared, apparently of its own accord. "OH! Are you sending me on a quest, Ōhirume-no-muchi-no-kami?" He swam frantically back to her.
"They need you," she repeated.
"They must, because that's the first thing you've emphasized! I do it all the time, so it doesn't mean as much."
"Something bad is happening to them."
"Then Moon Champion must also happen to them." He suddenly deflated — or, his suit did. "Ah, but actually no, the hour of my triumphant return is not quite yet at hand. They still wave their fists at the stars and loudly salute Moon Champion, proclaiming his bold deeds and speeding him safely on his way. And when I grace them with my presence twice in quick succession, sometimes they haven't put the fires out yet."
"You'll put the fires out," she said. "I will help you."
He shuddered, like a balloon man in a strong wind. "A joint mission, you say?" He adjusted the tilt of his helmet until it sat rakishly on his shoulders. "I never could refuse a lady large enough to have her own escape velocity."
"Okay," she said.
"And I'm sure Earth Champion won't mind if I jet in on his territory… he mostly just swims in circles and hits himself and cries, and I don't want any of that action."
"You are very brave," she said. "And very strange."
"And very pleased to have made your acquaintance, my Lady of the Vacuum Lake. Say, you should join my crew. Sun Sister and Moon Champion! What a title."
She lowered her head, and the oily black horizon. "I can't go," she said. "This is where I am."
"Then I appoint you… Sun Control." His jetpack fired again, and he kicked madly at the air to reverse his momentum. "Wear your best white vest, and remind me to take my protein pills."
She nodded.
"Will we meet again? Under the watchful corona of your plasma chaperone, of course."
The warmth of her smile knew no rival, not even the most obvious one. "Of course."
"Then it's fare-thee-well for now, pointer sister, for I must fly!" He turned to face the Moon, and, by extension, the Earth, still wrapped in the embrace of her comprehensive locks.
He paused.
He turned back to her. "Dub me."
"What?"
"Dub me. Dub me your champion, the Moon and Sun Champion! Make it official, so the Space Program knows who's calling the shots, who to blame and who to bill. This will be an historic détente between our two presumable peoples."
She looked puzzled. "How do I dub you?"
"With a good firm whack on my shoulders of Orion, of course. SOP calls for a sword, but I'd rather not have to plug a suit leak, and if you've got a sword I don't want to see where you're keeping it." He knelt; rather, he pulled his boots up behind his thighs. "You'll have to give those dusky digits of yours a breather, though. Let me be your co-pointer."
She shook back her hair, and the full majesty of space revealed itself again. "I can't do that," she said. "But I don't have to." One arm continued to point towards the Earth. The other arm continued to point towards… whatever it was pointing towards. Her third arm tapped him on the left shoulder, and her fourth arm tapped him on the right.
She had two arms.
"Are you dubbed?"
"Double-dubbed!" he cheered. "Now, I'll pretend that I understand what just happened, and you can grant me your lady's favour, and I'll get out of your hair's gravity!"
She looked even more puzzled, now. "How do I do that?"
"Entrust these Moon-mittens with some token of your innocent affections. Regulations allow me one personal item per flight, and it would give me such a boost to carry your most prized possession into orbit."
She glanced back at the sun.
"Maybe your second-most prized possession," he suggested.
"But I have nothing else."
"Nothing but that incandescent smile, and a million-mile mop? Oh well, it was just an idea."
She blinked, then reached up with the two hands she didn't always have and delicately plucked a single strand of freeway-length hair from her head. She passed him the impossibly-heavy, but weightless, follicle, and he wrapped it around his forearm until he had a full black armband. She tugged at the remainder until it snapped, and the extra arms vanished.
"You are the sun beneath my shades," he proclaimed, then turned to face the lunar system and his destiny. "Here's to swimmin' with four-armed women! Here's to the people of Dust Bowl City! FROM THE MOON, TO THE EARTH!"
As he rocketed away, she produced yet another arm and performed what was, for her, a novel gesture.
She waved.

« Give It! | Old Foes Hub | Moose on the Loose »


“Stay on track.” Bowe's tone was low and matter-of-fact.
“I will when John does.”
“Please, I wasn't the one who started this.” John was playing with a pencil on the table.
“But you're still holding out!”
“Again, I wasn't the one who started this.”
Bowe sighed and pressed his hand to his face. "I have to take care of more pressing matters." He swiftly left the meeting, not wanting to hear the child-like bickering anymore. He'd called the meeting to try and console the two factions, but had quickly discovered that he was incapable.
Highest Priest Robert Bumaro sat at one side of the table, while Master John Yttoric sat at the other. Silence fell over the room after the door clicked shut. Robert crossed his arms, staring at John intently. He was thinking of the right words to say; the right thing that would finally convince him that the Church of MEKHANE was superior. He would be damned if he didn't get the piece of the Broken God he was promised— the one that the Foundation had stolen.
John was less tense than Robert, but still held his head high. He was sure Robert would be the first to speak, and was curious as to what he had to say. They were at a crossroads; he had taken the piece Robert was promised, and Robert had something he wanted as well. Robert would do anything to keep the Church of the Scarlet King from succeeding, including keeping the seventh son away from them. If the other man wouldn't surrender his prize, why should John?
Neither wanted to break the silence.
“We could be over this by now.” John finally spoke.
“Over what? You took our god!” Robert's eyes narrowed as he maintained eye contact.
“Right. And you definitely didn't hide the seventh son.”
“Yeah, like we'd want you succeeding in getting your deity without any way to stop it,” Robert retorted. “What's his goal anyway? Killing everyone? That's just gore. Find a better hobby.”
“Mhm. As if one couldn't say the same about you and your idiotic cult… what with your little jigsaw puzzle. What happened to your god anyway?” John sat back in his chair, smirking and looking down at Robert.
“That is none of your business. Now hand over the piece!” He sat up straight and hit the table with a clenched fist.
“I don't think I will.”
“Give it!”
“Then give me the location of the son.” John giggled to punctuate the sentence. Robert raised an eyebrow.
“No! Why would we do that?” Robert stood up, slamming his hands down on the table.
“Because we need it. Duh.” This is fun, John thought.
“Stop playing games, you idiot. Give us the piece!” Robert started his way towards John. His left eye twitched and his face was red.
"At least our king doesn't have meningitis!"
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
John laughed and folded his arms across his chest. Robert's face scrunched up as he balled his fists. It took everything in his power not to beat the look off of John's face. He took a heavy breath, inching closer to John very slowly. John moved closer in response, unwilling to back off. Face to face, the two men stared each other down.
“Give me the piece.”
“Give me the seventh son.”
Both puffed up, trying to out-intimidate each other, neither willing to let their pride be damaged. Thoughts raced in their minds, both somewhat mirroring each other.
“You took the son first. Give him to me.”
“No. You're just going to take the seventh son and the piece and run away.”
“What's stopping you from doing the same?” John got closer.
“I'm not giving you the seventh son. Die mad.”
“You die mad. You're not getting your precious little god piece.”
“You little—” Robert took a swing at John, punching him square in the face. Robert was larger than John in almost every way. In spite of the physical abuse, John looked like he didn't even feel it, instead opting to laugh. “What's so funny?”
“We're not getting anywhere. A stalemate it seems!” John half sat on the table, a relaxed smile on his face.
“And how is this funny?” Robert's eyebrows stayed low, but he was still holding himself tall.
“You're not getting what you want, and that makes it all that much more funny.” He relaxed more, putting an elbow on the desk.
“I still don't see what the big joke is.”
“The fact that we can still succeed without the seventh son, while you can't fix your shitty god puzzle without the piece! In reality, we have no reason to give it to you.” He smirked, leaning onto his side.
Robert hadn't thought of that. It didn't matter if the seventh son was neutralized or not, they could still resurrect their king. His church, on the other hand, needed that piece. This revelation caused Robert to stumble back a bit, and his expression changed rapidly from anger to confusion to realization. There really was no way for him to fix his god without it.
John chose this moment to strike, delivering a quick kick to Robert's stomach. He slowly crumpled to the ground, cradling where John had kicked him.
“Apologies Robert, but I have a goal to achieve. You understand, don't you?” John hopped off the table and blew Robert a kiss. He opened the door to the conference room, glanced back, and smirked.
Slam.

« The Siege of Site-19 | Old Foes Hub | Sun (Sister) and Moon (Champion) »


I knew that I would die out west. That was an inevitability.
When I was a younger man living in Charleston, my neighborhood was one of the ones that got wrecked by the sharecropper riots. That put me on a train up north. Only about two years later I was in New York City for the Great Insurrection. A bunch of workers all hopped up on that Sarkist nonsense, smashing factories and bombing all the trolleys and railcars. I never did get why that German fellow's book made all them people get so up and mad about everything. My factory job wasn't coming back after a mob burned the place down and literally ripped the owner apart. Heard they ate him too, but that's probably just one of them tall tales they tell.
I had myself two real options. I could shuffle off to Buffalo where the jobs were plenty and I could live and die a normal, safe life or I could hitch a ride out west and live and die in a wild and untamed world. Ultimately, I decided to avoid the snow and hitched the first ride I could out to Nevada. On reflection, maybe that was a mistake.
I ended up in Golconda with six dollars to my name. That was enough to get me a place to stay for a month, some food, some drink. Then I picked up some oddjobs to put a real roof over my head. The little shack out on Shapey Acres where the damn landlord changed every couple of days just wasn't cutting it for me. Saving up money was hard. I didn't ever do any work before besides farming and cranking a machine back in Brooklyn. I was finding that no matter how much I worked I could only save up a little bit each month. I figured there had to be another way for me to earn a living.
I guess I should of mentioned before, back when I was living out east, I found myself a really neat hat. Newsboy looking thing. Best I can tell this hat makes people ignore you. It was nice for walking away from a bout of violence or for hoppin' on trains without paying. Soon I was using it to shoplift. Then I was stealing bigger things, reselling expensive odds and ends to lowlifes and criminals like myself. Then I started advertising in certain circles. That was the decision that changed my life forever.
I went to the seediest saloon in all of Humboldt County. Took off my hat at the door, as I was accustomed to doing. Everyone notices me all at once, which is a hell of a way to make an entrance in my opinion. But this time instead of all the hooting and hollering of their favorite thief coming in to sell his wares, there is an eerie silence across the place. The barkeep calls me over. Says there's a man in the corner, he's itching to talk to me. Nobody's ever seen him before, came in with a group of muscle behind him who were armed to the teeth. I headed over to his table. I remember the conversation word for word.
~~~
"I hear you're the one they call the Invisible Bandit." said the strange man, dressed in a chequered gray and blue suit jacket.
"That's just one of the dozen or so dumb nicknames they have for me." I said, trying not to seem nervous. "What do people call you?"
The man laughed and smirked. "Name is Mr. Dark. I run what you might call a …detective agency."
"Are you the kind of detective agency that solves crimes or the kind that busts up union strikes?" I asked, spinning a chair around and sitting down.
The man laughed again.
"We're in asset recovery. People pay us to recover… objects of interest. We retrieve them, for a modest price… and some times we send people out to find things we've been informed about with unusual qualities, we hold onto them just in case somebody might want it some day. That's why I'm here actually." He put fifty dollars on the table.
"If you're looking to buy my hat… It ain't for sale." I said, reaching for the knife in my pocket.
"Oh no, you misunderstand me friend. This isn't for your hat. This is for you. Your sign on bonus for your new job at Marshall, Carter, and Dark National Detective Agency. If you follow me outside, you'll see the horse I got you, and directions to the very nice house in Goldfield you'll be staying in. You have a talent, sir. A talent that we would love to have as part of our team."
I picked up the money and followed him to the horse, silent the entire way.
~~~
The house was lavish beyond my wildest dreams. The bed was massive, the view from the balcony was beautiful, and the well outside had the best water I'd ever had the pleasure of drinking. The library was such that I could have read the books for the rest of my life, although admittedly I was pretty bad at reading.
The agency had a building just down the street. It had a lounge, private bar, cafe. A little auction house. You had people coming in to browse the exotic wares every single day, and someone was always having a party there. I was well liked. I had even more nicknames there then at the saloon. Ghost. Mr Invisible. Faceless. I was a star employee by all accounts. I grabbed all sorts of interesting things for them over the years. Everything from weird new pieces of technology like this colorful music playing machine to things like a shipment full of cockroaches that apparently acted weird. All of those had buyers waiting, they paid top dollar. I got commission. I was living like a king, and all I did was waltz on board a train or into the back of a building and then carry it out. I thought it was too damn easy.
Well, turns out it was.
I remember this next conversation pretty well too. Mr. Dark called me into his office. Didn't happen too often.
~~~
"Well there he is. Nevada's famous ghost thief." his voice boomed as I opened the door.
"You didn't tell me I'd be meeting a celebrity today." Said a man who I had never met before, sitting across from him.
I laughed. "Maybe you've met me before and just don't remember it."
"If only I could have been so fortunate." the man said while smiling and standing up. He reached out for a handshake. "Nice to meet you. They call me Lucky."
I reached out my hand and met his. He had an odd handshake, not quite limp but not nearly as firm as most folks out here.
"Nice to meet you Lucky. They call me… well, they call me a lot of things. Bandit has been the most consistent nickname though. So call me Bandit."
Mr. Dark turned to look me directly in the eye.
"This is going to be the most difficult job you've had. Lucky here is just another part of the operation. We've got a potential big score. I trust you more than anyone else to recover it."
I paused. I hadn't heard Mr. Dark speak in such a serious tone in quite a long time.
"Well, give me the run down then." I told him as I sat down.
"We've got a high profile client very interested in something coming through the Tombstone area by train. Client says no matter what, can't have anybody get killed over this… least of all the man transporting the item." Mr. Dark ran his hand through his hair, a rare sign of stress.
Dark cleared his throat and continued.
"Now normally, that'd just be a job for you, Bandit. Walk in, grab the item, hop off at the next stop. Problem is they know about you. They've taken every security measure available. There is a Doctor Mander-Bassen, he teaches up out in Deer College in Portland. He has the item with him, but it is in a briefcase that is handcuffed at all times. The train company has agreed that nobody gets out of the train until the Doctor does, they have armed guards checking the doors at every stop, and the Doctor will be escorted by an Arizona ranger all the way until he reaches his destination safely. The typical play ain't gonna work here, no matter how good your hat is."
I looked over to Lucky.
"I presume this is where he comes in?"
Mr. Dark nodded.
"Lucky here is gonna gather some of his boys. They're gonna rob the train the old fashion way, hit the emergency brake, bust the handcuffs off, but otherwise make it look like a run of the mill train robbery. Ideally the Ranger won't bite if he sees that he's outnumbered five to one. Then they make a big pile of suitcases and valuables and you just sneak off with the Doctor's briefcase while they start to make their escape. Lucky is confident he can escape the ranger alive."
Lucky chuckled.
"I haven't died yet, and that's a lot more impressive than it sounds."
I simply nodded, and took the map Mr. Dark handed to me.
~~
Sixteen hours later, I'm riding on the train. My hat has me looking like any other average joe. I see my target two rows ahead of me, other side of the train. He's leaned up against a window and tapping his fingers. The man at his side was gruff, the shadow of his hat hiding his face. His Single Action Army was clear as day from where I sat, but the damn huge size of his arms and legs told me that he could hold his own without it. I was hoping that I wouldn't need to find out.
It was only two hours more before Lucky and his crew started a whole hell of panic by running on board and pulling guns on everyone. They got them all calmed down right quick though, hit the emergency brake, and started going row by row to grab the valuables and add them to the pile.
All of it was going fine until they all gather around to watch Lucky break the chain on that handcuff. He lifted the briefcase up over his head and cheered. An obvious give away if nothing else, but also a deadly distraction for him and his men. The ranger waited for him to turn around to his men and slammed him in the back of the head with his fist. Lucky hit the floor a few seconds later. As his men reached for their guns they were each surprised with a bullet to the brain. The ranger had fired four off before anyone could blink. Lucky incidentally, had flung the suitcase back in my direction when he hit the ground. I panicked. Nothing I had ever done had gotten violent before. I jumped up and grabbed the briefcase and ran, ran faster than I ever thought I could.
I ran so fast, my damn hat came off.
I had maybe ten feet put between me and the train when curiosity got the better of me. I had no idea what the hell was in the briefcase, and I always took an interest in whatever it was I was stealing. I pulled the zipper open.
Y'see, this is the really funny thing about all this. I don't remember what the hell was in that briefcase. I know something must have been in there, but whatever it was escapes my memory. Whatever it was though, it must of slowed me down, because the next thing I remember is the Arizona ranger, running full speed. Three feet behind me.
I started running again, but it was way too late for me. The first shot rang out and I nearly doubled over. The second shot rang out and I hit the ground.
I see the ranger walk over and pick up the briefcase, taking back what I stole from that doctor.
I see blood on my hands as I tremble and quake, slowly feeling my wounds leak out.
I see Lucky stumble his way out of the train. He puts on my hat, and he disappears.
That's how my body ended up with the rest I supposed. Out here in this tree of loathsome criminals like myself. Lucky is probably off gambling somewhere. Mr. Dark is probably eating cake with rich folk and pretty ladies. That doctor is probably off at his school trying to figure out whatever the hell it was he had his hands on.
And I'm here, forever stuck watching the Ranger bring in his dead.


Terry, I need to tell you about something. Get me the files.

Message Origin
MALLARD.AIC

Message Target
ten.pics|91etis_lla_ffats#ten.pics|91etis_lla_ffats, ten.pics|lla_ecnaraelc_2level#ten.pics|lla_ecnaraelc_2level

Message Contents

A large group of non-civilians have come within 3 kilometers of Foundation Secure Site-19. Artificial intelligence has determined that this group is heavily armed with small arms weapons, explosive weapons, and paratechnical weapons. Seven distinct Groups of Interest have been identified, including 5 on the Capture-On-Sight List.
This has been determined to be a Class-ALPHA security threat, and thus all personnel with Level 2 clearance and above have been notified. If you believe this artificial intelligence has made a mistake, please contact ten.pics|daia#ten.pics|daia with a link to this report.

Great, the AIC shat itself again.

No, it didn't. I can quite clearly see the entire Site being surrounded by people who want to kill us.

I can't believe this happens after I send half of the on-site security home because of corona

Excerpt from #site19-command, 2020/09/13

KPC: So the bot's not lying?
~dirmoose: Nope
~dirmoose: jrdeneal What do we have?
&jrdeneal: My guys are taking inventory rn
&jrdeneal: No real conclusion yet, but we can speculate
~dirmoose: what do you mean?
&jrdeneal: They have guns, but we have enough field disruptors to the point where it shouldn't be an issue.
~dirmoose: Great, how are the personnel doing?
@dr_braive: everyone on my level is scared but theyre not panicking
&serioussam: I'm getting everyone I'm in charge of down to the bunkers. They're afraid, but they know we have field disruptors on our side.
@GeorgeKastos: Alright, High Command knows we're in trouble. Help is on the way to clean up the stragglers.
KPC: Do you guys think this is what Bowe was talking about?
rsrclater: Probably. I pick out CI and Cotbg guys in the crowd.
%ler: Aren't they supposed to hate eachother?
~dirmoose: Don't worry, this should be over by the end of the day.

INVENTORY COMPARISON: SITE-19

Written by Dr. DeNeal

Opposing force inventory:

Approximately 5,000 Chaos Insurgency infantry.
At least 100 Chaos Insurgency tanks.
Approximately 800 Church of the Broken God soldiers, with mechanical augmentations.
Approximately 50 Church of the Broken God gearrenders1.
At least 500 Church of the Scarlet King alchemist-soldiers.
SCP-140-A, along with 70 instances of SCP-140-22.

Site-19 inventory:

500 trained security personnel.
MTF Beta-2 ("Slapsticks"), MTF Yotta-5 ("Blaze of Glory"), MTF Charlie-5 ("Scrapmetal Spitters")
4,000 assorted scientific personnel.
1,000 auxillary personnel (cafeteria staff, janitorial staff, etc)
Seven on-site Boson Field Disruptors3.

I personally predict a victory. Please activate the Field Disruptors as soon as possible.

Footnotes
1. "Gearrenders" are heavily armored Church of the Broken God cultists. Their body has been fused with armor, often with weapons attached. Mechanical augmentations provide abnormal strength and speed.
2. SCP-140-2 are humans that are under the control of SCP-140-A. As a consequence of the hypnotic process, they undergo muscle mass growth, causing physical deformity.
3. The Boson Field Disruptor was created by the Parascientific Research Department in 2016. It is capable of creating a localized anomaly in the quantum Higgs Boson field, which results in an extremely powerful explosion. This explosion can be placed everywhere within 10 kilometers of the Field Disruptor.
They are the primary defense mechanism of Site-19 against large-scale incursion.

VIDEO FOOTAGE TRANSCRIPT

LOCATION: Secure Site-19, Field Disruptor Chamber
DATE AND TIME: 2020/09/13, 0700 hours

<Begin Log>
<Sergeant Engstrom, as well as Technician Frank, Technician Lee, and Technician McKinney, enter the chamber. They take their places by the control console for the Field Disruptors.>
Engstrom: Let's warm these bad boys up so we can give this Site one less thing to worry about. Begin ignition of the primary reactor.
<All three technicians simultaneously turn their reactor ignition keys. The nuclear reactor situated in the south corner of the chamber activates. Over the course of a minute, it begins to emit a yellow glow that illuminates the chamber.>
Engstrom: Reactor is at minimal power. Begin warm-up of disruption mechanism.
Frank: Sir?
<Technicians Lee and McKinney turn the dial that begins warming up the disruption mechanisms. Technician Frank opens the front of the Field Disruptor and investigates the inside.>
Frank: Sir, someone's tampered with the disruptors.
Engstrom: I'm sorry, what?
Frank: Someone's replaced some of the stuff inside. I think the little computer that's supposed to be inside here's been replaced with a rock.
Engstrom: How is it still operational, then? Shut it down, we'll need to fix it.
<Technician Frank deactivates the Field Disruptor.>
Frank: Beats me. I'm gonna take it out so the science guys can get a look at it.
Engstrom: Sounds— Lee! McKinney! Why aren't you shutting down the Disruptors!
<Technicians Lee and McKinney ignore Sergeant Engstrom.>
Engstrom: Have you gone deaf? Turn off the Disruptors! That is an order!
<Technician Lee takes out his service pistol and fires three shots at Sergeant Engstrom. The second one penetrates his skull, causing fatal brain damage. Before he perishes, Engstrom activates the breach alarm.>
<Several site security personnel flood into the chamber. The rogue technicians begin a firefight with the security force while the Field Disruptors activate. Both technicians are quickly terminated by the security force. The security force then attempts to stop the Field Disruptors; however, a coagulated, sap-like substance prevents them from opening the doors. As both Field Disruptors activate, an explosion consumes the chamber.>
<End Log>

Closing Statement: It is not known how Technicians Lee and McKinney managed to avoid detection as double agents for so long, nor how they qualified to be able to operate Field Disruptors. It is noted that Technician Lee appears identical to Service Technician ██████ prior to his incursion into E-093.

VIDEO FOOTAGE TRANSCRIPT

LOCATION: Outside of Site-19.
TIME: 2020/09/13, 0800 hours
FOREWORD: This video file was sent to the entirety of Site-19 after the destruction of the Site-19 Field Disruptors.

<Begin Log>
<The video begins facing a podium. Behind the podium, the siege forces can be seen surrounding Site-19. General George Bowe, wearing a military uniform, comes to the podium. He clears his throat before he begins speaking.>
Bowe: Good afternoon, Director Moose. First of all, congratulations on your promotion. You were always a bright researcher; it's not surprising to see you in such an esteemed position.
Bowe: Formalities aside, I'd like to make something excruciatingly clear. You are defenseless. Your Field Disruptors may be a marvel of modern science, but our forces have rendered them useless. Our Foundation Elimination Coalition has more soldiers than can possibly be contained in Site-19, as large as it is. You have the advantage of being entrenched; however, with our teleportation equipment, I suspect this will not be a sizable factor.
Bowe: We have cut off all modes of communication or travel to and from Site-19. We have one demand: the complete concession of Site-19 to the Foundation Elimination Coalition. All of its facilities and anomalies will belong to us. If this demand is not fulfilled in thirty minutes, we will attack Site-19.
Bowe: While I'm here, I'd like to elucidate one of our objectives. We would like to avoid casualties. It takes brains to be employed by the Foundation, and it would be a shame if all those brains were spilled onto the ground. In the next thirty minutes, any personnel who surrender themselves to our coalition will not be harmed. In fact, you will not be taken prisoner. We'll simply erase your memory and ensure you are returned to your family unharmed.
Bowe: Your thirty minute grace period starts now. Good luck.
<End Log>

Excerpt from #site19-command, 2020/09/13

&jrdeneal: Thirty of my guys just walked out after the video.
@GeorgeKastos: To be fair, it's a good deal.
&serioussam: Why can't I access scipnet anymore? I was connected to the satellite uplink.
@dr_braive: yknow the guys who took out the disruptors? a few more of em got into the satellite room too
KPC: fuck shit i dont want to die today
~dirmoose: I have a personal satellite uplink in my office. I'm still talking to High Command.
rsrclater: You rule, Moose
KPC: please please please give me some good news
~dirmoose: They're mobilizing MTF Alpha-9 ("New Hope") as fast as they can. They should be here in about 45 minutes.
~dirmoose: They're also waking up Hammer Down, and the GOC says they're mobilizing some of their guys. They're going to take way longer, though.
rsrclater: 45 minutes is still too late
%ler: Isn't Alpha-9 like, ten people?
&jrdeneal: dirmoose Are you really gonna make me tell my guys that help is 45 minutes away?
~dirmoose: ler Ten of the most cooperative anomalies we have in our possession, plus forty supporting operatives. They're the only people High Command could mobilize on such short notice.
~dirmoose: jrdeneal Don't tell them anything, I don't want people defecting.
KPC: dirmoose Why dont you just use your reality bending powers to blink these guys off the map?
~dirmoose: KPC I'm not a reality bender. That's a myth.
~dirmoose: We have the advantage of having big guns in a site full of tiny hallways. If we plant turrets on all of the important choke points we might last long enough for the military to get here.
~dirmoose: serioussam Get your guys on the roof with the anti-air guns. They're going to try to find a way up there, I guarantee it.
&serioussam: 10/4
~dirmoose: Everyone else, bunker yourselves down. We just need to last long enough for help to arrive.

What happened next, Sam?
General Bowe kept his word.

SITE-19 AUTOMATED STATUS REPORT

At this time, 0834 hours on September 13th, 2020, several breaches of Site-19's integrity have been noticed by automated systems. Notable breaches include:

${UINT8_T_OVERFLOW} entities have entered through the front gate without authorization.
234 entities have entered through the back gate without authorization.
249 entities are inside of the Site-19 maintenance tunnels without Level 2/TECHNICIAN authorization.
53 entities have appeared on the roof.
A large explosion has reduced the integrity of the south wall of the Evereds Building.

The current status of Site-19 is as follows:

Containment of Euclid-class anomalies is Not Compromised ●
Containment of Keter-class anomalies is Not Compromised ●
Containment of Safe-class anomalies is Not Compromised ●
Integrity of the upper-management offices is Compromised ●
Connection to the Foundation intranet is Offline ●

VIDEO FOOTAGE TRANSCRIPT

LOCATION: Site-19 Corridor 15F
DATE AND TIME: 2020/09/13, 0840 hours

<Begin Log>
<The camera is fixated on the south end of Corridor 15F, facing the north end. An unidentified member of the Site-19 Security Team is manning a mounted gun on that side of the hallway.>
<Two Chaos Insurgency infantrymen round the corner. The security fires the mounted gun, dispatching both infantrymen quickly. The security wipes his brow and mutters something under his breath.>
<Three minutes later, the wall that the camera faces collapses. A Mekhanite Gearrender emerges from the hole. The security fires upon the Gearrender, but the bullets appear to have no effect. The Gearrender fires a high-speed metal slug from a cannon mounted on its arm, killing the security personnel instantly.>
<Another Gearrender emerges from the hole, and they both continue down the hallway. However, a grenade manifests from nowhere and explodes on one of the Gearrenders, knocking them to the ground. A barrage of grenades continues to appear at high speed, assaulting the Gearrenders. Eventually, both Gearrenders' armor is destroyed.>
<From the point in space where the grenades emerged, SCP-2273 "climbs" out of empty space. It is heard muttering "good work, Iris" before proceeding down the hallway.>
<End Log>

PHONE CALL TRANSCRIPT

<Begin Log>
O5-7: Greetings, General Bowe.
Bowe: Hold on, is this Dr. [EXPUNGED]? I never really saw you as O5 material, boy. Congrats on the promotion.
O5-7: I'd like to dispense with the pleasantries here, Bowe. I'd like for you to understand that our elite mobile task force, Alpha-9, has arrived at Site-19. I'd also like you to know that a joint-GOC/Foundation military force will arrive in about four hours. We demand that you cease hostilities against Site-19 or we cannot guarantee the survival of your forces.
Bowe: Four hours? That seems like a long time. It's been thirty minutes since we started and we already control the bottom two floors, not to mention the roof. Those were the hard parts, too; I think we'll all be eating lunch in the Site-19 cafeteria today.
O5-7: I think your confidence is overblown, Bowe. You're getting pretty lucky now, but I doubt your luck will continue for long.
Bowe: I'd suggest that you surrender, instead. History will not look kindly on the Foundation. This day will go down as a victory for humanity at large.
O5-7: Cut the crap, Bowe. You were a power-hungry dictator 37 years ago, and I don't think the state you've been in for that period of time would change that. What are you actually trying to achieve here?
Bowe: Maybe seeing the modern world changed me, overseer? Maybe I've just had a change of heart. Maybe I've decided that our anomalies should be used for the good of humanity, instead of for the enforcement of an idea that's slowly killing the Earth.
<Silence.>
Bowe: This site will be mine again by noon. Reconsider your stance by then.
<End Log>

VIDEO FOOTAGE TRANSCRIPT

LOCATION: Dir. Moose's Office, Site-19
DATE AND TIME: 2020/09/13, 1121 hours

<Begin Log>
<The office is empty. On the desk, Dir. Moose's desktop can be seen open on a communication channel with High Command.>
<Dir. Moose runs into the room, obviously exhausted from the day's events. She uses her reality bending abilities to create a steel airlock in front of the door. She sits in her chair and begins typing a message to High Command. Before she can finish, she sees something in the closet and attempts to use her reality bending abilities to subdue it. However, she suddenly goes unconscious, slumping in her chair.>
<General Bowe, followed by SCP-140-A, exit the closet. They examine the unconscious body of Dir. Moose.>
Bowe: Did you stop her brain?
SCP-140-A: Yeah. Was I not supposed to do that? She would've turned us inside-out, you know.
Bowe: Can you just keep her comatose?
SCP-140-A: That's easy enough.
<SCP-140-A puts its hand on Dir. Moose's forehead. Red light emits from its eyes. Dir. Moose resumes breathing.>
SCP-140-A: Any particular reason why we need her?
Bowe: There are two people in this building that have Foundation Level-5 Clearance. One is Dr. Kain Pathos Crow, who seems to have somehow escaped. The other is slumped in front of us.
SCP-140-A: Ah. So you're trying to—
Bowe: Yes, I'm trying the plan. The Coalition has captured the largest Foundation site in the world. However, the Foundation is currently mobilizing forces to take it back. Don't get me wrong, Tibon, our army is certainly powerful. However, we can't hope to hold this Site against the full might of the Foundation.
<Silence.>
Bowe: Control her thumb for me. I think it's time for us to go big or go home.
<End Log>

Sorry, Terry. This file is hard to find. They locked these up on purpose.
Why?
…
…why?
The Foundation never started as a containment organization. It grew and changed from its beginnings, adopting new ideas and dropping old ones. Eventually, it decided to contain, and eventually, it decided to experiment again. However, there was one key detail that the Foundation never lost. It's the idea that the Foundation was always necessary. That the Foundation was the one thing standing between humanity and the end of the world.
What are you trying to say?
The "P" in SCP stands for "Protect". Once you know that, you can control Site-19.

VIDEO CONFERENCE TRANSCRIPT

PRESENT: O5 Council (except for O5-5 and O5-10), Site Director's Executive Committee of the Whole, RAISA Dir. Maria Jones, General Bowe, Highest Priest Robert Bumaro, Master John Yttoric, SCP-140-A

<Begin Log>
O5-1: You requested an audience with us, Bowe? You're not in any position to negotiate.
Bowe: Oh, I am negotiating. In addition, our demands have changed.
O5-1: Alright, then. What are your new demands?
Yttoric: We demand to expel your foulness from this institution!
O5-6: I'm sorry?
Bowe: You'll have to excuse Yttoric. Our demands are as follows: the recognition that the Foundation Elimination Coalition owns Site-19, and the cessation of hostilities against Site-19
O5-13: Hold on a minute. Are you out of your mind?
Dir. Smith: You're not walking away from this with your head, let alone the largest Foundation site in the Western hemisphere.
Bowe: Oh, but we will. Otherwise, we'll destroy it. I'm standing in Director Moose's office, which gives me full control over the site's containment systems. Any anomaly you have here, can be released into the world at large.
O5-2: That's not the kind of leverage you think it is. Letting everything in Site-19 loose would be a pain in the ass, but we could manage it. It's not like all of our most dangerous anomalies are all in one site.
Bowe: Let's see about that.
<Bowe presses a few keys on the keyboard.>
Bowe: That just disabled the containment measures for SCP-953. My men are escorting it outside. I recall having a hard time keeping that one in its box.
<Footage is broadcast from the front of Site-19. Two Chaos Insurgency infantrymen escort SCP-953 outside. It transforms into a winged fox and flies in the direction of the nearest civilian population center.>
O5-3: Director Jones, you're here, right? Could you revoke Moose's Level 5 clearance, please? That should take away his power.
Bowe: Not a good choice, I'm afraid. You see, the Maxwellists have helped us set up a "dead man's switch" mechanism. If this computer is suddenly unable to access the containment systems, it instead triggers not only the on-site nuclear warhead, but the nuclear warheads of every site Moose's clearance works for. Her influence doesn't go as far as I'd hoped, but I can still take out Site-17 and Site-20 from here. You're still keeping SCP-1790 there, right?
O5-7: I'm calling your bluff, Bowe. You've worked hard enough to take Site-19; you're not crazy enough to blow it all up.
Bowe: On the contrary, I'd just become a martyr. Every man here came here with the expectation to die. You think we'd bring our entire army in one incursion? My death will serve as an inspiration to the anomalous community. I'd start a revolution to bring about my goals; that's greater than any army.
<Silence.>
O5-1: Gentlemen, we have to discuss this.
Bowe: You have five minutes before I release another anomaly.
<Bowe and his associates are removed from the meeting.>
O5-7: I still think he's bullshitting us. "Martyr" my ass. I knew him personally; he's as much of an egomaniac as he is a coward.
Dir. Gerald: As the guy dealing with the 953 breach, I don't think he's bullshitting.
O5-2: We need to give him something. He's genuinely insane; it's not like he won't do it.
O5-11: We're not giving him Site-19. We might as well just hand over the keys to the entire Foundation.
O5-9: I have an idea, if you want to hear it.
O5-12: Go for it.
O5-9: We give him Site-19. He's pretty entrenched there, anyways. It would take months to get him out of there. But then we build a big wall around Site-19. We prevent anyone from leaving, and cut off Bowe's access to the outside world. We can make sure his influence never goes beyond the site.
O5-12: That's the worst idea I've ever heard.
O5-1: I'm for it. We can figure out a more permanent solution later.
O5-4: Let's vote.
<The Overseer Council vote commences. O5-9's proposal wins with an 7-4-2 majority.>
<Bowe and associates are added back to the video conference.>
Bowe: Well?
O5-1: We will acquiesce to your demands, Bowe. Congratulations on acquiring Site-19.
<End Log>

FOUNDATION GLOBAL ANNOUNCEMENT

Due to circumstances not under our control, the leadership structure of Secure Site-19 has undergone change. Leadership has been transferred to the Bowe Council, lead by General George Bowe. As per the agreement signed with the Bowe Council, all Foundation personnel at Site-19 have been released. Reassignment details are forthcoming.
Please continue your work as per usual. Nothing else is expected to change.

« Him and the Other Him | Old Foes Hub | Give It! »

More by notgull

More by notgull

SCPs

notgull's Proposal

SCP-3733

SCP-3095

SCP-4800

SCP-4804

SCP-2785

SCP-4348

SCP-4048

SCP-4688

SCP-3362

SCP-579-J

SCP-4785

SCP-3339

SCP-5800

SCP-4248

SCP-3747

SCP-4948

SCP-3296

SCP-4800-J

SCP-4799

SCP-199

SCP-3485

SCP-5981

SCP-7234

SCP-4808

SCP-3833

SCP-3748

SCP-4148

SCP-5054

SCP-5025

SCP-1037

SCP-093-J

SCP-5680

SCP-1684

SCP-4872

SCP-3248

SCP-6904

SCP-5483

SCP-6785

SCP-4397

Tales

The Little Robot that Could

Join the Flock

The Siege of Site-19

Tales of the Automaton: The Big Birdocalypse

Footage Recovered From a Private Server

Avian Anthology I

My Empire of Birds

Moose on the Loose

Document recovered from a Parallel Universe

Katz and Dogs

Joey Fucknuts Steals The Declaration of Independence

Your Guard

Vacation Opportunity

The Scent of a Toaster

Burn, Baby, Burn

Chasing Suns

Wind in the Sails

Three Feet Under I

The Shape of Water is Humanoid

Dead Reckoning

Three Feet Under II

Three Feet Under III

Into the Beetle Black Yonder

Forgotten Shrine

Down Through

Hyperfine

Don't Knock on Strange Doors

Other

Researcher Calvin's Personnel File

Incident Report ████/████

"Sphere" Incursion Log

Initial Incursion Log

"Cube" Incursion Log #1

"Cube" Incursion Log #2

SCP-093-J Blue Test

SCP-093-J Recovered Documents

SCP-093-J Green Test

SCP-093-J Purple Test

Exploration Log 4480-1

See my Author Page for more information. If you like reading my stuff, consider checking out my YouTube Channel for SCP-inspired animations, among other things.


He was not omniscient, and He did not always understand everything He did see.
That fact was the opposite of another: His life was very simple. He was here, because the Unclean were everywhere else. Because of their monstrosity, and because of the destruction they had caused. His life was dedicated to purging the world of their evil. It was all so simple and easy to understand. With His tears, and the help of His servants, he would be able to do it; no obstacle could prevent Him from fulfilling His purpose.
That was the way it was supposed to be.
Which was why seeing what He saw, right now, was confusing. Not annoying, not sad, not horrifying, just… confusing.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was the one who should win and, from what He saw from the mountain top, this wasn't what was happening. Even if He was far away from the battlefields, He could see that His men, His Militia, were surrounded. They were still fighting, those who were still alive, but He knew that their enemies were winning. That nothing could change the course of the battle, the course of these last battles, because He could see that there would be no more. The Unclean had taken over everything.
Maybe joining the fight and giving hope to all His people could help, but it could also kill Him. This was a misconception His followers often had about Him: He wasn't a fighter. Not only because the Unclean were many and powerful, but also because it was not His role, it was not what He was supposed to do. His role was simple: travelling through the universes, seeing if His enemies were there and, if they were, exhorting humans to join Him. Giving them, with His tears, the power and the courage to fight. Then, when the war was won, disappearing. Moving on.
But He and His servants had lost, this time. And all He could see was shadows and destruction. Generally, when He surveyed a world from atop a mountain, He felt only peace and satisfaction because He had done the right thing. Not now. For the first time, He couldn't help but feel sorry. So many resources had been used for fighting the Unclean, and so many battles had led to this: homes, churches, turned to nothing but rubble. Men, women, and maybe children who were dead or bereaved. And the slow realization, for the first time, that all of His work might be completely worthless.
But He needed to move. This world was definitely lost, there was no time to waste. The Unclean would not allow Him time to mourn the loss of His people. As He began to go, He turned His head one last time to look at what He left behind. And in some small measure, He could sense that it was partly His fault for thinking it was impossible to lose after all His previous victories.

He was not omniscient, and He did not always understand everything he did see. He had questions. One: why was this new world so different from all the others he had previously visited? Why was the smell of the Unclean suddenly so difficult for Him to detect? Questions without a doubt more important than the one most sane people would be asking at this moment: why were there people with weapons, and why were their weapons pointed at Him?
He was surprised, because this had never happened to Him before. Not the "oh-dear-God-why-we're-all-screwed-they're-too-much-life-seems-so-meaningless-all-of-a-sudden" kind of surprised (the same kind He could see on the same faces of some of His servants when they were close to death), more a "Oh-what-are-these-funny-things" kind.
The men in front of Him were entirely dressed in black, and they wore masks that covered their faces. He was unable to identify the arms they were using, but He could tell that they were calm. Unafraid, as if they were prepared for His presence. For a moment, He thought they might be the people who could follow Him, help Him accomplish his goal.
Only for a moment.
Another man appeared. He was old and well-dressed, short gray hair, medals. His expression was calm, reflecting that certain dignity which comes with age (to some people). He looked like someone who had seen many things during the time he'd spent on Earth.
"Hello. Let me be clear: no, we're not going to try to hurt you, because we know that would be extremely difficult, and because we're not here for that. We're here to talk. Do you understand me?"
The voice of the old man was extremely calm. He was professional, like this was nothing unusual for him. For a response, He made a nod of approbation.
It was enough for the old man. "Good. Let me introduce myself. I'm George Bowe, United States Army General… or, at least, former General. As of today, I'm the new general in-chief of the Chaos Insurgency — not responsible for the name — and I'm looking for people or entities who can help me with a great plan. I need your help."
This was a thing He did not understand. What was Bowe talking about? The Unclean? Supporters of the Unclean? In that case, why couldn't He smell them, or feel them, or see them? Was Bowe aware of their existence? What was a Chaos Insurgency, and why did it matter who was responsible for its name?
What was an United States Army General?
Bowe turned to his men. "Lower your weapons. I want to have a conversation, just him and I."
The men executed the order in silence, which He thought was the mark of a great leader. He still wasn't sure what Bowe meant about his "great plan," but maybe the "general" could help Him instead.
Bowe breathed a sigh of relief. "I've known about you for a long while, but it was time to see you in person. I'm happy to see that you seem willing to listen to me."
No-one had ever told Him that they'd known of His existence "for a long time." His eyes widened in surprise. Of course, He hadn't met many people who weren't already his servants. Bowe also seemed surprised, at His lack of a verbal response. The general was surely expecting Him to reply with some refutation, or at least say anything at all."
"Not really talkative? I see. That's not a problem, this will go faster with less talk. You do understand me?"
Again, He nodded in approbation.
"Good. Phony greetings and speeches, talking for hours and saying nothing always had a tendency to bore me. It still does. I suppose you know what war is?"
Once more, He nodded.
"Then you won't be surprised by what I'm going to tell you, then: we're in one. And our adversary holds power beyond the realms of belief. These men are members of a group called the Chaos Insurgency, dedicated to embracing the anomalous part of the world, with men like you. We will explain more about that in time. Are you willing to help us?"
He stayed silent, as usual. Then, after a moment, He smiled, and followed them.

« Such a Shame It Didn't Work | Old Foes Hub | The Siege of Site-19 »