Col. Wallace squinted through the gaps in the planks over the boarded up plate glass window of the bar. They were massing. Sheer numbers was their game, and in their place, it was probably the move he would've made. He saw no sign of "Wild Bill," as the team had come to call him, or it, only the assembled mob. Chefs, police men, ball players, ballerinas, clowns, and all manner of others were congregating out front. Of course, none of those were what these really were, not really; these were never human beings, they were animate constructs, moving about in human-like ways, but anything but. They were costumes, full costumes, as if there was an invisible person inside each one, except… except for the awful crowning of each. The costumes were nothing but a vehicle, a vehicle being driven by the Jack O'Lantern perched atop each where the head should be. Pumpkins of all sizes and shapes, with jaggedly cut features and a glow from within that no candle could produce and never flickered out. Not unless they managed to smash it, of course, but there were too many… always too many.
Col. Wallace saw it even as Lt. Reynolds shouted the warning. "Incoming!" A truck was speeding up the road, the crowd parting to make way. So that's what Wild Bill had been up to, he thought, finding a way in. Everyone was in motion and managed to get clear as the truck smashed the front of the bar, sending wooden shrapnel and glass shards flying. The defenses were down, it was time to retreat out the back, take their chances in the open-
"Wait," Private Caruthers said, "wait, what's that?"
"Where?" Reynolds asked.
"What's that?" Caruthers asked as she pointed, "Up in the sky?"
Reynolds look and dismissed it. "It's a bird."
Sgt. Sulley shook his head. "No, it's a plane."
Caruthers squinted and then yelled with excitement. "No, it's-"
They watched as a figure dropped onto the sidewalk, his fist smashing into the nearest "Jack," as the monsters were being called, destroying it upon impact. He wore a blue suit, red boots, red underwear on the outside of his pants, and a matching red cape flapping behind him, and the unmistakable sign of an "S" on his chest. He turned away from them towards the mob of Jacks approaching, a hodgepodge of costumed menaces and…. and twin red beams shot from his face moving over the crowd, pumpkins exploding as they hit one Jack O'Lantern after the next, until the crowd out front was completely eliminated. There was soon only silence, save for the sound of Wild Bill racing off, apparently to round up reinforcements.
No one moved. No one spoke, they only stared in complete abject disbelief as their savior surveyed the scene of pumpkin carnage for signs of any more threats, but there were none. Upon destruction, the costumes collapsed and went up in flames, there was no place for any of them to hide. Satisfied, the figure then turned towards them, silhouetted by the flames from the mass of burning costumes. He put his fists on his hips and stood there majestically.
"What are you guys waiting for?" he demanded. "They're coming back!"
Col. Wallace, who could not believe what he had just witnessed, snapped back to reality. "Pike?"
Lt. Pike strode into the remnants of the bar. "Yes sir, it's me."
He was met with silence for some moments. "Well," Sulley finally said, "there goes your secret identity."

Eight Hours Earlier
On a small two lane highway in rural Maine that had clearly been overlooked for resurfacing since the Cold War was still on, a Foundation Armored Personnel Carrier flew up the road without once being knocked over either line, thanks to the always perfect hands of Lt. Reynolds. It was said she could parallel park one of these so that each bumper was inches from another vehicle, and could take a turn at seventy while barely leaving rubber on the road.
In the back, Col. Wallace addressed the group. They'd been on deployment to a new site with the hopes that they would officially be promoted from support task force to Mobile Task Force, when the call came in to re-route to the site of a detected anomaly. Pickwick, Maine, one of the towns that should have had the sign reading "You are now entering and leaving Pickwick."
"Situation is as follows: we have word of an as-yet unidentified SCP demonstrating an occult disruption." No one asked the colonel how the Foundation knew that, mostly out of fear that they would be told. "Satellite imagery shows the entire town is completely abandoned, no heat signs, no bodies. We are to first and foremost locate the SCP, supposedly some kind of emerald about the size of grapefruit, and then either obtain - for preference - or neutralize - if necessary. Secondary is to attempt to locate and rescue the inhabitants of the town."
The team arrived in the center of town, and on Wallace's command began to secure the area around their APC, except for Lt. Pike who was launching their drone. This was a new Foundation design; it could remain airborne for 20 hours, had a full suite of sensors including those set to locate occult and extraterrestrial signals, and two MASER weapons. Pike sent it up and put it on a path to follow the team from above for now, in case it was needed.
The buildings looked empty, but not abandoned; whatever had happened was recent. Jack O'Lanterns were everywhere, as would be expected, but these witnesses insisted on remaining silent about what happened.
They spent an hour searching, until they heard something down an alley near a saw mill. They slipped back, moving carefully as they proceeded. "It's going to be a zombie," Caruthers said quietly. "Today it's got to be a zombie."
"Why?" Dillie said next to her. "Today it could also be vampires, werewolves, ghosts-"
"Okay," Caruthers said.
"-mummies, witches, skeletons, scarecrows-" The figure stepped out of the shadows at Dillie's approach. "Or that," he said in momentary shock at the sight of a typical Boris Karloff-style vampire costume, but with a Jack O'Lantern on its shoulders.
"Don't move," Sulley ordered the creature, on the off chance it was someone in a costume. The unnatural glow from within said otherwise.
The creature moved wrong. It's moved in a manner almost like a marionette, that is, the motions were not just unnatural, but didn't seem real. Nevertheless, it wasn't slow, and Dillie quickly backpedaled away as it lunged at him, firing center of mass. The rounds harmlessly exited the back. Sulley responded by aiming for the head… well, what they thought of as the head. But unfortunately, pumpkins don't explode when shot, so these slugs passed through as well, causing no noticeable damage, but also confirming that like the costume, there was nothing alive inside that monster.
Dillie stumbled, and the thing loomed over him, allowing him to see the glow within came from no outside source. The shapes of its jagged mouth seemed to change, to move, and suddenly, it opened wide, the jagged tooth bumps becoming pointed like a shark, ready to bite his face off.
Caruthers came from the side, striking the side of the pumpkin with enough force that it imploded under the blow. The pumpkin came apart, and the light went out. Bits of rind fell all over Dillie's face as the costume collapsed, as if just dropped off a coat hanger. Almost immediately it ignited, and Lt. Pike and Sully stepped over to stomp it out before the addled Dillie was as well.
"I don't suppose we'll be lucky and have that be the only one," Reynolds said.
"But that was weird," Caruthers said, then blanched a little. "I mean, I struck that thing hard enough to knock the Jack O'Lantern off. It's like it's fused to the costume body, like it's an actual head."
"Sir!" Private Miller shouted from the rear. "More of them, five, six, no seven!" The group quickly rushed to the back and confirmed it, a mixture of costumes, all with a variety of Jack O'Lantern heads. "Orders, sir?" Miller asked nervously.
"Target the dog," Wallace told Miller. Miller aimed for the white with black spots costume, presumably a Dalmatian, though it had no headwear of any kind. A three round burst in the chest again did nothing, neither when it hit the head. Finally Miller unloaded into it and eventually the pumpkin came apart, but it had taken a whole clip.
"Dillie," Wallace said, "grenade." Dillie responded; he'd been caught off guard, but as someone gunning for an MTF position he had learned to bounce back fast. He tossed a grenade, and the remaining six went down. But only one stayed down, and it was only because it had struck its Jack O'Lantern head on the curb and shattered it. The rest got to their feet, jerkily, like they were being pulled up rather than merely standing.
"It looks like," Miller started, then was shocked by what followed. The one in the police man's costume pulled out a pistol from the holster on its belt and then shot him in the chest three times. Miller stumbled back and fell, while the others all immediately opened fire on Officer Unfriendly, first in the torso, then everyone shifting to the pumpkin, quickly putting it down.
"Private?" Sully enquired. "Status?"
"My vest caught them," Miller said, though he wheezed a little. "Just caught me off guard, sergeant." They were using advanced Foundation-made armor; Miller might have a few bruises, but he'd be fine.
"Permission to try the MASER, sir?" Pike asked,
"Granted," Wallace said. Pike pulled out two pistols, well, pistol-shaped devices. They were actually, simply targeting lasers that would cause the MASER to hit whatever he painted. He aimed both at the nearest Jack O'Lantern, and sure enough, it exploded and went down. "Hold for now, lieutenant," Wallace said. "We might need that in a crunch. Sulley, have your troops engage hand to hand."
"Sir," Sgt. Sulley said, and the three privates joined him in advancing on the quartet. He whispered orders, and each suddenly broke for their target, eliminating it. "The Jacks are down, sir," Sulley reported.
Reynolds stepped over to the burning form. "Absolutely no sign of any human remains, colonel," she said. "This is definitely an SCP at work."
"Sir, Jacks, Four O'clock," Pike said loudly, and they turned and saw another group coming, about a dozen this time. But at the front of the pack was something different. For one, it wore a hat, to go with its outfit. It was dressed as a cowboy, and not a cute Halloween cowboy, like something that had just stepped out of a time machine. The hat was black, and sat atop the pumpkin head with perfect balance. But it's Jack O'Lantern was different too. It was black, a shiny black, like it had been coated in high gloss paint, but bright orange was visible around the cuts of its face. Its inside glowed brighter than all of the others, and it was the only one whose movements seemed human. As they watched, they had to wonder if this was a human, someone who created all of this as some kind of crazed holiday fantasy.
"Anyone else think Wild Bill Hickok's the leader?" Sulley asked as they formed up side by side with the rest. The sound of its spurs could be heard even from this range.
"Let's see, take that black pumpkin apart." The team unloaded on it, but while "Wild Bill" jerked his head in response, his pumpkin remained undamaged. "Sergeant," Wallace finally said, "grenades."
The four noncoms pulled a grenade and tossed. Wild Bill's entourage went flying, but the cowboy refused to go off into the sunset.
"Pike," Wallace said, "MASER, now."
Pike pulled both pistols, but as he reached Wild Bill pulled a pair of six shooters and shot them from his hands. Pike's hands hurt from the blow, but Wild Bill just holstered his revolvers. And a voice like the wind passing through a mountain cave said, "Too slow." Then with a fluid motion it reached behind its back, pulled a lasso, and in one fluid motion spun it once and threw it around Miller. It tightened, and Wild Bill yanked him to it, so that the private collided with him. Wild Bill didn't even sway. It was then that they realized how tall it was, as it looked down on Miller, then opened its mouth, and flames shot forth, incinerating him where he stood. Within seconds he was reduced to a blackened skeleton.
Pike was shocked, and quickly scooped up his pistols. But he barely had them in his hand before Wild Bill pulled a single six shooter from its belt and began pulling down on the hammer with the other. It had to have fired twelve shots by the time the now retreating Lt. Pike was finally hit in the back. He stumbled forward, the impact throwing him off balance, and four more shots struck him in the back. He tripped, toppled, and hit the rotted railing by the side of the mill, pitching over. He fell ten feet onto a mix of mud and rocks, rolled, and was soon in the river, being swept along by the current….

Lt. Pike barely had the strength to resist drowning as the river swept him along, the icy waters sucking the heat from his body until his limbs felt like they were going to lock. Finally, Pike managed to gradually drag his battered body out of the river and onto the shore, where he coughed up water until he was sure he'd lost a lung in the process. The chill that went all the way to his bones was the only thing that kept the pain of his injuries at bay, but he knew that however much he wanted to rest, that to do so was death. So what little adrenaline was left coursed through his body, compelling him to claw his way up the rocky border and crawl to the top of the rise, where he finally got shakily to his feet. It was an especially cold October, and the wind seemed to blow straight through his BDU, past his skin, and chill his very soul. With step after agonizing step, he stumbled forward until he reached a tree, braced against it, and checked his radio. Dead. He expected no less.
For hours, Pike stumbled his way back towards Pickwick, grateful when he finally saw the first house. But then he saw movement, and his heart sunk. He'd seen enough mission reports to know that if there was movement in an abandoned town, it wasn't the residents returning home to say it was all a misunderstanding. Sure enough, he saw the pumpkin-headed monsters rummaging about outside. Well, just two of them… even in his condition he could-
Then he saw it, Wild Bill himself. He could hear the rattle of his spurs in the silence of an abandoned town. Pike pressed himself behind a nearby tree and willed himself to somehow stop breathing, but he was so cold and so petrified he thought for sure his breath and endlessly chattering teeth would give him away. But the head Jack must have missed him, because they continued with their activity around the house. Pike was so desperate for its contents he was tempted to chance it, but he didn't think he was up for another round with Wild Bill, especially without knowing the state of his equipment.
Grudgingly, he circled past them, then found his way to the back of a building, gradually reaching the back door of some store - a drug store, he realized once he'd gotten in. "Well," he said to himself through chattering teeth, "I was due a lucky break." He checked around and found some socks and long underwear, grabbed several pairs of each, and then proceeded to strip off his uniform and put them on. His body ached with the effort, but he started feeling a little better immediately as he slid his feet into the clean, dry socks. After putting on two layers of both, he slipped into the back and found a vicodin, broke it in half, and took it. The aches were beyond what over-the-counter meds would do, but he didn't want to risk having too much and being impaired. He wolfed down some of the snacks and polished it off with some lukewarm soda (under the circumstances it was actually his preference), then looked to his equipment.
It was bad news. Waterproof, yes, but that didn't help if the exterior casing was broken. Radio, gone. Satellite link, gone. Drone link, gone. MASER targeting pistols, definitely gone. His rifle, literally gone. His armored vest was so riddled with bullets it had cracked in several places. He had his night-vision goggles and his sidearm, with no backup clips, and his kabar. But still, this was something. He used a few of the tools and his kabar and began disassembling the pistols. As he feared, the devices themselves were too far gone for his tools. But….
Pike thought it over, then shrugged and got to work. He swiped a bit of electrical tape from one of the aisles and soon was satisfied. He hoped not to rely on it, but it was better than nothing. But he'd need to get back to the APC, there were things he needed. But his uniform was still too wet to put back on, and he needed boots for sure. He looked around, but there was nothing, the only pair of boots there were went with a costume, and he wasn't that desperate.
So he went through the entire store again.
Then a third time.
Then, head held low, he slunk back to where the costume hung. He picked up the red boots and then said to himself, "So, do I look more like an idiot in my underwear with red boots, or wearing this costume?" Finally, with a sigh, he took the costume down. It was another layer of warmth, after all, and besides, he thought, it could have been worse. It could have been Wonder Woman.

Lt. Pike smoothed out the costume and looked in the mirror. He was particularly irritated that a split-curl had formed and would return every time he brushed it away. "If this is the SCP," he said to no one, "I am going to be very upset." Pike grabbed his sidearm, kabar, and night-vision goggles, and slipped out the front door. No signs of any- wait! He saw it slouching along the street on the other side of an SUV. It was dressed as a sailor, complete with gloves, but he could see where they met the cuff of his shirt and saw nothing in between! Whatever this did, it animated the costume, but didn't actually fill it with anything, well, anything solid at least. It-
Oh crap, Pike thought, it's looking this way!
Pike ducked down, pressed against the vehicle, hearting the monster on the other side circling around it. He took up his sidearm for all the good it would do. He'd been planning to use a piece of firewood to bash the Jacks near that house, but here there was nothing. He waited, lifting his weapon, trying to decide if using it as a firearm or a club was the better choice.
That's when he heard gunshots. The team must have been engaging the Jacks. Instantly the vehicle shifted, and Pike saw the monster push away and begin loping up the street in the direction of the sounds. He let out the breath he'd been holding - that was too damn close, it-
Pike let out a small scream as he looked the Jack O'Lantern in the face. He raised his weapon and smashed it, and…. felt like a jackass as it fell off its nook and landed on the sidewalk below. "And to think," he said as he looked at the regular old Jack O'Lanterns that lined the shops on the street, "I used to love these things."
Pike slipped silently up the road to the APC and quietly entered. No back-up radios, this wasn't supposed to be a mission. But he did find a secondary uplink to the drone, so he took that, a few extra clips for his sidearm, and another armored vest. He couldn't fit it on over his costume, so he took the top off and slipped it on, then zipped back up…. before realizing he could have cut the cape off instead. Oh well, he thought, no sense wasting time, and he crawled through the top of the APC and onto the roof of the nearby store.

Pike managed to make contact quickly, but getting the drone to find the source proved much harder. It took over an hour before he finally spotted the epicenter of the disturbance, a barn just past the edge of town, with heat signatures to show the bulk if not the entirety of the town was within. Well, that was a big step forward, but now he'd need to find the others. He brought the drone back to town and began searching, soon finding a growing assemblage of the Jacks, and a quick infrared check confirmed where the team was hiding. Good, he could slip over and come in the back to-
Pike froze as he saw Wild Bill itself once again, striding up the center of the street and right out of his nightmares. He swore he could hear the sound of its spurs as the black Jack O'Lantern strode up to a pickup and opened the door, slipping inside with the same imposing grace it would have had sliding into the saddle. No time for subtlety, Pike knew, and he slipped on his night-vision goggles and switched them on. He ran from rooftop to rooftop, leaping between buildings as he watched the truck build up speed and fly towards the bar, smashing through the front just before he'd reached it. Damn! Too late! All right, he thought, I just hope the drone has enough juice to try this.
He flew the drone in as he continued running to the edge of the roof of the adjacent building and climbing down the ladder to the roof of the bar. That should be in range, he thought. He jumped off the edge, slid down the awning over the door, and landed on his feet, fist passing right through a Jack on impact.
He wanted to swear, but he was too terrified. He reached up to the goggles and flipped the switch, the new one he'd added, and the targeting lasers from his pistols activated, sending beams of red through the choking clouds of dust in the wake of the destruction. With the night-goggles as a power source, they were able to paint the first pumpkin target he looked at, and the invisible MASER of the drone struck and exploded it. Then to the next, and the next, until he had managed to take down all of them. He couldn't believe it, he was so shocked he almost forgot to toggle the lasers off again before he looked at something else, but it had worked, the entire street was filled with an inferno of burning costumes.
The situation dealt with, he turned to the rest of his team, who uncharacteristically were just gaping in confusion. They weren't going to ever make mobile task force if this was their attitude, so in annoyance he put his fists on his hips like a father looking down at a naughty child and asked, "What are you guys waiting for? They're coming back!"
"Pike?" Col. Wallace was clearly shocked to discover he was alive.
"Yes sir, it's me."
No one said anything, until Sulley finally said, "Well, there goes your secret identity."
Pike looked down at his costume, he'd forgotten all about it. "My uniform was soaked, so I found this-"
"Are you saying that gave you super powers?" Reynolds demanded.
"What? No!"
"Well then how-" she continued, but Carruthers interrupted.
"I was trying to tell you that thing we saw was the drone!"
"Yes, private," Pike said with a nod. "Colonel, I've found what I think is the source of the SCP, and probably the townspeople." He filled them in on the barn, and Wallace sent Reynolds to do a quick scout while the rest sought cover further up the street.
"You know, sir," Sulley said to Pike, "This would be a lot easier if you used your X-ray vision."
"That'll be all, sergeant," Wallace said.
Reynolds soon returned. "There's a large enemy force surrounding the structure," she confirmed. "Too many."
Wallace nodded. "I figured us much. Reynolds, Pike I want the two of you to take the drone there, and when you gauge the situation is right, rescue the civilians and retrieve the SCP. The rest of you, we're going to have to draw the Jacks away, leave only a token defense behind so they can succeed."
"I'm afraid I've used up the MASER power supply," Pike said.
Wallace nodded. "I approve of how you used it. At least the recon will help. Here," he passed over an earpiece. "Won't transmit, but we can keep you appraised at least."
Minutes later, Pike and Reynolds were face down outside the barn, watching silently. "I have to admit," Reynolds said, "I've had less conspicuous partners."
"I'm doing my best," Pike grumbled.
"Did you have to put on the cape?"
"It's attached to the suit."
"At least stop it from billowing before you give us away."
They waited, but luckily the Jacks soon had their attention drawn to the west, as the sound of gunfire and explosions echoed around the Maine hillside. Only a handful remained behind. Cautious, the two agents crept up, and struck, each taking down a Jack each with a strike from a makeshift club. Pike tackled the clown while Reynolds grappled with a witch, trying to avoid the snapping jaw. She managed to push it off balance and stomp her boot through it. Pike soon followed, smashing his fist through the Jack O'Lantern head.
"That door," Pike said, nodding towards the side of the barn as he caught his breath.
"That looks rusted shut," Reynolds said. "That's probably why it was chosen, they dropped the civilians in from above, knowing they couldn't get out."
"Can we pull it open? With that tractor?"
"Maybe," Reynolds said. "But not if it comes off the rail, then it'll jam. I'll need you to steady it while I go, and there could be hostiles inside."
Pike nodded. "I'll take that chance, let's go."
With a couple false starts, Reynolds finally got the tractor to turn over while Pike ran the chain from the back of it to the door. Reynolds looked back and he nodded to her, then grabbed the door, holding with all his strength as he tried to keep it on the track.

Inside the barn, the mayor leaned over to the farmer whose land they were on. "Gus," he said, "is there any way we could slip that door open and sneak a few people out to get help?"
"No chance, your honor," Gus said with a sad shake of his head. "Even if we weren't all so tired out, you'd need the strength of a couple dozen men to open that door, it's impossible."
"Well, what if…" but the mayor stopped, as they heard a grinding sound, and suddenly sparks flying. They looked up first in horror, and then puzzlement, and then…. extremely confused hope as the sparks continued to fly while someone with what must be the strength of a hundred men pushed the rusted door along its rails to open a path. One of the Jack O'Lantern monsters turned to him, but he quickly stepped up and punched its head, destroying it.
"Behind you!" someone yelled even as the Jack O'Lantern in the police uniform raised its weapon. It fired twice into the man's back, but he only jerked, then turned around, taking two more in the chest but still not being killed. The man rushed up and punched it as well, destroying it utterly, and showing no sign he was even bleeding.
"Quick," the man yelled to them as his cape waved majestically behind him, "get someplace safe, the situation is in good hands." Then he rushed off.
The assembled crowd looked at each other. Then a little girl punched her big brother in the shoulder. "I TOLD you he would come!"
Pike ran around to the other side of the barn and found the smaller entrance. He kicked it down and rushed inside. As he'd expected, the emerald had absorbed the life force of the two dead people he saw within, probably using it to power those monsters out there. He'd have to grab it while he had the…
Pike stumbled. He'd made a mistake, it had detected him and was even now starting to drain away his life energy to continue to fuel its occult power. He tried to push on, but he stumbled, his strength fading as he tried to crawl forward, its light glowing stronger as it slowly consumed him. He had to figure out a way to stop it, or it'd all been for nothing…
"Look, it's him!" someone shouted behind Pike.
"And look, that thing, what's it doing?"
"It's killing him!" someone said. "That must be kryptonite, smash it!"
The crowd cheered assent and rushed past the protesting Pike, smashing up the emerald with whatever they could find, until there was a powerful pulse of energy, and the glow ceased. It crumbled to black ash as Pike tried to reach out for it.
"It's all right," Gus said as he helped Pike up, "it's taken care of. And thank you, sir."
"We owe you our lives," the mayor said, pumping his hand.
"It's-" Pike began, but stopped; there was an interruption.
"Pike," Reynolds said through his earpiece. "Wild Bill is after me, I need backup, asap."
"I've got to go," Pike said.
"Please," the mayor said, "I need to ask-"
"I'm sorry," Pike said, trying to get the man to let go, "someone needs my help."
"How do you know? Oh, of course, your super-hearing. Please, don't let us detain you!"
Pike looked around. "Right," he said, then ran out of the barn and in the direction of the tractor. He could see the scorch marks on the ground, likely leading the way, and soon, he saw the fire, and froze. The silhouette of Wild Bill stood against the roaring flames, and it turned, and looked right at Pike. He could tell those hollow pumpkin eyes were looking right into him.
"Reynolds, Pike," Wallace said, "looks like all the Jacks went down."
"Wild Bill is still up, sir," Reynolds said. Pike swallowed and nodded. All the others were destroyed with the SCP, but Wild Bill himself was here…. meaning it was probably what had started it all.
It walked across the forest floor straight towards him, the sound of its spurs practically deafening. Pike wanted to run, but he couldn't take his eyes off that black pumpkin that seemed to burn with the fires of hell within. He was transfixed, was screaming in his own head to run, but couldn't even look away. It stood face to face with him, and a puff of flame erupted briefly from each carved hole on its face. And it spoke, like the sound of the Earth sighing. "I should kill you for ruining my plans." Pike trembled at the terror that gripped him. Wild Bill reached out his gloved hand, and brushed some ash from Pike's shoulder. "But I like your style."
Wild Bill pulled its hand back, and snapped its fingers, and a skeletal horse was suddenly there with them. Wild Bill climbed into the saddle, looked at Reynolds as she emerged from her hiding place, and tipped its cowboy hat. "Ma'am," it said. And just as the rays of dawn broke, they were gone.

As the sun crept on for the new day, the APC raced up the road. The Foundation was already sending a team in to deliver amnestics to the locals and create a cover story. "Couldn't we have collected my uniform?" Pike asked as he sat back in his seat, feeling every moment even greater an idiot.
"The damage Wild Bill did to your uniform has to be examined," Wallace said. "Especially since the SCP was destroyed. What exactly happened there?" Pike sighed, and after a few false starts, finally explained. Wallace said nothing for several seconds, then he too sighed. "I'm not looking forward to writing that in my report."
"I'm looking forward to reading it," Caruthers said with a smile. To pass the time, Pike tried to work on the MASER targeting pistols, grabbing his magnifying spectacles and slipping them on as he looked at the extent of the damage.
"Oh, lieutenant," Sulley said, "you're back. You're not going to believe this, but the man of steel was just here, in your seat!"
Pike looked over the ends of his glasses at Sulley. "I hate you, sergeant. God I hate you so."


Tim Wilson and his son, Felix, came to a stop on their hike. Two boulders jutted out of the forest floor, like monoliths in a sea of red and orange leaves. The patriarch Wilson approached one and eagerly took a seat, removing his campaign hat and wiping the sweat off his brow as he motioned for his son to catch up.
"Come on, bud!" Tim beckoned with a grin as he motioned to the rock beside him. "Saved you the one under the shade!"
Felix sighed and nodded, his eyes fixated on the ground. Tim frowned slightly, watching his son slowly make his way along the path. He had been acting strange for a long time now, which Tim had just shrugged off as puberty doing its thing. The boy was probably just anxious about graduation, or maybe even going to college, but that didn't seem likely given how long it had gone on.
Hiking was something the two often did when Tim had custody, but that had nearly stopped ever since he had moved in permanently a few years ago. Maybe a good adventure together would help with whatever he was going through, but it didn't seem to be working. The young man was silent as the grave despite Tim's best efforts to crack jokes and comment on the wildlife. The older Wilson scratched at his beard, untangling a small knot in it as he observed Felix take a seat.
The two sat in an uncomfortable silence for what seemed like an hour, with the only disturbances around them being a gentle autumn breeze rustling the trees overhead. A single yellow leaf drifted down from above, landing before Tim.
Tim adjusted his glasses, looking over Felix. He looked defeated; shoulders slouched, eyes baggy and sullen, and his foot tapping incessantly against the ground. Though Tim was no expert in people, it took no professional to understand that he was troubled. He cleared his throat before speaking up.
"Hey, bud. Penny for your thoughts?"
Felix didn't respond; his eyes were glued to the foliage below.
"Felix?"
He recoiled, straightening his back and looking to Tim with puffy eyes and clenched fists.
"What's wrong, bud?"
Silence.
"I'm worried about you, Fel-"
An anguished roar erupted out of his chest, and his face was quickly hidden between his palms as the scream echoed between the woods. Tim hesitated, pain wrenching at his heart at the sight of his son suffering. He swallowed nervously, thinking of how best to approach the situation.
"Hey, I might not know a lot of things, but I'll always be here for you."
Tim leaned forward towards Felix, who turned away at his reach. He sighed, resting his hands on his knees. The Wilsons sat in relative silence, with Felix's sobs being the only sound between them. After some time, Felix's voice faintly called out to him.
"D-dad…"
"Yeah, buddy?"
Silence again. Tim anticipated Felix's next words with baited breath, his own foot tapping the ground at a feverish pace.
"Dad, I like boys, and I-"
Felix spat the words out faster than one could blink. The youth stopped moving, seizing up in a combination of fear, anxiety, and shock that the words had just escaped his lips. Tim was also stunned, though he was able to recover faster. He finally drew breath once more, a small grin scrawling itself onto his chubby face. He chuckled, blurting out an immediate response.
"Heh. That's fine by me, bud. It doesn't matter, I love you just the way you are."
Felix squirmed a bit, slowly turning to face his father. The two locked eyes, Tim's gentle brown orbs meeting Felix's uncertain green gaze. Things still weren't right.
"Felix?"
His eyes widened, tears pooling in them once more.
"Please stop, dad… I'm not happy the way I am…"
"What do you mean? You can't help who you are. I know others won't be accepting, but you're my son and-"
"Dad! Stop!" Felix got up, the bag on his back falling to the side. The tears which pooled in his eyes moments prior were streaming down his flushed cheeks like sad, saline rivers.
"Stop what? I'm trying to understand you, Felix, but you won't let me! How can I know what to stop if you won't talk to me?" Tim got up, his exasperated voice reaching a fever pitch. He was desperate to know what troubled his dear son, and what could be done to help.
"I'm not happy being me! I hate the body I was born in, it's just… It's not right! I wake up every day in a body that just isn't me and I look in the mirror and feel so disgusting because it's not… It's not me… I want to be pretty. I want so badly to be pretty."
"You may not feel it, but you're a handsome young m-"
Felix screamed in frustration, tossing his backpack a few yards away.
"I want to be a girl!"

The remainder of their time resting had been silent. Felix's emotions were running high and Tim was at a loss for words. The two had eventually silently agreed to continue on their hike. Their combined enthusiasm was non-existent, and both dragged their feet as they walked through the dirt trail. Hours of desolate silence followed, with Tim thinking to himself the whole way.
Sex and gender were not something Tim often stopped to ponder, as in the animal kingdom things were almost always binary. Such unusualities were often easily explained by necessity, such as the frogs which became female when their population was overwhelmingly male. Or when the leader of a clownfish school died, the next highest alpha male would become female and take her spot. Or eels, rays, gobis… Now that he thought of it, a lot of animals changed gender. If they did it, why couldn't humans?
He stopped to watch Felix slowly approach him.
"Hey, buddy."
No response.
"Look… I might not get it. But that doesn't mean that… Ya know. I'm open to learning. And I'll be here for you no matter what, kiddo." Tim offered his signature friendly grin, patting Felix's shoulder.
For a moment, he felt as if he was about to be rebuked and yelled at. Instead, Felix squeezed her father tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. Tim's hands wrapped around her just as hard, embracing his child with all the love he could muster. Emotions came to a crescendo and tears flowed from both parties until none were left to shed. Eventually, they split. Tim reached for a handkerchief within his vest's pockets, cleaning up his smudged glasses.
"So… I guess Felix won't cut it for you anymore, huh?" Tim asked, gently placing his bifocals upon the bridge of his nose.
"I like Fae. Short for Faeowynn. It means 'spirit of the forest.'"
Tim recognized the name as that of a forest spirit from a fairy tale which he had read for her many years ago. Quite frankly, he was surprised she even remembered it. "That's a mighty fine name, my little butterfly."
"Thanks, dad…"
Neither of them knew what the future would hold, but that didn't matter yet. For now, Tim Wilson and his daughter, Fae, stood side by side overlooking the beautiful Oregon wilderness. They were happy.

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Sciptember 2022 Art Highlights •


October 23rd
10:00 AM
"Okay, on three."
"One…"
"Two…"
"Three!"
Alison Carol sliced through the roots holding up Dr. Claire Hennessy, and Robert Tofflemire grabbed the head of the Department of Multi-Universal affairs, hefting her onto his shoulder. He called down, "We still got smelling salts left?"
"Yeah!" Cassandra Pike confirmed from the bottom of the Pit.
For the last twelve hours, they had slowly been working to retrieve all members of Site-87's staff that were stuck to the walls of the Bottomless Pit. Everyone was accounted for at this point— but not everyone had gotten off the walls. Hennessy was among the last— Reinhertz was managing to rescue one of the Brothers West, and was making his way back down the wall.
"Unbelievable…" Claude Mattings stared skyward— from down here, he could see stars, despite the fact that his watch read it was 10:00 in the morning. "We're at the bottom of a bottomless pit."
Robert sat Hennessy by Pike, who began administering the smelling salts. "Any of you remember how you got down here?"
Montgomery Reynolds raised his hand. "I went to Pike's quarters with her, and we were… ambushed by something. Felt like we were getting dragged underground, and then—"
"We ended up here," Christopher Hastings confirmed. "And if we were dragged underground— " A subject which Christopher Hastings had far too much experience in — "We'd have lacerations all over our bodies, and by now, they'd have started showing signs of infection. So… more like a weird teleportation?"
"How'd you get out, though?" Robert scratched his head. "I mean, I know you're Chris Hastings, Action Botanist, but you were the only one awake when we came down here."
"Funny you should mention that." Hastings walked towards Robert. "I remember you yelling at something, just saying it was a simple sloth or something like that. Then I woke up, slipping through the vines. Managed to grab onto something and climb down."
"Well, everyone seems to be alive." Dr. Keith Partridge, as it turned out, had some rock-climbing experience from his time in Guatemala, and had just finished bringing down the last of the personnel, one Mary Churchill. "Now comes the question of how we get out…"
Alice looked helplessly at the pitons. "Anyone have an extra million meters of rope?"
"Climbing out isn't feasible for you lot." The Goatman made his presence known, chewing on the stem of a corncob pipe as he emerged from the crowd. "I'm immortal and untiring. You'd probably fall to your deaths before you hit your first kilometer."
Alison sighed. "So, either Jackson Sloth shows up and we fall through to China again…"
"Or we start drawing lots for who we're going to eat first."
Robert's joke was met with an unamused silence.
"So, yeah, anyone see a man in a tattered suit carrying a shovel walking around here?"

1:00 PM
Most of the researchers had fallen asleep— something that Nina Weiss thought was miraculous, considering they had been knocked out for the last week, at least. The Site director stayed awake, albeit with the help of caffeine patches.
Alice slapped on her third patch and stretched with a yawn. "Okay, so… from what we figured out, the pit is a pataphysical singularity."
"It's a plot hole." Robert was sitting by a makeshift campfire, roasting marshmallows for s'mores. He had brought a disconcertingly large supply of graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows, and was sharing his bounty with the Goatman.
"Okay, yeah, it's a plot hole. So…" Alison looked skyward. "I think we need to fill it in. Metaphorically speaking."
"How so?" Director Weiss scanned the pit. This wasn't her first time down here— but last time, she had fallen far less of a distance.
Alice put her hand on her chin. "We need to make a good story to get us out of here. Manipulate the Narrative in such a way that we can get out of here. I'm proposing Technique Beta-03."
"So, how are we going to get out of this?" Nina Weiss asked, before she and Agent Carol turned towards Robert, who was currently stuffing his face with a s'more.
"Why are you looking at me like that—" He blinked, and suddenly remembered what Technique Beta-03 meant. "Coordinated turn-and-look for a solution. Clever."
"Anything coming to you?" Weiss asked.
"Well…" Robert stood and carefully paced, while the Goatman kept soldiering on with his s'more making. "Among Foundation sites, we have the lowest suicide rate in the western hemisphere. That implies that the town tries to keep a sense of levity about it. Hope, even. Why am I talking like this?"
"I don't know." Alison frowned. "It's like someone's putting words in your mouth." To no-one in particular, she said "He's an agent who spends too much time on Reddit, not a researcher."
Robert blinked rapidly. "Okay, yeah. Humor, and hope. Two things that the rest of the Foundation really doesn't have in spades. Everywhere you go, people are sayin' it's the end of the world as we know it, and they don't feel fine at all. Site-87's always been different— I noticed after I transferred from…" He paused, remembering the Old Man, and his friend, still in its lair. "Anyway. We have to do something uniquely Site-87 to get out of this pit."
"If the words 'zany scheme' comes out of your mouth," Alice played with her holster, "I'm going to pistol-whip you."
"Actually, I was just about to ask you." Robert sat down by Alice, and offered her a s'more. "What's Foundation procedure for being trapped in an extradimensional area?"
Agent Carol took the s'more. She failed to not enjoy it, and talked through a mouthful of marshmallow. "Well, for one thing, you're supposed to stay put and activate a locator beacon. Ration your food."
"They don't say anything about attempting to find an exit, do they?"
Alice tilted her head in thought. "They… do not."
"Right!" Robert looked at the walls. "So, that's what were're going to do. We're going to find an exit, down here, at the bottom."
"And walk up a thousand kilometers?" Director Weiss stood, grabbing her cane. "With all due respect, agent, some of us have bad legs."
"Well, overcoming that will make an excellent story, Director." Robert walked towards the walls, feeling along them. "Alice, get me a light?"
The sides of the pit were illuminated by at two different beams— Robert turned in time to catch a flashlight, and started inspecting the sheer walls. "Okay. Hundred and twenty feet in diameter, give or take…" He looked around. "You go left, I go right?"
Alice waved her flashlight around. "How do you do it?"
Robert frowned. "Do what?"
"Stay so… damn upbeat? Even now, you're talking about hope and trying to make a good story…" She sighed, and leaned against the wall. "Last year, you got lucky. You only saw what happened second-hand." She looked down at the ground. "You were in Duluth, and it was pretty quiet there, right?"
"Yeah?" Robert titled his head. "Someone tried TPing the apartments on Mischief Night, but…"
"When I was in Superior… one of the townies, they snapped." She swallowed. "His wife got taken by the scarecrows. When his kids vanished, we thought whatever had gotten the town had escaped. Then we found…" She couldn't finish the sentence.
"Jesus." Robert came closer to her. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Everyone just… wanted to forget about it." Alison rolled her shoulders. "This town… this site. It's seen too much in the last two Halloweens. How do you keep it together?"
"Because I have to." Robert rubbed the back of his head. "After 106 got my buddy, I had nightmares for weeks. That's when I found out I was allergic to amnestics. I have to live with every bad memory, every mistake, every horrible thing I've seen." He leaned against the wall. "That's the main reason I got transferred here. I was getting really nihilistic."
"Nihilistic?" Alice raised an eyebrow. "You?"
"Yeah! I know, it doesn't seem like I'd fit the… Nietzsche."
"I should slap you for that joke."
Robert chuckled. "I mean it, though. Before I got partnered with you, I was a massive fatalist. Then I realized that worrying about the end of the world and your own death and failure is a waste of time. Smile, have fun, make a quip every now and again." He looked side-eyed at Alice. "Even if it means that your partner calls you an idiot."
Alison elbowed him in the side and gave a smirk. "You are a bit of a lunk."
"We're going to get out of here." Robert surveyed the area.
"Knock on wood." Alice tapped the wall, and was met with the tok-tok-tok of a door. "Wait, what the—"
The two agents stared at each other, and started digging away at the dirt. Behind it, they found a dirty door with faded paint and an ornate knocker on it.
"Worth a shot." Alison opened the door. On the other side, clouded sunlight came through, and she found herself next to a familiar sign. She laughed. "Oh my god."
"What?"
"It's the front door." She grinned. "This is the front door of Jackson Sloth's Manor. Your stupid sign is here!" She stepped through, and took it out of the ground, showing him the words 'Bottomless pit and toplessfree dancers'. "Wake everyone up now."
Robert began yelling, rousing the researchers. Outside, it started to rain. To everyone emerging from the doorway, it was the best thing they had felt in weeks.

Half an hour later, it was still raining. Ryan Melbourne and the Goatman were the last two to exit, leaving the door open behind them.
"We're going to have to update the documentation for 4040, it seems." Melbourne stroked his chin. "Fascinating."
"Yeah, really cool, doc." Robert came forward. "One problem: we don't know anything new about the Pit Sloth."
There was a loud ahem from the door. Those closest to it turned to see a somewhat grumpy-looking man in evening clothes, holding a shovel and approaching the door. "Don't you know it's rude to leave someone's door open when you leave?"
"It's Sloth." Alice's eyes widened, and she ran for the door as he started to shut it. "Wait!"
Jackson Sloth stopped his closure of the door. "Ah, you again. Sorry I didn't show up, it was… rather crowded."
Robert came up next to Alice. "We need to figure out a way to defeat the Pit Sloth, or at least contain it."
Sloth smirked at him. "I like your attitude; you propose destroying this abomination before locking it away in a cell." Sloth stepped onto the front doorstep, eliciting a gasp from those assembled. "It needs a suitably appropriate climax to be defeated. A cunning plan, a daring protagonist. Something exciting. Go out with a bang! Or make it go out with a whimper."
"That was the best non-advice I've ever been given." Alison rolled her eyes.
"Young lady, if I just gave you a magic bullet and said 'shoot this to kill the Pit Sloth', would that be a satisfying conclusion?" Sloth rolled his eyes in return. "It would at least take three trials or a good quest, and we don't have time for that nonsense."
"But what can we do?" Alice pressed.
"You tell me." Sloth waved towards the crowd. "You're the center of attention, here."
Alice and Robert turned, and saw the entirety of Site-87 staring at them. Director Weiss gave a nod in blessing towards them.
The two agents looked at each other. They turned back to look, but Sloth had closed the door. As it shut, it fell off of its precarious perch at the edge of the front step, and started tumbling back down into the pit.
"Well, Plastic People?" The Goatman gave them an expectant look, leaning on a birch and lighting his pipe.
Alison Carol and Robert Tofflemire thought long and hard. An idea was starting to form in the back of their minds.
"I think we've got something."

«Chapter 11 | Hub | Chapter 13 »


The night air was crisp, not too warm, not too cold. The night sky was clear, full moon, no clouds. One would say it was the perfect night for today's celebration. The children walking up and down the street were brimming with energy. The houses on Archer Row were decked with spider webs, gravestones, scarecrows, skeletons, and carved pumpkins. Well, most houses anyway.
A large man in a zombie mask, hoodie, and jeans walked down the street. He was looking at the houses and not much else. A group of kids in costumes with bags of candy ran past him. The man had no quarrel with them; they were enjoying the night. In their excitement, they didn't see the very real and sharp gardening shears he had in his hand.
The Being typically spent this night walking through neighborhoods like this. Every year he did this and then he slept for the rest of it. He knew someone told him to do this, although he couldn't remember who. He found what he was looking for. A dull, boring house that was not festive in the slightest. Not even a single pumpkin or bowl of candy. That simply couldn't do.
The man walked up to the house without hesitation and tried the door. It was open. He listened for a television, to see if it at least was playing a special. It was playing a trashy reality show. He shook his head before he closed the door silently, walked to the back and found the breaker box. He cut the wires with precision, after all, he had done it before.
The power went out in the house. The lone occupant of the house, An older single woman, panicked as The Being entered the backdoor by breaking the glass, a sound muted to the outside world by his presence. The woman got up to run and scream from him, but the moment her feet hit the ground she stumbled and lost her breath. She tried crawling, but she suddenly became very exhausted as The Being walked slowly to catch up to her. He knew she could not run from him. She tried to reach her landline, but it was futile as the Being was already atop her, as his shears pierced the back of her neck.
The blood ran off his clothes like it was nothing. It stayed on his shears, however. He took off his glove, revealing a normal hand. He dipped his fingers in the pool of blood, and he drew a picture of a pumpkin on the living room wall with it. He then drew more decorative images on other walls, in an effort to make the house festive.
The Being returned the glove to his hand. He then pulled his sheers back out of her neck, causing more blood to flow from the wound. He looked around, satisfied with his work. The house was now properly spooky. He figured, however, he should work on his drawing skills. His ghost looked like a cartoon, not to mention his terrible attempt at a skeleton. But decorations were decorations, as long as they were in the spirit of the season.
He went into the kitchen, the darkness not slowing him down. He searched the pantry and fridge for something sweet. He found chocolate, although there wasn't much there. If he had the time, he would make the sweets himself. It didn't matter, he still had to patrol the night, punishing those who didn't celebrate.
The Being left the house and left the chocolate on the porch.

"Yup, that's the anomaly alright." The ginger MTF operative leader said as he lowered binoculars after looking at The Being leave a gray house.
They were camped out at the neighborhood pool house, which was cleared out for the season. The home owner's association didn't bother to decorate the building, making it a prime target for the anomaly. The MTF squad had their weapons stored away for an ambush.
"Looks like the Doc's 'predictive pattern' was correct," the tall MTF operative muttered in-between swings of his bat, "it's just a shame that we had to let it kill someone before we could engage."
"Eh, she'll come back to life in the morning. It just seems like it wants to pull a cruel prank. It does, however, bother me to unbelievable level on why it does this. Sometimes, I hate this job" The bald MTF operative retorted.
"Keep talking like that, and you'll get sacked and gaslighted." the tall one said with a smile.
"Besides, you know what the doctor said. If we apprehended some random person, then we would miss the opportunity to get the anomaly until next year." the bald one responded.
"Can someone please remind me why I'm the one in the nurse's costume? I'm really missing my guns." the final MTF operative on the team complained. It was one of those thin, cheap costumes, that sat on the shelf until Thanksgiving.
"Because you have the most experience talking with anomalies." the MTF leader said drearily, "You are also the youngest on the team. We need it to get to this pool house somehow."
"And you lost the other day's bet," the tall one added. "you bet that the D-class died in that collapse. We believed in him."
She just huffed.
The leader activated his radio "Spook Leader to Haunted House, preparing for engagement, copy."
The radio responded, "Haunted House to Spook Leader, proceed, over."
"Right, Spook-2, get out there."
She sighed and picked up the bag of candy that was assembled by the Foundation.

The Being was on the search once again. A young woman, possibly a teenager, bumped into him. "Oh, I'm sorry!" She dropped her bag, slightly spilling its contents.
The Being only grunted in response. As the woman bent over to pick up her split candy, she looked him up and down. "Well, aren't you festive? You know, I just love this season. The atmosphere is what really makes me love it." she was lying through her teeth. He started to walk away. "But, hey!" She tried to move in front of him, "You know who isn't festive? The neighborhood pool. I say we go over to it and vandalize the shit out of it. What do you think?"
The Being did not say anything but agreed with her. Looking at the pool house, it wasn't decorated at all and there seemed to be people inside not celebrating as well. He started moving toward the building, ignoring the young woman as she continued to talk.
Her voice trailed away as she let him walk away toward the pool house. "That was easier than I thought it would be," she said when he left hearing distance. The nurse turned around and dug in her bag and pulled out a radio. "Spook-2 to Spook Leader, Target is moving to your location, over."

"Spook Leader to Spook-2, confirmed, get suited up, over." the leader responded over the radio. "You two get ready for the ambush." The bald and the tall MTF operatives both went into side hallways as the leader stood in the main room with his side-arm. He once again spoke to his radio. "Remember, we can't run away from it, we sedate this thing now or we die, and trust me, even if you come back, dying isn't fun. No retreating."
The tall one couldn't help but see the bald one praying. He finished and then he asked the tall MTF, "Why do you still have that bat? I don't think that will help you win against a supernatural killer."
"Hey, look, I've got a really good swinging arm, you never know when that'll help. I don't judge you for praying."
The leader chimed in. "both of you hush up, it's almost here."
The Being broke down the front door and the leader immediately shot him with tranquilizers. The three syringes sticking out of him seemed to have no effect as he charged the leader. The side-arm ran out of ammunition; the leader looked at his gun and then back up. The leader ran at him and, just as they were going to collide, slid on the ground past him.
The Being tried to turn around but the bald and the tall MTF operatives started firing more tranquilizers at him. He then growled like an animal and threw his shears at the bald one. As he tried to dodge, one of his legs buckled and the shears embedded itself in his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and moved behind his corner. The Being swiped at his front and the syringes fell. The tall one also fell back behind his corner, losing his breath.
The leader stabbed The Being in the back with a combat knife and It didn't bleed. It grabbed the leader's arm, threw him out in front of itself, and started walking slowly toward him. The tall MTF shot at it with a real gun, the bullets causing him to make it recoil a small bit, but not much else. It picked up the leader in a choke-hold, and the tall one held his fire.
The Being threw the leader at the tall MTF, breaking the leader's back. It started to walk to the bald one. As The Being rounded the corner, it saw the bald MTF with a shotgun. It was shot and slid back a small bit, but before he could reload, The Being ripped the shears from his shoulder and slashed his neck. It turned to the two on the ground.
The Being slowly walked over to the MTF on the ground, but halfway there, it was shot in the side of the head with a tranquilizer. It turned its head to see the girl from earlier now in full MTF gear. She shot more rounds into the anomaly, it was noticeably slower, but it kept moving. She swore as she ran out of syringes. She tried to take a step back, but she stumbled and fell backward. She tried crawling away, but her hands slipped as she tried to move. The Being was getting close.
The tall MTF member picked up one of his weapons, ran up to The Being and swung a metal baseball bat at its head. A loud metal clang rang in the room just before the thump of its body hitting the ground.
The room stood still, with the only sound being the two MTF breathing heavily. Their eyes met and they both shared an understanding. The metal bat clanged to the ground as the tall MTF ran to check up on his fallen comrades.
The other functioning MTF member got up and ran over to The Being and secured its hands behind its back with strong, metal, restraints. She also pulled back the mask from its neck, revealing a tattoo that said "Mr. Slasher Villain", before stabbing a large syringe into it containing a very strong, and heavy, sedative.
The tall one activated his radio, "Spook-3 to Haunted House, the target is neutralized, Spook Leader and Spook-4 are down. Requesting clean-up, over."
As "Haunted House" responded, Spook-2 spotted a piece of paper in The Being's shoe, just being visible against the white socks it had. She reached hesitantly down and pulled it out. Other than the fact it was crushed for a long time, it looked and felt fine. She unfolded the paper.

Holy Heck! You've just found yourself your very own Mr. Slasher Villain by Gamers Against Weed! Ch-ch-ch-a-a-a. Who is Dr. Wondertainment?
Collect them all and become Mr. Gamer!
01. Mr. Literal Serial Killer
02. Mr. Normie
03. Mr. Bernie Sanders
04. Mr. Get Anything For Free In Any Shop
13. Mr. Slasher Villain ✔
20. Mr. Sex Number
21. Mr. Heavenly Virtues
22. Mr. Deadly Sins
23. Mr. Original Character
24. Mr. D.A.R.E.
25. Mrs. Gentrification
26. Ms. Mad About Video Games
27. Mr. Meme
28. Mr. Ominous (discontinued)
29. Mr. Destiny
30. Mr. Monty Python And The Holy Grail
31. Ms. Zapatista
32. Mr. Hax
33. Mr. Just Has The Tattoo
34. Mr. Top Text and Mr. Bottom Text
35. Mr. Finale


October 22nd
record scratch
freeze frame
"Sooooooo, yeah, you're probably wondering how I got here, huh?"
Alison Carol awoke, in freefall, to the sight of Robert Tofflemire playing with his phone. Above her, a distinctly unamused Ryan Melbourne was also falling, and let out a beleaguered sigh.
"You know how I know this job has jaded me, agent?" Melbourne asked, flipping through the Sloth's Pit tourism guide for the fifth time in the last three hours.
"How?"
"We're falling down a bottomless pit and the most remarkable thing about this is the fact that your partner is in good spirits."
"What am I, chopped liver?" Above them, the Goatman floated, falling at the same rate as them. He had been chewing on a tin can, eating all of the glue from the label.
"Okay, yes, you're a bit odd."
"Thank you." The Goatman tumbled in midair, trying to keep itself amused.
Alison stared at Robert. "…does your phone's soundboard seriously have a sound effect that just says 'freeze frame'?"
"I'm just trying to protect myself from existential dread." Robert frowned at his phone. "No service. Just like last time. And my battery's dyin' fast."
Alison Carol looked up at the starry sky above. Her watch read 2:00 in the afternoon. "Well, here we are. Again."
"If it's anything like last time, we're probably not gonna die when we hit the bottom!" Robert beamed. "And I've got rations."
"So we can die while eating the modern-day equivalent of hardtack. Fantastic."
Alice adjusted her angle of falling to come up closer to Melbourne. "His definition of rations is normal Foundation rations… and s'mores ingredients."
The Goatman's ears perked at the sound of 's'mores', and he looked at Robert, spitting out the can. "Hershey's?"
"And Jet-Puffed Marshmallows."
The Goatman grabbed the can and chewed on it. "All right, you're not half-bad, Plastic Person."
Melbourne stared at this exchange. "He… was stationed at Site-19 before this, yes?"
"Yep."
"The Site-19 that's known for having insane researchers run around its halls."
"That's the one." She clicked her tongue.
"That… explains far too much, and yet so little."
The four of them continued to fall, contemplating what the hell had transpired…

Three Hours Ago
Katherine Sinclair waved her narrative detector over the mess of dead vines, stamping out what looked like a juvenile pumpkin bud. All around her, the Narrative readings were low— near zero. She grinned. "I was right. Narratively dead."
"Makes sense." Seren Pryce came up beside her. "I mean, we burned this thing to the ground last year. Story here ended with the Black Autumn."
Around them stood the charred ruins of the Douglas County Fairgrounds— what was once Zone-SCP-097. One year ago, Katherine Sinclair and all of Squad-25 had burned Mavra Isimeria, the Black Equinox, to death here. In the distance, she could see the remains of a truck that a massive pumpkin had once rested on. Now, all that was there was the smell of charred air, and some signs of plant life— pumpkin vines were hardy, here.
"Burn them," Sinclair ordered, looking at a mass of green vines. "We'll set up base in the animal barns."
Technically, both Sinclair and Melbourne were the same rank— acting directors of Site-87, now that the whole staff was missing. Ryan was helping the last transport from the Site load up.
"Soooo, let me get this straight." Raymond February came up next to Sinclair. "Because this place has no Narrative, you think the Pit Sloth can't come in here?"
"It's the best theory I have." Sinclair admitted. "87's been compromised to hell and back— there's no telling if those things are going to reappear in the site, or how angry they're going to be when they do."
"So if the Pit Sloth comes here, it'll either be unable to enter, or it won't exist at all because there's no Narrative here?" February rubbed his head. "I think? I don't get this sh— stuff at all."
"Yes, but this is only a temporary measure." Sinclair looked at the twitching needle on her detector. "Just by being here, we're increasing Narrative levels. Observation effect, like with electrons."
Near the entrance to the fairgrounds, a truck belonging to the Normal Trucking Company pulled up. Robert Tofflemire exited the cab, letting Alison Carol and Ryan Melbourne out of the back; the latter was bearing a backpack that looked far too heavy for his frame.
"What's he got in there?" Pryce looked over at the trio as Robert helped steady the backpack, and the two of them guided Melbourne into the former Foundation infrastructure of the zone, mostly crushed by a fallen Ferris wheel.

"I can't…" Carol panted, "Believe… you took an entire server!"
"It'd take a day to set up Wi-fi, and another week to interface with Site-87's servers remotely." Melbourne opened his laptop. "You should be more physically fit than this, agent."
"Keep in mind:" Alison pointed to herself. "Coma patient! For half a month!"
"And that's after the algae-bearing slow-ass mother scooped out some of her brain," Robert quipped.
"Erasing memories and scooping out brains isn't the same—"
"Well, your head sounds pretty hollow to me!" Tofflemire playfully knocked on Carol's skull with his knuckle. "Anyone home, McFly?"
Alice stifled a laugh and brushed his arm away. "Tofflemire, save the references for movie night."
Ryan coughed and rolled his eyes. "If the children would leave the room…"
"Give us a break. It's been a long month." Tofflemire stretched. "This is the first time we've really been able to banter at each other."
Another roll of the eyes. Ryan clicked through files on the server. "How may are left manning the site, again?"
"Skeleton crew, about fifty. Enough to feed and contain the anomalies, and keep the power on."
"Hmm." Ryan opened a particular file, and turned it towards the two of them. "We're going here."
The agents' eyes widened as they read the name of the file. SCP-4040.
"The pit." Alice rubbed her face. "You want us to go to the pit? Why?"
"I read over the file a few months back— I'm technically part of the pataphysics department."
"You?" Robert's tone was incredulous.
"All of memetics is. Memetology formed the basis for early pataphsyics— reality is conveyed through the information we perceive, after all." He cracked his knuckles. "This thing dragged you down into the pit, and you're recorded as meeting an entity resembling town founder Jackson Sloth down there. I figure if we can find this being and talk to him, we can figure out a way to solve this crisis."
"No offense, but…" Alice scratched the back of her head. "Nobody has ever found the Pit twice. It doesn't seem to have a concrete location. I don't think we can help you find it."
Melbourne turned to look at Tofflremire. "From what I understand… Robert has access to a tour guide."
Alison looked incredulously at Robert, who rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "We have a meeting place," he admitted.

Baby Bone Wood was named for the Baby Bone Bridge, which stood over a long-dry riverbed; a small earthquake in the 1920s had diverted its flow about a mile south. Now, the bridge overlooked dead leaves, dry soil, and a series of iron nails sticking from the ground.
In the tourist books, it was described as a "Crybaby Bridge", as one could supposedly hear the crying of children emanating from it at night. But that was more likely a certain being who lived under it, one that Robert was trying to lure out using a stick, fishing wire, and a tin can.
"That's just juvenile," Ryan frowned.
"It's our signal. He suggested it, not me." Robert swung the can around. "Goats love this stuff."
"They eat the glue from the label." Alice adjusted her under-arm holster. "Not the tin itself."
"…isn't glue an animal product?" Ryan frowned. "Does that make goats carnivorous?"
"Yes," a voice boomed from behind Melbourne, "And you're lookin' mighty tasty right now."
"JesusfuckingChristeatingsoup!" Ryan jumped and nearly fell off the bridge, only for Alison to catch him and pull him back up.
"That's a new one." The chuckling, eight-foot-tall, winged form of the Goatman helped Melbourne to his feet. "Usually it's just a scream or an 'oh god no'."
Robert threw the Goatman the can. "We need to find the Pit."
"That's going to be complicated." The Goatman started eating the label from the can of peas. "You two have already found it once, and for people who are… well, who are real, it's supposed to be a one-and-done. A story you spread around, but something you can never find again."
"But you can find it." Alison crossed her arms. "You want this thing gone as badly as we do."
The Goatman stopped chewing. "Quiet. Do you hear that?"
All of them stood still. The hairs on Alice and Bob stood on end as they realized that there was a rhyme echoing through the woods.
The hole is real, and wider it grows
Autumn is real, and soon come the snows.
The story is real, it comes in the night…
The Pit Sloth is real, and he'll snuff out your light!
"Jesus," Melbourne swallowed. "That—"
"That's coming from the Pit," The Goatman confirmed. "It's been getting louder over the past few days. And the Pit… it's changing. It's gotten bigger."
"How much bigger?" Alison swallowed.
"Twenty, twenty-five feet. And… there's something else." The Goatman leaned in closer. "Screams. Hundreds of them. People calling for help. Like they're in pain."
"Hundreds…" Robert's eyes widened. "That… that may be where they took everyone."
"So the Pit's filled with Plastic People." The Goatman rubbed his snout. "Wonderful."
"Think about it this way," Melbourne offered. "If they're all in there, we can't ever find it again."
"Hmm." The Goatman frowned. "There… might be a way I can get you there. It involves a full moon and an old carriage path that's hidden beneath the undergrowth."
Robert took out his phone. A quick Google search later, he asked, "It's the very end of the Waxing Gibbous tonight. That full enough?"
"Worth a shot." The Goatman turned and beckoned with a pair of fingers, walking off. "Follow me."

They walked through the woods, and Robert looked overhead. Sharing the sky with the soon-to-be setting sun was Earth's sole natural satellite— a big grey hunk of rock that a dozen people had walked on.
"You know, I've seen it happen for years, but I'll never get used to it."
"What?" Alice looked at Robert oddly.
"The moon being in the sky during the day. You never read about it in books, see it on TV… it kind of makes you anxious."
"It's a contradiction." The Goatman stopped in the middle of what seemed to be an artificial clearing. Trees on either side were standing tall, but there was a void left where dozens, if not hundreds, should be, straight through the forest. "You can't see the sun during the night, so you think you shouldn't be able to see the moon during the day. But science has other plans." He pointed at the nearly-full moon hanging overhead. "Thankfully, it works for us."
"How so?" Ryan Melbourne had lagged behind, and had just caught up.
"This is the first road in Sloth's Pit. If you follow it under the light of a full moon after saying what your destination is, you'll end up there in ten minutes— provided it's somewhere in the county."
"What if I wanted to go to Milwaukee?" Robert asked.
Melbourne raised an eyebrow. "Why would you ever want to go to Milwaukee?"
"Good point." Robert stepped on the path. "Okay. Do I need to say an address, or…?"
"Just the place."
"Okay." Robert made a 'hoo' sound, and said, "The former location of Jackson Sloth's manor."
He expected a rush of wind, a soft tinkle of wind chimes, or even the sound of drums. Instead, there was a simple urge in his body: to walk. "I think it worked."
"Yeah, I'm feeling it too." Alice strode in front of him. "Come on."
"So, how's this work?" Melbourne asked as the Goatman began walking beside him. "Some kind of slow thaumic teleporter?"
"It just… works. Not everything has to have an explanation."
"'It just works' is an internet meme, not an actual scientific reason." Melbourne crossed his arms. "Why can't we ever get a straight answer from you lot?"
"You want to explain the whole universe." The Goatman shook his head. "Not everything has an explanation because not everything should be explained. Some things are best left as mysteries, because then, you can keep questioning them."
Ryan chewed on his thought as they kept moving. The sound of the rhyming grew louder the farther they walked.

They had been walking for nine and a half minutes when Robert realized three things: firstly, that the front doorstep of the bottomless pit was up ahead. Secondly, the sign he had written — "Bottomless Pit and toplessfree dancers" — was still there, much to his joy, and Alice's chagrin. Thirdly, the pit was silent, and the rhyme was originating from several hundred meters behind them.
The rest of them must have realized that last fact as well. They all turned, and all saw a massive pair of arms, with five claws on each, emerging from a bottomless pit that hung in mid-air. The claws seemed to be dragging the hole closer to them. Noise was coming from it— if it was a rhyme, then they couldn't figure out what it was saying.
Alice raised her pistol, but the Goatman put her hand down. "Do you really think that's going to work?"
"Kind of my best option here!" Alison shot six rounds at the beast— the range wasn't ideal, but she knew at least one of them hit.
The problem was, it circled back around and hit her. Alison felt the bullet impact in her back, and fell to to the ground, thankful she was wearing a vest.
"Alice!" Robert tried helping her to her feet, looking between it, and the pit. "Which is worse, falling into a bottomless pit, or getting eaten by that thing?"
"You can't be serious!" Melbourne gawped.
"It's not bottomless. Not entirely."
"And I managed to climb back out." The Goatman grabbed Melbourne. "Ever been sky-diving?"
"No!"
"Me neither, but same principle!"
Robert and Alice fell back into the pit together. Reluctantly, Ryan Melbourne was dragged in after.

Currently
Melbourne groaned. "I never thought falling down a bottomless pit to our deaths could be boring!"
"You're the one who didn't want to tell stories." Robert, by this point, had started eating some of his standard-issue rations. Alison threw him up some of her sauce, and Robert, in turn, passed a water bottle up to Ryan. "My phone's dead. Anyone got the time?"
Alison opened her phone, eyes wide. "…it's 9:30 PM."
"What?" Robert looked up. "We've only been falling for two hours?"
"I don't even think we're falling at this point." The Goatman looked down. "We're just suspended in mid-air over—"
With a loud whump, the ground came up to meet them. It was earth, damp, and covered in leaves. Ryan was hit on the head by a falling water bottle, and Alice had to shield herself from falling crumbs. Robert just let out a groan of pain. "Anyone dead?"
"No," Ryan grunted, "But I feel like I got hit by a car."
Alice looked at her phone, turning off the stop watch app. "Okay, so… accounting for time being weird down here, we've been falling for… about ten hours. At terminal velocity, (53 meters-per-second), that mean's we've fallen…"
"Around 2000 kilometers? Math's not my thing."
"Thanks."
It took Alice several seconds to realize that none of those in the group had replied to her. She took out her flashlight, and scanned it around the room, her eyes widening as she met the gaze of a very thin, very harried-looking Christopher Hastings— aka the Action Botanist of Site-87. He was surrounded by several energy bar wrappers.
"Holy shit." She ran to him. "Hastings!"
"Damn." Robert ran towards the researcher, with Melbourne following after. "That really you?"
"I hope so." Hastings groaned. "Otherwise, I've been looting bodies for nothing."
"Whose bodies?" Melbourne asked.
Hastings pointed upwards, at the walls of the pit. Alice's flashlight pointed up, and she let out a gasp.
The walls of the pit were lined with the personnel of Site-87, seemingly woven into the wall by roots. She couldn't tell if they were breathing or not. Several of the lower cocoons were slashed open, revealing legs with ripped pockets.
"Partridge's emergency water bottles have been keeping me alive for the last week," Hastings explained, taking a sip from it. "Man never goes anywhere without them."
"Are they dead?" Robert asked.
"Don't know. They might be, if you try to take them down from that height."
Alice looked at Melbourne. "Anyone in memetics a rock climber?"
"Uh… I think that Dr. Reinhertz summitted Kilimanjaro once…"
"Help me find him." Alison removed her pack, and from it, several pitons and some rope. "This just became a rescue mission."

«Chapter 10 | Hub | Chapter 12»


“Another day, another bloody training exercise.”
Alpha swung the locker door open and took in the new smell of dirt encrusted clothes and dented helmets. He didn't bother to wash them this time; they would only get dirty again in a few hours. With the effort of a couch bound potato, he dressed himself in the standard gear provided for most security personnel within the Foundation, and to no one's surprise, his gun had mysteriously vanished.
“Ugh, I hate this place.”
Alpha's partner leaned around the corner of a wall, already geared up for the road ahead.
“What's the matter, Densil?”
“Fucking gun's gone missing!”
Alpha's partner gave him a weird look and went over to his own locker. Alpha didn't really like Delta for all it was worth. He was younger than the rest and lacked the experience needed for this kind of job; he couldn't even fire a gun when he got drafted. Alpha liked to call him ‘B1' from a TV show he watched about a pair of talking bananas in evening wear..
“Well, mine's here. Maybe you left yours at the firing range.”
Alpha slipped on his helmet, and pulled the one-way visor up. “Then I'll get Cameron to grab it, we're already late.”
As if fate had determined it, Cameron thrust open the door, wielding two large assault rifles. Alpha groaned. Cameron was the straight man to the team's arguments and shenanigans, if you could call them that. With his trademark navy blue helmet, as opposed to the standard black design, he turned to Alpha and Delta.
“I'm guessing one of these is Densil's?”
“Yes, that one's mine, give me it!”
With an exchange of hands Alpha got his firearm back; a very special firearm as well, one designed to switch between lethal and non lethal ammo. Furthermore, while the rest of the team had rubber and lead ammunition, Alpha had darts: one to amnesticise, and one to euthanize. Morbid, he had to admit, but it was better to think that there was a chance that the drugs wouldn't work rather than know that a bullet would end the target's life almost immediately.
“Once you guys are ready I'll be at the firing range with Bravo, we gotta move quickly. Oh, and remember, code names only now.”
“Yes, Charlie.” Alpha and Delta said in unison.
Delta went back to his locker and sorted out the piles of paper that called it their home. Alpha never really understood why he kept them, unless they were reminders, and if that was the case then Bravo and Delta had something to hide; Alpha called Bravo the 'B2' of the pair. Alpha snickered and began loading his gun with both rounds of darts, making sure that each one went to the correct slot.
“Hey, Alpha? Sorry if this seems stupid, but which training exercise are we doing today?”
God this was going to be a long day.
Summoning all his willpower, Alpha managed to turn to Delta bearing a straight face.
“We are going to kill some kangaroos. If you read the statement from earlier, then you would have known that they've been coming closer to our research site. We have to make sure they back off. They've got human intelligence after all, they should know to take the hint.”
“But couldn't we just let them run around and not kill any of them?”
Alpha was ready to sucker punch the optimistic prick. “If we leave them alone, then the kangaroos will find us, see what we're doing, and then kill us! They are more of them then there are of us. Does that make sense now?”
“I guess, yeah. Let's go!”
With a turn of the heel, Delta waltzed out the door to meet up with the rest of the group. Alpha followed suit.
By the time they got to the range, Bravo and Charlie had set up the rest of their gear, and had just finished emptying their ammo clips at the paper targets.
“Finally. Alright, here's what we need to do.” Charlie cracked his fingers. “Bravo and I are going to head east of the compound, look for signs of kangaroo activity and neutralise them on sight. While this is going on, Delta and Alpha will head west and look only for any small settlements of wildlife. They are to find a settlement that pertains to the kangaroo population, they are to destroy it. If we are to encounter any unauthorised persons, we'll escort them out, and amnesticise them if needed. Any questions?”
The group shook their heads.
“Great, lets go. We should be back by 1pm at the lates-”
A blood curdling scream echoed through the halls, amplified by the concrete that laid the room around them. Delta looked at Alpha, who looked at Bravo, who then looked to Charlie. The commander only had to point to the door and open his mouth.
“Go. NOW!”

A fuckwit.
Michael was a fuckwit and he knew it.
As the police station shrank in the distance, followed by the black figures of the police force, he knew he couldn't turn back. Why the fuck did he do that? Jab a whole tile straight in the doctor's face? He could be dead now because of him. All because of what could have been a misunderstanding.
…
No. No, that wasn't a misunderstanding. There was the smell of gas and he knew it, that doctor was too quick to leave, and there was no way that click of a button wasn't clearly heard by everyone within the next town over! They were trying to gas him, and he wasn't going to let them kill him just yet!
A bullet bounced off a section of road and grazed Michael's back. With a cry he collapsed like a sack of potatoes, with the guards aiming their weapons and barking orders. Michael couldn't hear, gunshots ringing in his ears. One guard snatched him up by the scruff of his neck pulled him up on his knees, the rifle centered on his forehead. Michael recognised the gun, it was a G36 assault rifle, modified to house larger rounds. Judging by the size of the barrel, they were large enough to blow the top half of his skull.
“Delta, Bravo, Charlie, standby…”
“Clear!”
Michael braced himself, eyes shut tight. His time was up. He fucked up and he was going to pay the price for it. Run now and he would die a coward; stay and accept his fate and he would die being a nobody. No arrest was necessary for his acts of sin. For the acts of sin, in his eyes, were sins he could never live down
The assault rifle coughed, and Michael felt metal pierce his neck. The pain was mild, yet sharp. A dart anchored itself in a major artery and began its work. The liquid filled Michael's skin, making him scream like a howling dog.
The drugs made Michael fell forward, facing the endless bush. The amnestics worked their way through his blood stream, piercing the blood brain barrier. Within minutes, his memory of the last day would be a blur of colour and sound. Between the dead roots and tree branches, where the Outback mocked the patheticness of Michael's fate, stood a Red Kangaroo.
Oh no… No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
Not at a time like this, not right now. Literally any other time, Michael could be beaten to death by a Red Kangaroo, but not while he was pinned by several armed guards with automatic weapons. That bastard, that piece of kangaroo shit! If that sack of fur and piss didn't crack his window and ransack his car, he wouldn't be here right now. He would be in Yaraka, on time, with supplies, and with a very happy boss.
The Kangaroo stared at him with its black eyes, as if it was trying to kill him with its thoughts alone. It made a squeak. Every guard snapped their heads in its direction. Their weapons centered on the roo's head, the laser sight visible from Michael's position.
Great. Have the bloody roo get the last laugh, that'll look great on my resume.
‘Local man laughed at by kangaroo as he gets drugged by police'. Why can't you leave me alone and have me die in peace, you ginger motherfucker?!
The roo didn't flinch, or even twitch its ears as the rifles lasers crawled along the chest area and rested on the head.
Wait, what the hell are you guys doing? Don't kill the bloody thing, it's done nothing wrong. What the fuck is wrong with you guys?
The guards stood in a square formation, Delta and Alpha in the front, Bravo and Charlie in the back; it was a tactical maneuver that mirrored a SWAT team. A very low budget SWAT team, but a SWAT team nonetheless.
“Weapons free! Alpha, switch to lethal!”
In a flash the roo bounced over and sliced Alpha's chest open, his screams catching the team off guard. The roo leaped off the falling body and leaped into the bushes, narrowly avoiding the sudden volley of bullets directed into the trees.
"WHAT THE F-ALPHA'S DOWN! SHOOT THE FUCKING KANGAROO!"
Alpha coughed and spat blood from his mouth, barely holding on his life. The team surrounded Alpha's body, ignoring Michael's attempts to communicate. Delta knelt beside him and held his fingers against the side of Alpha's neck. Delta's look changed from concern to fear.
"His pulse, it's slowing down."
Bravo heard a snap in the bushes and turned to it. He tapped Charlie, who turned and aimed his rifle and scanned the area of the sudden noise. The roo burst from the undergrowth behind them, its claws outstretched. The animal swung and crushed Bravo's helmet with its paw; the sickening crack of the neck bone signified death had taken another.
Before Charlie could react, a skull thrust itself into his jaw, snapping his head back; multiple cracks indicated a painful death. Delta rushed over and swung his rifle at the roo's skull, and landed a successful hit. The roo recoiled and held its jaw in pain. Delta went in for another strike when the roo caught his rifle. Delta held the trigger and sprayed its thick leg area, the weak point.
The roo looked down at him and gave him the animal equivalent of a smile. It scratched the wounded area and loosened the bullets trapped in its hide. Delta gasped. The roo dragged him with an iron grip to the trees on the side of the road.
The roo didn't even give him time to scream.
The drugs had finally induced their intended effect of unconsciousness, but held out just long enough for Michael to see the whole scene take place, with the roo dragging its feet toward him. Like a witness to a serial murder, Michael knew he was done for.
His last state of consciousness allowed Michael to make a small vocalisation. A vocalisation that would echo throughout the deep recesses of his mind.
“Oh Lord.”
«Michael Sends His Regards|Memories and Marsupials»


October 18th
Seren Pryce, one of the deadliest women on the world, had her sights trained on the windows of a house at the corner of Elm and Maple. She had made her perch atop St. Paul's Episcopal, in the bell tower. There was worry that those within the house might notice that there was no hourly bell, but somehow, Seren doubted they'd care. It was almost midnight, after all.
«See anything up there, Pryce?» Alice Carol spoke in her ear.
"Negative. Front seems to be clear." She switched to her thermal scope. "There's heat signatures within— four humanoids."
«We're breachin'.» There was a sound of a shotgun cocking. From the sound of it, Tofflemire had just finish loading the breaching rounds. «All right. We good to move in?»
"I don't think they've noticed you."
«Wish Nick could be here.» Raymond February sighed. «But his fingers still can't grip. Poor guy.»
«We're doing it for him.» Seren could hear the smile in Robert's voice. «Besides, he seems to be adapting to recon well enough.»

Nicholas Ewell hated recon duty.
His cover story amounted to 'theater usher with broken fingers'. He waited outside the theater which was screening Attack of the Snow Ghouls, a snowman horror film. Supposedly, the director and writer had gotten the idea from reading Calvin and Hobbes, and there were certainly worse ideas for a horror film.
He stood at the back of the theater, munching on popcorn one kernel at a time— having flexibility in only two fingers was hellish, but at least the nerves were healing to the point where he could feel them again.
Ewell watched the trailers start rolling; while the Sloth's Pit Horror Film Festival was largely an indie affair, filmmakers were encouraged to make trailers to be played alongside other films.
Nick stuck several kernels into his mouth and chewed. The next trailer to start playing nearly made him choke.
The screen read, in red, bloody letters, "TEN-MINUTE SNEAK PEEK: RISE OF THE PIT SLOTH, PREMIERING OCTOBER 31ST"
The clip started playing, showing a street sign at the corner of Elm and Maple. A group of three people in black combat gear were running onto the front steps of a porch. The scene shifted up to a sniper's perch, where a woman was looking through a scope.
Though she was mostly concealed behind her rifle, Ewell instantly recognized the pale blonde hair of Seren Pryce.
"Holy shit."

The breaching slugs hit the front door's lock like a car crash. Alice, Ray and Robert entered. Raymond began to shout, "Police, down on the ground!" But barely made it past "police' when he realized there was something wrong about the house.
"Any of this look weird to you?" Raymond tapped on one of the walls.
"What do you mean?" Alice stepped past him.
"Describe the room we're in in as much detail as possible."
"Uh…" Robert tilted his head. "Three walls, ceiling, floor, wooden, broken door leading outside."
"Exactly." Raymond tapped the wall. "This is just a wall. It's not hard, soft, wood, metal, stone, plaster… it's…" He stepped away. "It's like there's something here and it's just screaming at us 'I am a wall'."
"Same with the floor and ceiling." Alice drew her pistol. "Okay, so this is fictional, too. Fantastic."
"I never metafictional situation I liked." Robert touched his earpiece. "Pryce, where are the heat signatures?"
«Second floor. They stopped moving when you breached.»
"Okay." The three of them made their way through the house, coming upon a set of green, carpeted stairs. Robert frowned at this, and knelt to touch the carpet. "Detail."
"So either the top floor of this is more real than the bottom, or we're making this real by perceiving it." Raymond chewed his lip. "You know, I really, really don't like pataphysics."
"Preaching to the choir, Ray." Alice smirked and started up the stairs. As she went up, the house seemed to become more concrete; the walls were papered, the floor was carpeted, and light fixtures hung in the halls overhead.
"Police!" Raymond repeated when he reached the top step. "Come out with your hands up immediately."
Out of one of the rooms, three figures emerged. They seemed human— they had two arms with ten fingers, clothing, pants, and a head. The head, however, lacked detail, aside from a set of sunglasses over where their eyes should be.
"I'm thinking Contradiction." Alice brought her sights up. "These must be what the ones back at the site looked like before they got any detail."
"Contain them?" Robert asked. "It seems like it'd be too dangerous."
"I'm for pragmatism," Raymond agreed.
"Are you really?"
From the room opposite, a woman with black hair, green eyes, and a fake smile stepped, phone in hand as if she had just finished up a conversation. "You don't know those are Contradictions. They might be some of your friends, dressed up in a Contradiction's skin."
"Imogen." Alice glared at her. "Anyone for shooting her while she's monologueing?"
Robert pulled the trigger just as Alice finished her sentence. His shotgun exploded with a blast of fire from the end, and Imogen was hit square in the chest. She fell back onto the ground, dead.
And then, she didn't.
"You're going off-script." Imogen frowned. "This script was ordered specifically for this film, and I will not have any of you going off-script." She looked down at where her corpse had been a moment ago. "Though I suppose that may make a good blooper."
"Film?" Robert asked. It was then that he realized something— he had only counted three walls downstairs.
"No…" Raymond looked at where the fourth wall of the room should be. Instead, he saw a pair of beady black eyes staring at him from a bottomless pit. "No!"
"Don't look at it!" Alice grabbed him and spun the agent around. "If…. if you look at it, you'll… you'll just make it more powerful."
"What do you think the audience is doing right now?" Imogen laughed. "We're only about three minutes into this sneak peak, and it's already become so much more real." She leaned forward and gave Alison a little boop on the nose. "And there is. Nothing. You can do about it. Should've stayed down the rabbit hole, Alice."
Alice brought her pistol up to Imogen's head. "Only he gets to call me Alice." She nodded at Robert, who had his gun trained on her once again.
They both fired.

In his youth, Nicholas Ewell had gotten into several mishaps with the law. Three of those incidents involved him pulling the fire alarm at his school, two for petty robbery, two for armed robbery, and one for attempted murder. Now, he was adding a new crime to his list.
"Pryce," he muttered into his comms, "You know that thing about how you can't yell fire in a movie theater?"
«What are you getting at, Ewell?» Pryce had been observing and relaying events unfolding in the house from a distance.
Nick made his way over to the lobby. "Let's say, hypothetically, that the hot dog machine at the movie theater were to spontaneously combust. They would have to evacuate, yes?"
«I'd go for the popcorn, honestly. They always serve it lukewarm anyway.»
"Popcorn butter doesn't burn until, like, 450 Fahrenheit."
He could hear Seren's eyes rolling. «Popcorn is flammable, Ewell.»
"Oh. Right."
With that suggestion in mind, he drew a matchbook from his pocket and struck a wooden match against the rough counter top of the concession stand. Then, he threw the match into the popcorn machine.
The result was immediate, as was the reply of the sprinklers.

"Why do you have to make this so hard?" Imogen shook her head. "All the Pit Sloth wants is to become real— actually real. Not the kind of real that comes from pointedly being ignored for so long— they want out of this city."
By this point, Alice and Bob had gone through most of their magazines trying to take down Imogen. The universe refused to let them go off-script. She would still be alive, when this all ended. Assuming they were alive in the first place.
Bob counted the walls again. One, two, three. "Why all the theatrics? Why abduct an entire site? Why do any of this?"
"Fear is the best way of getting a story around. Fear, and lies." Imogen rolled her shoulders and started walking away. "Not much left to do here. The Contradictions will be taking your place. I've got dinner with Laura tonight."
"Laura? That's my drinking buddy you're messing with." Alice counted the walls. One, two, three, four. "And nobody messes with my drinking buddies."
When she saw the fourth wall, intact, she brought up her assault rifle and held the trigger down. The rounds chewed through the three blank Contradictions before them, and cut a swath in Imogen's back.
The three not-People fell like bricks. Robert dropped to check on the still-stunned Raymond February, while Alice went up to the twitching form of Imogen Folivora.
Imogen laughed, even as her lungs filled with blood. She started chanting.
"Love isn't real, but your heart'll still break,
Sleep isn't real, but you still start awake.
The ground isn't real but the earth will still quake—
The Pit Sloth isn't real —and he hates being fake."
Imogen Folivora started standing back up. From her mouth, the mandibles of a gigantic ground sloth started to break out. She ran in front of a window, lunging for Alice—
Less than a second later, the window was broken, and Imogen Folivora's head was a fine red mist. In the belltower, Seren Pryce ejected her cartridge.
«You good?» Her voice came over their comms.
"I think Ray got whammied." Robert lifted the semi-conscious ex-vampire hunter onto his shoulders. "But we should be good to go."
Alice tapped her earpiece. "Pryce, we need eyes on Laura Ashbrooke."
«I already radioed the Wonder Twins to go check on her. We should be hearing from them soon.»

Earlier, elsewhere in Sloth's Pit, Laura Ashbrooke sat at her laptop. She had just closed her e-mail as Ed came in, making wiggly eyebrows at her from beneath a mass of black and white hair.
"Hey, luv." He came up to Laura and smooched her cheek.
"Hey." She shied away from the kiss. "Ed… is everything all right?"
"What d'ya mean?" Ed scratched his hair. "The shop's back open, the check didn't bounce… I think we're good."
"And… about the other day?" Laura turned to face him, toying with her hands. "I though you were… well, we did have a fight."
"Hardly a fight. More of a quipping match."
"Hmm." Laura turned to face her computer again, exiting the e-mail program.
"Who're you mailing?"
"They've given us an invite to Wizard World next year. I'm replying in the affirmative." She shut her laptop just as Ed leaned closer. "That's all."
"All right." He beamed down at Laura, and gave her another kiss. "How about you get ready for bed?"
"At six in the afternoon?" Laura smirked and poked his chest. "You're hungry."
"And you look so good." Ed teased. Laura walked away. He didn't see the smirk fall away from her face on the way out, but he felt the grimace forming on his own. He had shut his thumb in the laptop to keep it from shutting down entirely and locking him out. In the address form of the e-mail was "jobs@s-c..plastic". He scowled as he read the text. "You didn't."
"I did." Laura was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "You're not Ed. You haven't been Ed for a few days. And I don't care how many… 'boons' this thing give me. I'm done."
"You are done when we say you're done." A pair of furry, clawed arms protruded from Ed's back. "Fix this."
"E-mail's been sent." Laura rolled her shoulders. "Can't un-send an e-mail."
"No. But we can make you regret sending it." The form of Edward Valentine grew to fill the room.
Hours later, Agents Blake and Ruby Williams would arrive to find Laura Ashbrooke's apartment entirely vacant. No furniture, no appliances, not even a single note to indicate that a woman of that name had once lived there.

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