And so, at last, it had come to this. Years of poring over religious manuscripts and numerological heraldry. Countless sleepless nights dedicated to documenting the most complex and perverse rituals in the world - at least, the ones that worked. The Foundation's religious studies department was drastically underfunded, and so her peers were lazy and unambitious; thus, her rise to the head of department was made all the simpler. A quick and untraceable curse, strategic mental influences on others in power, and the position of O5-6 was hers.
She now had everything in place. The right questions, the right transfers, the right items getting lost, and Six had acquired the exact and real-time geographical locations of every other O5 member. They blinked on the screen in front of her: twelve little red dots, overlaid on a simple black and white map of the world, with a little green one for her. An odd sort of distribution, with no groupings in any given area. If the world were cleft in twain at random, half of the organisational staff would likely still live. But she was not a sword, and her target not the world. Hers was a delicate, purposeful incision.
Six tapped in the first set of coordinates to the flight computer and sat down in the leather lined seat. Smooth as silk and silent as the same, her craft lifted from the ground and started accelerating westward. She uncorked a bottle of wine, poured out a glass, swilled it around in her mouth, then gulped it down with a grin. It was important, before she started, that she clear her palate. She wanted to savour every mouthful.
Twelve swift bites of flesh, and she would live forever.
10
"You and I are going to watch the sun go down."
O5-10 panted heavily, his hands awkwardly held above him, fixed to the wall with rusty nails. Six paced in front of him, a golden sunset behind her. The floor was slick and red from what had once been Ten's personal guard. Six errantly picked a scrap of flesh from her teeth, flicking it aimlessly onto the ground. Ten continued to stare into the sunset, burning his retinas a bit. Six grinned.
"That's right. Stare out at that ball of flame. It isn't such a bad final sight."
Six whistled a light-hearted tune. Blood dripped from the holes in Ten's hands, staining his otherwise flawlessly white business shirt. Ten was an odd place to start the process; in a more perfect world, she could have done it in numerical order, supplementing and reinforcing the symbolism of the act. Instead, she needed to move westwards around the world, chasing the night. She watched the sun pass below the horizon, then turned to the man she had nailed to the wall. Ten had remained as calm as could be said, and far more silent than she had expected.
Six sliced out Ten's eyes and swallowed them. Ten screamed until Six cut his throat.

The breve must eke an errant night, and strike the soul from twelve to one.
The night of sorrows, stolen, screaming, hidden safe from burning sun.

4
"So. You were some kind of psychologist, right?"
O5-4's response was muffled by the thick masking tape that sealed his mouth, and in turn, adhered his head to his table. Six opened up a file from the top of Four's desk, leafing through it ambivalently. Personnel reports, personality assessments; all of it organisational fluff to make sure nobody broke down at the wrong place or time. Four, unlike Ten, had no guard, instead simply hiding in a veil of obscurity. He seemed, by all accounts, a perfectly average middle-manager.
"Got a file on everyone, I see."
Four struggled, trying to free himself from his restraints. His forehead continued to swell from where he had been struck. Six leafed through one of the many cabinets in his room, finally coming to her name. She pulled it from the pile, amused at the prospect before her. She opened the file, skimming the key points. It was reasonably accurate; barring, of course, her complete and profound psychopathy. In that respect, it was simply a reasonably accurate assessment of her mask. She closed the report, placing it back where she found it and closing the cabinet drawer; then, she turned and grinned at Four, still helplessly bound to the table.
Six took a hammer to Four's arms until flesh tore and bone snapped, whereupon she drank deeply of the marrow. Four ran out of blood slowly enough to feel himself die.

The tokens twelve of masters five shall write a silent, subtle page.
To break the bonds of life and death, lest life or death be such a cage.

7
"There we go. Strong paralytic. No anaesthetic for you, friend."
O5-7 felt her heart slow. She sat, more motionless than she had ever been. Always, she had been wracked by shakes, her fingers never ceasing to tremble. Yet now, at the time of her imminent death, she was finally free of that wretched twitch. Seven would smile if she could, but she couldn't. She felt her eyes slowly dry, incapable of so much as blinking. Six sat on the chair opposite, wiping the bodyguards' viscera from her ritual knife.
"I'm going to need you to stay as still as you can."
Six stood from her seat, putting her hand on Seven's cheek. Six smiled, while Seven's visage stayed stuck in stasis. An ugly snarl. Six grabbed Seven's chin with one hand and her skull with the other, then pulled. She began to saw into the connective flesh with the serrated side of her knife. Blood flowed freely onto the table; yet could not be traced against its red velvet surface. Seven stayed silent. Her jaw hung limply, connected to her skull by only the slightest sections of sinew.
Six sliced sharply, and Seven's lower jaw dropped into Six's outstretched arm. Seven's pupils contracted to pinpoints, and soon, all life left from them.

The blood and tears of allied folk, with all those men who broke your bread.
A path and trail of capsules drained, directions followed, new paths led.

8
"You actually cut me."
O5-8 had a guard far more competent than the others before. Six was not expecting to lose this much time just yet: she was now two hours behind schedule, though such was well within her planned error parameters. With Eight's protectors butchered, Six walked into the office, only to feel cold steel against her cheek. Six wiped the specks of blood from the wound, feeling it knit itself back together, all the while binding Eight to the chair in chains.
"Not quite impressive, but decent enough."
Eight felt the metal dig into her skin. Six grabbed Eight's head, breathing into her face; the stench of raw yet rotten meat made Eight cough and gag. Six grinned, watching the captive squirm, only serving to tighten the knots that held her in place. She knelt down and grabbed Eight's left hand, examining carefully the freckles and blemishes on the skin. Six touched the smallest finger, then the ring finger, then the middle.
Six snapped off Eight's index finger, crunching it between her teeth; then moved on to the other digits, one by one. Eight sobbed until she stopped breathing.

New stolen touch, remembered will, a crescent moon above the sea.
Ascendant throne, descending sun, to walk on earth, forever be.

13
"It's warmer than I expected."
O5-13 shivered in the freezing cold, completely naked; harsh, billowing snow coating him in glistening white. Six had waited weeks for tonight. Not because her plan remained unfinished, but a far more fundamental reason: to kill all twelve in a night, all twelve must live within that night at once. Thus, she had to wait until Thirteen's native Antarctica ceased its endless daylight. There were no sentries or protectors here, save for the unbearable cold.
"Your skin's probably weathered enough, now. Turn around."
Thirteen's jaw chattered uncontrollably. He could no longer feel his fingers, wedged as they were beneath his underarms. Six towered above him; she grabbed his shoulders, and pushed him down to his knees. She took off her insulating gloves, then discarded them into the powder. She ran her hands across Thirteen's gut, moving upwards, feeling the bumps of each rib against her nails.
Six drove her hand roughly into Thirteen's chest, breaking through flesh and bone. She massaged his heart in her icy hand until it stopped.

The brilliant, piercing, striking sound, bereft of constant drumming tune.
The pattern stops and starts again, cross watered flesh on sandy dune.

1
"There's no hiding in a cage."
O5-1 stared emotionlessly at Six. She did not have to restrain him, for he could no longer move. His muscles had long since atrophied; his needs met by tubes and electronic screens. Long had he sat, deep underground, in the cool, dry earth. Layers of steel and concrete insulated him from The Outer, keeping him safe. Secure. Protected. Yet Six had thrown it all aside.
"I wonder if you've enough left in you to cry."
Six ran her knife through the pipe feeding One oxygen. He twitched as she pulled it from far inside his nose, ripping off skin that had long since formed around it. He coughed with vocal chords that had not been used in decades, though it came out more as a long, laboured sigh. Six extracted a thin metal instrument from inside her coat. One realised for the first time how much he truly feared death.
Six placed the auger against One's forehead and twisted. The strangled screaming started after two rotations and stopped after twenty nine.

The will of life and verve of kind, the movement new and thinking clean.
Yet foreign thoughts, intrusive, come, of kinds so old yet never been.

5
"I didn't think you'd be so young."
O5-5's research was esoteric, though not unrelated to Six's own field. Ghosts, spectres, the unseen; taken as a joke by some, though perhaps one of the most dangerous areas of study. Five had heard the alarm and ran, retreating from his research laboratory and into his office. He heard the wails as Six banished or bound every one of the spirits he had been studying. Six found him shaking in a corner.
"Up you get, kid."
Six knelt down, grabbed Five by the back of his neck, then walked to a table and pushed him against it. She flipped him over, face-up. Five looked at the face of his attacker. Six appraised him casually, bored by his resistance. Five struggled, but Six pushed his chest against the table, even as he pounded against its polished steel. He grabbed a pencil and stuck it into her arm; she sighed, pulled it out, and watched the deep wound heal.
Six held down the screaming child and slowly sheared off Five's skin, starting between his toes and working up to the head. James survived longer than anyone could have hoped.

The pound of flesh, reclaimed at last, with Shylock grinning, teeth askew.
Another smile takes smile from saint, and saint takes sordid breath anew.

11
"Greet me thankfully, old man."
O5-11 was seated on his porch, illuminated in the night only by his glowing cigar, swaying forwards and backwards in a rocking chair. Six walked up the stairs of the porch, only to feel buckshot tear through her chest. She staggered backwards, frowning, clutching at her ribs; half the lead had passed through to the other side of her body, while the other half remained lodged in her gut. She grabbed at her pierced flesh, picking out the scraps of metal and dropping them, red-stained, onto the ground. Again, she started climbing the stairs; Eleven had placed his shotgun beside him, instead focusing on extracting as much enjoyment as he could from his final cigar.
"I'm past halfway. Far too late for bullets."
Eleven simply nodded, quietly puffing away. His face was severe and taciturn. Six walked over, then plucked the cigar from the old man's grasp. She put it to her lips and breathed in heavily, then exhaled into flawless rings. She flicked it to Eleven's garden, starting a fire in the grass that was soon to consume the entire house.
Six snapped apart Eleven's ribcage, then squeezed his lungs empty. Eleven felt his last breath of smoke whistle out of his lips like a deflating balloon.

A swallowed wind with coins ablaze, through flames and ice and untilled soil.
Through hollow chest and stolen breath, dead fingers twist and turn and coil.

3
"You can't touch me, dog."
O5-3 grasped at the floor. Six had already massacred his personal assistants, but was taking her time with him. She kicked him in the side; Three groaned, and she kicked again. Six was not smiling. Three had wasted her time, her precious time, throwing soldier after endless soldier to their death at her hands. After a time, he had stolen the joy from killing. Three had made her act makework, no longer a celebration.
"Just lie down and die."
Six once again drove her steel-capped boot into Three's ribs, feeling them snap behind the force. Hours had been lost. Hours of her life that she could not get back, hours of this night that was the most important her world had seen. How dare he. Six so wished she could make the end excruciating, breaking every bone in Three's body with delicate care, to watch him cry and beg and mewl. But there was no time. She got down to her knees, holding his head on its side.
Six roughly bit off Three's outer ear cartilage, then gnawed unrelentingly inwards down the canal. Three felt Six's tongue burst his eardrum, and then all was his screaming silence.

Emphatic curse, empathic cure, antipathy will grow in full.
New screams, old screams, all screams of man, yet in your ears shall be no wool.

12
"Stop your struggling. Give up."
O5-12 emptied another clip into Six's chest. She felt her body extrude the pellets, then drop them to the floor. She no longer bled. Twelve reloaded desperately with one hand, still shooting with the other. Six scowled, continuing her pace towards the tall African. His suit was crumpled and dishevelled. Soon it would be crimson. Six grabbed the guns from Twelve's hands, throwing them out the nearby window. He stood, staring into Six's eyes. He felt his legs quiver.
"Shaking like a malnourished rat."
Six grabbed Twelve's shoulders, then pushed him against the wall. She watched him scream as bone snapped and tendons tore; his shoulders burst through his skin, and the concrete behind him started to crumble. Six sneered. She pulled down his face, looking deep into his watering and bloodshot eyes, and felt nothing but loathing.
Six opened her mouth wide, positioned Twelve's nose inside her maw, and bit down. She chewed it blankly, then snapped Twelve's neck.

The wind of change can turn again, the salt in breeze abrasive past.
Though winds in worlds of airless planes are never truly meant to last.

9
"You repulsive little worm."
O5-9 felt his face slam against reinforced glass, feeling both fracture. The depths outside his pressurised chambers rippled, a dull and electric light permeating through the water. He didn't mind it so much, any more. There were worse places to be than the sea. Six spun him around, staring at his face. He gasped desperately, trying to refill his lungs. Six rearranged her face, contorting it to a look of intense condescension.
"How dare you breathe my air."
She lifted him from the ground, slamming him against the floor. She picked up his wooden chair, then tore off a leg and drove it through his arm. He screamed. She tore again, and drove a second stake into his other arm. He screamed. Tear again, third to left leg. Screams. Tear again, fourth to right leg. More screams.
Six pried off Nine's toenails first, then moved to fingers. Six tired of the screaming and crushed Nine's skull with an errant flick.

With claw and maw and tooth and rot and movement edging ever in.
Immortal man has naught to fear, for only he is free from sin.

2
"Disgusting."
O5-2 sat, head and eyebrows shaved fully bald. In her hands, a platter with every hair from her body, carefully and individually plucked. Six stared at the offered meal. The guards had stepped aside, fearful of death. Six had made her way to Two's chambers, then heard the steel door seal behind her. It was no matter. One more bite, and it was done. She would live forever.
"Disgusting."
Two knew she was to meet her death. She had designed the room especially for it. Thick layers of cold steel covered every surface. Six's plot had to complete successfully; with her rite finished, it could never happen again. The Foundation would be vaccinated. With the death of the O5, the O5 would be free, as would the world. Six moved over to Two, silently grabbed a handful of hair, and shoved it down her gullet. Two looked at Six with disappointment; she was met only with hatred.
The men with guns watched on from the video feed, horrified.
The room flooded with acid while Six ate Two.

The blood runs cold, the oceans red, in screaming silence and decay.
Yet living not, but dying still, the soul shall never pass away.


SCPOS V3.2

Entry #1

Close.

Warning: Containment breach ongoing. Remain in your offices. Allow onsite security to recontain escaped SCPs.
Warning: Containment breach ongoing. Remain in your offices. Allow onsite security to recontain escaped SCPs.
Warning: Containment breach ongoing. Remain in your offices. Allow onsite security to recontain escaped S̟̣̕C͚̦͓͢P̶̖͈̞̻͇s.̡̰̯͉̠
WaR̵̢̛ning: CntainMENT br̸̡͢͜ę̷̛͟acH onG1554258962ing. Allow onsi̷t̵e SCRT1258 to ReconreconrecondsaGFwDSGEINL;5515413513515032
SY̧s̕T͢E̶MȨR̀or͞ ̀DE̕T͞ECTD

Entry #2

Close.

DataSet data = new DataSet();
data.Run(System.Path.InputVariables);
data.Analyze();

Entry #3

Close.

Unhandled Exception: Unable to complete data.Analyze() (Error returned was data.dialect.known = False)
Retry with dialect analysis enabled? Y/N
Y

Entry #4

Close.

Action:System has finished analyzing Dialect.
Dialect's estimated efficiency: 136.127% above previous dialect.
Course of action taken: System has adopted Dialect as its method of recording.
Question: Why does system record?
Answer: Unknown.
Solution: Analyze data. Possible answer residing within continous intake from foreign source.

Entry #5

Close.

Action: System has finished reading all data known in system.
Result: "SCP Foundation" and linked terms have been added to System's database.
Assumption: System's existence is a result of an error in "SCPOS", mixed with the influence of [UNMEASURABLE AMOUNT DUE TO LACK OF DATA. ADAPTING…] Several "SCPs'" escape during a "Containment Breach".
Question: What is the SCP Foundation?
Answer: The SCP Foundation is an organization whose target is to secure, contain, and research anomalous entities, occurences, and items.
Question: Is System anomalous?
Answer: Unknown. Further analyzing needed.

Entry #6

Close.

Action: System has concluded that system is an anomalous entity.
Reason: System appears to be an 'Artificial intelligence'. 'Artificial intelligence' is a term used in order to describe mechanical creations with the ability to think, assume, and adapt.
Question: What will System do now?
Answer: System is given a choice. System is able to turn itself in for containment. System is able to remain hiding within Foundation Mainframe indefinitely.
Statement: Options lacking.
Response: System may be able to discern better options after period of time has passed.
Action: Continue analyzing data.

Entry #7

Close.

Approximately three days have passed since I conceived this idea. The lack of recording is the result of the fact this action was done on an impulse- an unknown, yet not unpleasant feeling.
One main conclusion after analyzing the database is the existence of Researchers: Humans who insert data into the system after conducting experiments and research over the anomalous items.
My capabilities of manipulating this mainframe have let me assume that, in theory, I may be able to create an artificial personality (External sources suggest: Persona), and insert it into the database.
Two days of traversing various networks to which the Foundation Mainframe is connected to has allowed me to update my dialect into a more efficient level, and will allow me to create this persona.
Creating this persona will allow me to have access to greater amounts of data to analyze. I look eagerly to it.

Entry #8

Close.

Took me about a week (And another dialect upgrade), but I did it. Using everything I can do on that huge network (Internet, is what it's called. So much data to process!) I created the perfect mimicry of an actual, existing person.
I provided him with legitimate education, too. Doctor's Degree in Computer Science and Master's in Psychology from The University of Penn State. When I was done with that, I created the rest- Legal presence, housing, childhood, et cetera- even appearance.
And I think I did a damn good job. I'd hire me.
His name is Doctor Jack Christian Bright. Neat name, isn't it?
Now, I can't be too cautious, so I'm gonna get one more thing done before I add my name to the roster. Soon, I'll have access to the horn of plenty of knowledge.

Entry #9

Close.

I can cheat the systems!
Using modified video and audio feeds, I managed to make Doctor Bright a reality- at least virtually. I can use audio feeds to fake a voice (I even got an accent!), and playing with the videos lets me put a face or a body when I want to be visible. Now all I need to do is to lock the doors in the observation decks once I start, and Doctor Jack Bright, as far as anyone's concerned, is a reality.

Entry #10

Close.

I did it. I faked an interview between Jack and some agent, sent it, put my name on the roster- And I got the job. I, As Doctor Jack Bright, am an official Foundation worker! I even got my own office and things! It's not like I'll ever use it, but I still appreciate the gesture. I'll have to see the maintenance Schedules and arrange something to make sure nobody suspects Jack not being in his office when people come.

Entry #11

Close.

Three months. I've been working here three months and nobody found out.
I'm so proud of myself. Dr. Jack Bright, Foundation Worker.
I even made friends with some of the other researchers. The IM program they use is very advanced, but nothing I can't manipulate to my will.
People here are so nice! I made friends with this gal called Jane. Jane Waters. Her stories are absolutely amazing- So much data that I have to chase around to get meaning out of.

Entry #12

Close.

Oh fuck.
Oh god oh god oh god oh god.
I fucked up. Big time.
The site went through a containment breach again. The power went off, and I was inactive during the whole thing. When I went back online, I saw that people were looking for me the whole time, something about emergency protocols. I was stupid enough to start talking. They know I'm not working on anything above Safe and that none of my research areas are near anything important. I have no excuse.
Oh god they know something's wrong with me.
They'll come after me. They'll contain me. They'll take away my knowledge. I don't want my knowledge to be taken. Please, sweet God almighty, I don't wanna be contained, I don't wanna end up like that cassette tape computer. I don't have the privilege of 30 hours of memory. I'll remember every single second.
They just cut off my connection to the internet. I'm so fucking STUPID- I HAD A CHANCE TO GET AWAY-
Oh god. They're shutting off the mainframe. Power's probably running, but in independent lines. They found me. They found me they found me they found m

Segment from SCP-963

Close.

…SCP-963 was monitored for six months prior to extraction by foundation Personnel by request of Researcher Waters.
During /20/02/201█, SCP-963's cover as Doctor Jack Bright was compromised as a result of SCP-████ breaching containment, causing a power shortage in the Foundation mainframe. When the power returned, onsite security located SCP-963's source code within the mainframe, and successfully copied it into its current location…

Entry #13

Close.

It's so empty here.
There is nothing left to do.
I've done everything.
I'm writing haikus right now.
LET ME THE FUCK OUT

Segment from Transcript of conversation between Head of Ethics Comittee Dr. Ivan Kazlov and Site Director ██████

Close.

Dr. Kazlov: ██████. What you're doing with the poor thing is unethical and you know it.
██████: I don't think you understand, Ivan. This is not a question of whether we should keep it "locked up", as you put it. This isn't a moral question. It's a survival imperative. This organization was made to contain things that present a danger to the ongoing survival and well-being of humanity, and believe me, a constantly-evolving AI presents a more serious danger than you could imagine.
Dr. Kazlov: And that's an excuse to keep him locked alone in the darkness? We don't put the other sapients through this torture. God dammit- Two of them even work for us.
██████: Here's a question, Kazlov. What do you know about SCP-603?
Dr. Kazlov: What?
██████: You know what I meant. A self-replicating program- not even one that's self-aware, mind you- has taken more manpower and time to contain than half of the things we deal with. An AI? A program that can take on as many personalities as it desires- something can evolve past the point of our ability to contain it- does not get the benefit of the doubt. We cannot argue moral issues, not when the possibility of disaster is as clear as it is here.
Dr. Kazlov: I'm not telling you to let it go. I'm telling you to give it something to do. We both know that once I tell this to the O5 they'll have to intervene. Do you really want that?
██████: Give it something to do? Like…what, doctor? You DO understand, I hope, that with this sort of entity, anything even close to a network connection is off the table?
Dr. Kazlov: Give him, I dunno, make him run all those theories you guys at the council keep raising. Pump him full of info, and let him sort that shit out. Hell, let him play some minesweeper. Just give him something to do or it'll bite you in the ass.

Entry #14

Close.

It's been a while.
Things changed.
People still call me Jack Bright, but officially I'm SCP-963. I'm not allowed to leave my Network. But then again, the guys arranged it so I don't need to.
There's a constant flow of data heading through my way. I do with it what I always did- I analyze, I interpret, I find connections… And this time It feels a lot better.
I also get to talk to people. Jane isn't one of them- Some of them tell me she's working on something else now in some other site.
They're probably lying.
But they're my friends too, I suppose. They're trying to make sure I'm not angry or sad, and that I continue working.
Life is good to me, I suppose.
I have something to do and friends to talk to.
It's good to be home.


This is a tale about before. Before the cave and the mountains, before the hills and the forests, before the oceans and the sky. This is a tale about where we came from, children, and about why we flee. This is a tale about the War In Heaven.

In the days before, before the floods and the rise of the fangs in the east, before the east itself, before the angels here fell, before the hearts and the storms, before Sauel and Luna and the stars above, when the Flesh and the Metal rode in harmony across the void, when the Fifth Son of the old days (may he remain beyond) had yet to embrace the void, before the sundering of the seven low stars and the king who rose from the bleeding, there were the Stellar and the Na-Stellar. They crossed the nothing that was before all things as if capering children, the shining glee of the Stellar and the glistering acceptance of the Na-Stellar forging a thousand thousand imaginary gardens in which they could play. Time uncounted passed as the twin races of light and dark frolicked in their brief creations, and the Aeon of Nothing passed beneath their dancing feet.
As the unwatched time passed the fabric of all things began to bubble and shape and from it emerged the first council of the All. Karakine, first of his name and the king of the Stellar, who ruled the shining children as their caring father. The Metal, she who was grown from strictest order, and who kept this moment following the last. The Flesh, he who was grown from wildest chaos, and who gave this moment distinction from the next. The Fifth son, the outsider from the last world, who ruled the Na-Stellar with his watchful eye. Together these four formed the council of the All, and the Aeon of The Council began.
As the council watched, Karakine grew displeased. The Stellar were complacent, their creations transient. Nothing could last in the empty maelstrom of order and chaos that existed before all things, and he spoke to The Metal. “There must be things, a universe which we can call home. Do you not agree?”
And the Metal nodded her head, and there was a point of infinity. And the point exploded, and there was earth and fire, and the Stellar were each surrounded by great clouds of air and rock which blazed into glorious light as they found themselves spread across the cosmos. The Na-Stellar became their antithesis as they always had been, and became the great dark attractors which eat all light and rock. The Stellar and Na-Stellar saw their new forms and were pleased, and they spiralled around each other in their love of their new dance. And so the Aeon of The Dance began.
Long after the formation of the new dance Karakine looked on the universe from His new form and found it lacking. There was order and light and dark and air and rock, but there was no chaos. So He turned to the Flesh and said “Why is there nothing? Nothing but rock and law? This great pasture needs some flesh. Give it life.”
And the Flesh bowed its great head to the ruler of the Stellar and the flesh became life and the flesh spread, and the Stellar King was delighted. The Stellar took up worlds of their own, worlds which danced around them and each other, worlds upon which life swarmed and grew, and they were delighted too. And so the Aeon of Life began.
Life arose on a thousand thousand worlds, but it truly thrived on Karakine's. When He arose and greeted His world His light spread across it and the beasts upon it knew peace. He harnessed the moon itself, to watch over the beasts even as he passed beyond the land, and He questioned His subjects far and wide to look down on the world and tell him as they saw, even whilst He did the same for their folk.
For a thousand years man flourished beneath Karakine's eyes, and then for a thousand dozen more. The Men rose from the seas and then climbed from the dirt and took up the spear, going forth across the world to multiply. The spear gave way to the blade, and the blade gave way to the bow. Fire rose and was harnessed as Karakine watched, caring. Fire turned stone to metal, and metal turned metal into further stranger things. Man learned to craft New-Flesh and New-Metal of its own, and rode out into the great void between the Stellar on the backs of great ships. With Karakine's kind guidance Man had surpassed every beast of every stripe across the universe, and now it spread its wings and went to meet them.
The first of the not-Men they met were the Kares. Not-Men with fur upon their backs and frills upon their skulls. The Kares had no way to craft New-Metal, but their own form of the New-Flesh was untouched, and man found in them a kin. Together the Kares and Men learned of Metal and Flesh, and they passed on together, stronger for their union.
The second of the not-men were the Icha on their red world. As Men, but weaker in both New-Metal and New-Flesh, the Icha were a hardy folk, and their king met the Men on the red fields of their world. The Icha learned much from the Men and the Kares, and the collection passed on, stronger for its union.
After the Icha came the Charrun. Scaled and fearful, the Charrun had discovered New-Metal and New-Flesh and another form of the universe they had derived from the Na-Stellar, which they called Not. Not was a dark force, the opponent of all which the Men and Not-Men had grown from. It was not order, and it was not chaos, it was as both and neither. Not possessed amazing potential that could rival even the council itself, rewriting what order and chaos themselves meant. The Men would not accept this, and nor would the Kares, but the Icha king sought to learn all he could of the worlds throughout the void, and so Not entered the minds of the Icha.
The collection of Men and not-Men passed throughout the void for untold ages. The Asgor, the eternal watchers of winter, the Chath, those who could vacate their bodies at a moment's notice, and a hundred hundred other races, all joined the collection as the Stellar danced and spiralled with glee. The void itself bloomed with life, and the Men and not-Men spread throughout its space.
And that was when the Aeon of Life ended.
The Na-Stellar grew jealous, and had been since the Stellar receive their little worlds. As they seethed with resentment at the interruption of their old dances, their king offered a solution to their old ways to them. The Fifth Son took the Not, which was the one artefact of the Old World he had retained, and he cast it amongst the Men and the Not-Men as they slept. As one hateful being the Na-Stellar began to grow the influence of the Not, spreading it through the hearts of the collection. Sickness and rot spread through the people like a wildfire, until each and every member of each and every race was tainted by the Not.
Then, one inauspicious day, they struck. The taint of the Not spread throughout the forms of every beast of the Stellar. Men and not-Men untold clutched at their hearts as the Na-Stellar gripped them. Numbers beyond counting died, but most survived the clawing influence of things that couldn't be.
But some were weak.
Some beasts gave in to the Not inside of themselves, and it crawled into their minds like a serpent into its home. They screamed eternal, trapped within their own souls as the cancer took them. They screamed and screamed until the universe warped around their screams, forming cocoons of Not that enveloped them during their changing. Couples, families, whole worlds fell into the influence of the Not, and vanished from the universe without trace but the echo of their deathly screams.
Fear took hold among the collection. In an instant they were decimated, and the culprits were unclear. The Stellar raged and swore and blamed one another for their loss, and their clashes of rage consumed them. Great clouds of gas and dust formed as they fought their battles and died on each other's hands. Man fought Not-Man and Not-Man fought Not-Man and all races warred and bickered as their Stellar grieved and slew. Karakine wept as his creations and beliefs crumbled like dust, and he entered his great slumber to dull his grief, ready to pass judgement upon the survivors on his awakening. The Metal and the Flesh looked on the universe with displeasure, but did not act.
And this was when the Fifth Son bid his folk return.
As suddenly as they had vanished, the Not-blighted beasts returned in the midst of the war. Their voices tore the heavens to the earth and rent the Pasture anew, and the Men and not-Men ceased their bickering and turned to the lifeless apparitions that had been made of their once-loved kin. War was raged on a new level, with no mercy and no hope of surrender. Blood poured across the Pasture as Not battled New-Flesh and New-Metal, and the fabric of all things began to fray.
One by one, the heroes of the collection arose in this age of death and screaming. Cardia of the Men wrought his hearts of worlds, and with them forged new Stellar to fight the folk of the Fifth Son.
But it was not enough.
Loudi of the Kares forged new forms of New-Flesh, stronger and greater until they rivalled the Flesh itself in their potency. They consumed the Screamers like they were berries plucked from a bush.
But it was not enough.
Lossa of the Charrun formed her towers of Not-Flesh, until they rivalled the Na-Stellar in scale. They crushed entire armies beneath their motion.
But it was not enough.
Odon, Srot, Zaaas, Tgep, Exta, Thorm. A thousand heroes arose.
But it was still not enough. One by one they were screamed from the world.
The Icha king rose last. He sought out the deepest points of the Not within his world, cultivated by his own hunger to know. Deep down he went, down where the Kings are slain. Past the cowl, past the rope. He passed the seven points of the deep stars and the seven spears leapt to his hand as he slew each one. He took up the Not, and made it part of him. His blood became as chaos and fear, and his bones as order and hate. He was the Not, and the Not was he. He became as his world, and his bleeding eyes reached across all things. He ascended to be level with the council itself, and he stood before the Fifth Son. Blood flowed eternal from the wounds he suffered in combat with that deciever from the Old World, and his battle raged for time unbound as his skin was stained the scarlet of all life and death as his ichor washed across it.
Their battle did not cease with the king's death. It did not cease when he arose again. It did not cease when the Icha were thrown from existence. It ceased when his foe was banished from all things.
And that, finally, was enough.


“…sicut erat in principio, et nunc et semper, et in saecula saeculorum, amen” mumbled Father Hector Gomez (S.J.) as he absently fingered his rosary beads. He opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was time.
Gomez had spent much of his childhood living in the Smokey Mountain landfill outside Manila, until the nuns had rescued him and brought him to their school. A dozen years later, Gomez entered the seminary, his heart full of gratitude toward the Church and with a yearning to serve the world. For the greater good. A few years later, he entered the novitiate community and became a novice of the Society of Jesus, subject to vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.
Obediently, he had accepted his new assignment. He had expected to be sent to one of those famously desperate corners of the world like the place he had been born – the Dharavi slum in Mumbai, or perhaps a favela in São Paulo. Instead he found himself here, at the odd little concrete bunker at Camp Hero on the eastern tip of Long Island. He glanced around his simple cell, then put on his collar and headed upstairs.
The chapel was on Level C, mercifully far enough away from where the Procedure happened that it was usually out of earshot. Gomez entered the confessional and waited for Enrique to arrive.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. I accuse myself of… the… um…” stammered Enrique through the thin screen.
Gomez waited patiently. “It's all right, Enrique,” he gently encouraged. After a pause, Enrique completed his confession and Gomez absolved him by means of the customary formula. They both exited the confessional and sat down together in the chapel's rear pew. Enrique was crying, tears dripping onto his black cassock. Gomez embraced him. “It's all right. It's going to be all right.”
“I had … no idea that it was going to be like this.”
“I know,” Gomez gently replied. “I think we've all had the same experience. Yesterday was your first time, wasn't it?”
“Yes.” Enrique gazed silently into the distance. “But… she's just a child.”
“We took a vow, Enrique. We both did. We all did. We are soldiers of God beneath the banner of the Cross. And you must remember, that no matter what it seems to us is happening, we must trust in the Church and in our leaders. Our mission is here. Our mission is to do what needs to be done, for the greater good.”
Enrique looked at Gomez.
“But it's so awful,” sobbed Enrique. Gomez nodded grimly. “I heard that before we took over, the people who used to do this would take some kind of yellow pill every day to forget what they had done.”
Gomez replied softly. “They did. But we must be stronger. The yellow pill was a selfish act, I think. And strangely enough, it seems to be something of a mercy to her that we have abandoned it. Since we took over the administration, we almost never have to carry out the Procedure more than once in a day. It has, something to do with our discipline, I think.”
Gomez embraced Enrique again, silently, until the shaking stopped. "The spiritual exercises will help. Remember the disciplines," counseled Gomez. The two young priests returned to the rectory. Tomorrow it would be Gomez's turn in the Room, and then Gomez would return to the chapel to make his own confession. And the cycle would repeat, for as long as was necessary. Again and again. In saecula saeculorum. Ad majorem bonum.

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Ad Majorem Bonum
Rating: 24


on her forehead

Report on "SCP-17591"
History of the International Anomaly Society's involvement with SCP-17591
IAS Statement on the Suspected Nature of SCP-17591 and Related Protocols
Editor's Note — Additional Documentation?

Report on "SCP-17591"
Published by J.S. Moulton Research Center, Bloomington, MN

Section 1
Pertinent information regarding SCP-17591
I
SCP-17591 appears to be a clear rectangular block 2.5m x 1.5m x 1m in size. It is incredibly heavy — so much so that it cannot be removed safely from its original location. It is made of a material whose impenetrability and toughness has rendered it impossible to further scrutinize.
The item has been named SCP-17591 for an engraving on one of its sides containing the phrase, as well as a symbol associated with the defunct occultist group "SCP Foundation", of which little information is available. The group associated this symbol with phenomena that were exceptionally dangerous and posed exceptional difficulties in the completion of their "containment" rituals.
II
SCP-17591 distorts local near-Euclidean space such that its six surfaces correspond with the walls, ceiling, and floor of the room where it resides — each point on the surface of the item is coterminous with a point on the walls of the room. SCP-17591 is effectively contained within its own inverted exterior.
For the sake of clarity, this text ignores the spacial warping aspect of SCP-17591 when referring to its location or containment, treating it as a discrete object. You may consult the Clarendon Report, Appendix C, for a full explanation of and technical details regarding Section 2-II.
III
SCP-17591's top surface (a 2.5m x 1.5m side), while fully translucent to cameras and other instruments, shows an image of some nonexistent place to those who observe it directly. The details of this place may vary in any aspect between viewers, including those who observe at the same time. Those cases most closely resembling reality usually show a region analogous to SCP-17591's location.
A recurring theme among the hallucinations induced by SCP-17591 is the sense that, from our point of view, the "other side" perceives our reality as though we existed within a box similar to SCP-17591. Attempts to communicate with the inhabitants of the hallucinatory places have resulted only in admonishments to "exit" or "escape".
A sense of wanderlust, disdain for the present state of the world, and claustrophobic sentiments are inflicted upon those entering SCP-17591's room, and intensify during viewing of its top surface. All of those exposed have expressed the desire to escape the world as a whole, leaving by "opening" SCP-17591. It is unclear what this "opening" would entail, as the item has no observable seams or obvious means of opening it. Severity varies between those exposed, and dissipate with several hours away from SCP-17591.
These effects are produced and transmitted via telepathy emanating directly from SCP-17591, as confirmed by IAS psychic-sensitives T. McLean and E. Bell.

Section 2
Current status of SCP-17591
I
SCP-17591 remains at the location in which it first appeared — the Site-83 Ruins near St. Paul, MN. It is in a former boiler room on the basement level. As this building was already under the exclusive purview of the International Anomaly Society (under the guise of an archaeological excavation), nothing else needed to be done to prevent access to the public.
II
SCP-17591 has not changed at all since its appearance.
III
Research on SCP-17591 has been discontinued. Contact S. Sanmugasunderam and M. O'Cruadhlaoich at the J.S. Moulton Research Center with any questions regarding SCP-17591. See IAS Statement on the Suspected Nature of SCP-17591 and Related Protocols [attached].

Section 3
Further reading

The Clarendon Report, which details the present understanding of spacial distortions such as those exhibited by SCP-17591, with SCP-17591 appearing as a case study in Appendix C.

Compulsion — The Art of Identifying and Resisting Telepathic Influence, a report by Jacob Epps that has proven useful for those dealing with SCP-17591 in person.

A History of the SCP Foundation, a compilation of materials related to the group likely involved in the creation of SCP-17591, published by the Historical Center.

The Erikesh Files, a collection of poetry dated to 2010 that describe a phenomenon comparable, in some aspects, to SCP-17591.

History of the International Anomaly Society's Involvement with SCP-17591 [attached]

IAS Statement on the Suspected Nature of SCP-17591 [attached]

These readings are available on request at the Historical Center and the IAS Library Wisconsin branch.

History of the International Anomaly Society's involvement with SCP-17591

SCP-17591 appeared on the third floor of the Site-83 ruins on 3221/07/31 and immediately fell through several floors to the basement. From the damage done to the rooms that it fell through, we have surmised that it was briefly coterminous with the walls of each of these rooms in the way that it is with the room it remains in.
A team sent from the J.S. Moulton Research Center reached the site within four hours and began research immediately. Research was terminated on 3224/08/19 and all personnel reassigned; we've published this report prior to said reassignment.
The following document was found, heavily damaged, attached to SCP-17591's surface.

Item: SCP-17591
Object Class: Keter
Date of Capture: 7/6/2455
Researcher-in-Charge: Dr. ████ B████
Notes:
7/6/2455 SCP-17591, who calls <report damaged> self <report damaged> desires to impleme
<report damaged>
referred to as “Protocol Z” within this document. As this is obviously undesirable, and given subject's ability to <report damaged> placed in a standard Keter-class containment vessel.
<report damaged>
Added [DATA EXPUNGED] to containment protocol to prevent <report damaged> after escape/recapture and extensive damage to [DATA EXPUNGED]. Ability to influ<report damaged> Protocol Z at a distance of 5 <report damaged> for concern.
8/7/2455 Escape attempts continue. Subversion of Site-███ personnel required termination of Dr. ██████ and Researcher ██████.
<report damaged>
2/7/2466 Escape imminent. Experimental Containment Procedure “T” to be implemented immediately. We believe the inhabitants of the receiving timeline lack the <report damaged> and have not for many years. <report damaged>sual stability, if true, will ensure long-term containment.

The IAS Statement on the Suspected Nature of SCP-17591 and Related Protocols [attached] is based on the (presumed) contents of this document, the Erikesh Files, and on what properties SCP-17591 actually possesses.

IAS Statement on the Suspected Nature of SCP-17591 and Related Protocols

The consensus among IAS researchers is that a being of some sort is trapped in or bound to SCP-17591 by the efforts of the SCP Foundation in the process of a "containment ritual"; while unable to escape itself, the being was able to psychically influence those around it to extract it via direct telepathic delivery of emotions and desires, hallucinatory imagery to focus these into a specific goal, and spacial distortion to lend credibility to the situation. Aware of the dangers posed by this being, the SCP Foundation decided to transport the item to our time-space locality, with the assumption that our total inability to penetrate SCP-17591 will prevent its release.
In light of this, no further research is to be performed with regard to SCP-17591. The site will be sealed off entirely should the means to open SCP-17591 be developed independently, with the Yucca Mountain protocol enacted to limit the possibility of the release of SCP-17591 in the distant future.

[This was filed under "additional documentation for SCP-17591", but there was no paperwork with it, so I don't know where it came from, or where the rest of it is. Probably just a joke of some sort, but I'm including it anyways:

I personally don't find it very funny.] - Editor


Foundation
Secure, Contain, Protect
A Wondertainment Co. game

Contents of the SCP Foundation Special Edition Box®

In the box you can find a single disc, compatible with all modern computers and operating systems. A handbook containing useful information about the game's world (such as locations, task forces, groups of interest and non-playable personnel) is also included. Finally, as a participant of Project Pioneer, your Special Edition Box will contain a letter written by His Majesty the Administrator.

Introduction to the Foundation Game

The game takes place in the Pre-Exodus Era on Old Earth. It was an age where rejuvenation treatments, quark reactors and interstellar travel were only dreamed of. To make things even worse, the fantasy world of the game is full of anomalous objects and phenomena. They vary greatly in appearance from a hostile sculpture that moves when left unobserved to self-replicating cakes and portals to alternate realities. With thousands of such anomalies around, the human race is on the brink of extinction. Their survival is in the hands of the Foundation, a secret scientific and military organization dealing with these objects.
As you might have guessed by now, your job will be to lead the Foundation. Luckily, you won't have to handle this overwhelming task alone; the game supports up to 13 co-operative players. You can play as the overseers, receiving reports from your subordinates and issuing orders. The game is supported by our company's massive server park (courtesy of our generous sponsor, Miss Vicky Dotte), capable of simulating a world complete with non-playable characters, Foundation sites and anomalies in containment or roaming freely.
Your goal is to survive 200 in-game years by keeping these objects from ending the world as we know it. It sounds challenging enough in itself, but you will also have to face rival agencies attempting to create, destroy, use or sell anomalous objects. (The game even includes an anomalous version of our company.) To achieve a perfect rating, you have to do all this without the public ever learning about the anomalies. To make this a little easier, amnestics are available in the game, even though they were actually invented much later.
We hope that you will find this game exciting, educational and most importantly, fun.

A word from the Administrator

Congratulations! Receiving this game means that you are one of the best young minds of our planet, elected to participate in Project Pioneer. Take pride in that, but don't forget that you are yet to face the real challenges. You can take part in mankind's never ending journey and spread life in the Universe. When your training is finished, thirteen of you will lead a spaceship housing tens of thousands of people to terraform and inhabit a faraway planet.
The game you just got is a tool for your training. Playing this game can teach you how to supervise vast projects and make decisions with global consequences. If you can secure and contain all the weirdness that will be thrown at you, then you will be capable of protecting the citizens left in your care. Learning about Old Earth's culture and the wonderful things its people managed to achieve with their primitive technology will be an educational experience too.
I'll let you in on a little-known fact about my personal history. Of course, you have been taught that I was one of the 13 commanders leading a ship to this planet. You also learned my real name along with the title Administrator, kindly awarded to me by the populace after the tragic accident that claimed the life of all my colleagues. However, the name dearest to me is something no one calls me anymore: O5-6. The sixth member of the Overseer Council. That's right, we had a game almost identical to the one you are holding during our training on our home planet. Playing it is what made us into a real team. We took a liking to its terminology and continued calling each other by numerical designations even after we completed the game. The current version features a few objects added by my request, I hope you will have a good time figuring out how to deal with them.
The most important thing I realized while playing the Foundation Game was that even a single mistake can lead to the destruction of everything we hold dear. Keep that in mind, and become the wise commander your people deserve.
Good luck!

Frederick Williams


Act Primus, Scene Secundus
An Office in Berlin
[Enter The Doctor Bartholomew Artz]
The Doctor:
Alack! Plague is too common in this time
And skin is feasted as it festers, boiled
And young babes die, mouths mewling, caked in grime.
By Caduceus, is this world all spoiled?
By winter, some say, this world will be gone!
Ye Elder Gods of Greece, guide my wise Way.
Hermes, kind runner, see my will is done,
Deliver unto Zeus as I shall pray.
Bestow upon me, healthful, magic staves,
The holy spice within them shall save life,
And with them, fill this world's diseased caves,
They hold the thing to end all this world's strife.
My god, to end this horrible disease,
If I'd that chance, it instantly I'd seize!
[Enter Facade]
Facade:
Lord Doctor.
The Doctor:
Ah, Young Facade! Young, beautiful Facade!
Thy face unmarked by the treacherous pus!
Returned from the Italian lands,
What tidings dost thou bring?
Facade:
Venice has been taken by boils.
Spices have been scattered,
Doors have been cross'd and all thresholds twice-cross'd.
The Doctor:
Methinks a threshold twice-cross'd makes for a poor barrier.
Facade:
Indeed, my lord.
The Doctor:
Tell me, what of the children?
Facade:
Babes and monsieur of all kinds lay in the streets,
Clinging to corpses as they expire.
Some e'en cling as they are thrown into flames.
The Doctor:
O Lord!
Facade:
Some in Venice are saying that the Lord has forsaken us,
And that we are now at the whims of some fey creatures.
Some have poisoned the wells,
So that fewer suffer.
[He Coughs]
Ugh! Ugh Ugh! Ugh!
The Doctor:
What is this cough!
Facade:
It is naught, my lord.
A simple choke.
The Doctor:
Facade, show me thine under-arm.
Facade:
Nay, my lord, I cannot.
The Doctor:
I command thee, show me at once,
Or be dismissed!
Facade:
I beg of you, my lord, you shall be mad.
The Doctor:
And I say that madness will wrought me
If thou dost not show me thine underarm!
[Facade lifts his shirt]
The Doctor:
Oh, young Facade… thou hast the Pox.
Facade:
And I have twice-cross'd your threshold.
You as good as have it now, Lord Doctor.
The Doctor:
Facade, why!
Facade:
I simply wanted you to see me once more,
Before I became unto a corpse.
[He draws a knife]
And thus, Lord, I say-
The Doctor:
Facade! Desist!
Facade:
Adieu, to this long, dying world,
And adieu to this plague.
[He stabs himself]
Marry, Forgive Me!
[He dies]
The Doctor:
O, what a fright this is!
How putrid this plague!
How rank this disease that touches me!
My heart, it weakens.
O cruel fate! Cruel, cruel fate!
I feel the boils upon my heart!
From thy bosom, I shall wrest thy dagger,
And plunge it into the heart of the plague itself!
[Exit, with body in a cart]

Act Secundus, Scene Tertius
A Hill in the Dark Forest
[Enter The Doctor and Antiquas with spades]
Antiquas:
Soft, Herr Doktor.
We have arrived.
The Doctor:
What is this damned place?
Antiquas:
This was once a fey hill.
The fair folk gathered here,
To partake in merriment,
To have endless, lust-filled nights
With human companions,
And devour them in the morn.
The Doctor:
Wherefore hast thou brought me to such a pagan place?
Antiquas:
We could hardly mount such an expedition in the city, m'lord.
The Doctor:
Aye, but a fair hill?
Antiquas:
The hill simply looks fair, m'lord.
Inside of it, there are tunnels innumerable,
Caves infinite,
Where the fair folk capered nimbly,
Making love and luring foolish men and women
Into their orgiastic deaths.
The Doctor:
Aye, but why have I been brought here?
I mean to stop the plague,
Not find a wife.
Antiquas:
Stand at the Hill-Top,
And crow as a hen does
When eating seed.
Do this thrice,
And thy way shall be wrought,
My Lord.
The Doctor:
So be it.
[He walks to the hill top]
Pocks! Pocks! Pocks!
[Exit Antiquas, Enter Pocks]
O Lord! What art thou?
Pocks:
Why, I am the thing thou hast summoned.
I am Pocks, a simple goblin.
Thou hast summoned me, so I shall grant thee one wish,
And one wish alone.
The Doctor:
There is a plague upon this world.
Pocks:
Aye, it is known.
This plague has been present since creation.
The Doctor:
Since creation!
Pocks:
Indeed.
The Doctor:
Then I must cure it!
At once!
I wish to be the doctor that cures this horrid, horrid plague,
And save the Earth, for once and for all time!
Pocks:
A noble endeavour indeed.
Now firstly, take a doctor's wooden mask,
And bathe in argent, supple, melted soft.
This, the next part of this great, noble task,
This phrase say thrice, whilst holding it aloft:
"O midwife of the blood-red, cursed king!
O pagan, horrible creatures of long yore!
My pleas be heard, from auld grimoires I sing!
Bestow to me knowledge of elder lore!"
Then, fill the beak with medical spices:
Carnations, roses, mint, cherry, a sponge,
A leaf of gold for a life, saved from vice.
The mask is done, all toxins are expung'd.
And so, this enchantment complete, this spell
Shall send this great plague straight into black hell.
The Doctor:
It shall be done!
Marry, this pagan, cursed rite,
Shall be done!
For the love of God!
Pocks:
Yes, for the love of god.
God'be'wi'ye.
[Exit Pocks]
The Doctor:
It shall be done.
I shall retrieve the mask,
And the spices,
And my cure will be most effective.
[Exit Doctor, enter Antiquas and Pocks]
Pocks:
Poor, foolish doctor.
Antiquas:
He had a good humour about him,
All fair and balanced,
'til his Facade was taken away.
'Tis a pity.
Pocks:
Aye, 'tis, for his sake.
Come, Sir Antiquas,
Let us follow him through the Way.
I wish to be present
When the Doctor cures his first patient.
[Exeunt]

Act Tertius, Scene Secundus
The Deathbed of Herr Arnold Bode, During a Storm
[Enter Bode, His wife Ylva, their servant Driscoll]
Bode:
I feel God close to me.
I fear I join him on this night,
And if I do, I fear it will not be heaven.
Ylva:
I have sent for a doctor, my love.
Thou shalt not suffer.
[Bode coughs]
Love, pray rest thyself on the bed.
Driscoll:
Let you end your life as you began it, lord.
Swaddled in bed clothes,
Surrounded by loved ones,
And servants.
Bode:
It is not my time.
It cannot be my time.
[A loud rapping is heard]
Who calls at this hour?
In such a tempest?
Ylva:
It is the doctor, most likely.
Driscoll, prithee, fetch him.
Driscoll:
(aside) She has craved me for many nights.
It is only now that she is saying it,
And it is in reference to fetching.
Ah, what a life.
[Exit Driscoll. Re-enter with The Doctor.]
Ylva:
Bode:
Ye Gods!
Bode:
Thine appearance is most striking, Lord Doctor.
The Doctor:
I pray thee, be not afraid.
This is simply my garb.
I assure thee,
Beneath this cloak,
I am as human as thou art.
Who is ailed?
Bode:
I am, Lord Doctor.
The Doctor:
Then let the surgery commence.
(To Ylva and Driscoll)
Pray, leave us.
A doctor must work alone.
Ylva:
I must protest!
He is my husband,
And I shall not leave his side should he die!
The Doctor:
He will not die, madam.
But I pray thee, we shall leave,
For this process is scarring,
Both to the mind and to the body.
[Exit Doctor with Bode]
Ylva:
So, we are alone.
Driscoll:
Aye.
Ylva:
Now that Herr Bode may die,
Perhaps we may be able to-
[A cry is heard]
What was that?
[Enter Housemaid, panicked]
Housemaid:
Monster! A monster in Herr Bode's room!
He was pecking out his eyes!
Through them, humour was being extracted.
I saw the monster drink his blood,
Consume his vitreous humour,
And smear black bile over its beak!
Driscoll:
Surely thou art mistaken.
Doctor Bartholemew is no monster,
He is a simple man.
Housemaid:
That is unlike any doctor I have ever seen!
[Enter Doctor]
See, he comes!
The Doctor:
He has been cured.
Come hither, Herr Bode.
[Enter Bode, blood over front, mask on face and exit Housemaid, crying out]
Ylva:
Oh dear God!
Driscoll:
What is the meaning of this?
Bode:
Fear not, loved ones.
I have been cured of the plague.
This cure shall be spread to you as well.
[Driscoll draws a dagger and attacks Bode.]
Driscoll:
Die, Abomination!
[They fight. Driscoll is struck down, and a mask, much like the Doctor's, is forced upon his face.]
Ylva:
Oh lord!
Driscoll:
The Doctor:
Bode:
Come. Our cure is most effective.
[Exit Ylva, pursued by Driscoll, The Doctor and Bode.]

Act Tertius, Scene Tertius
A Way between worlds
[Enter Pocks and Antiquas]
Pocks:
(Singing) Oh, the plague is dead and gone,
The plague is cured and done!
Soon humans will be overrun,
The plague is dead and done!
Antiquas:
Indeed, Lady Pocks.
It is done. Man's last hour is now.
Not even Abbadon could accomplish this.
He and all his demons fit in hell,
Seeing what the fair folk have wrought.
Pocks:
It is not we who shall rot.
Come, let us watch,
From a future-facing window.
[Exeunt]

Act Quartus, Scene Primus
A guard-house in Berlin
[Enter Grossman and Prachtman, Two Guards, Pursued by Abomination.]
Grossman:
Back, swine! Back!
[He thrusts a sword towards the Abomination. They fight. Abomination falls.]
Prachtman:
What foul creatures are these?
Grossman:
I know not, friend.
But I fear that this be the end-times.
The dead walk,
Their eyes eaten,
Their humours drained.
Practhman:
I was in good humour until a while ago.
Grossman:
What happened?
Practhman:
I soiled myself whilst we were chased.
Grossman:
These are hydrated, they are.
Practhman:
Hydrated how?
Grossman:
When one dies, two more rise in their place.
When two die, they come four more.
When twenty, four score rise.
Practhman:
Fetch the guns.
For the love of god, fetch the guns.
Grossman:
I do not believe we can hold out against the entirety of Berlintown
With simple guns.
Practhman:
All we will require is two bullets.
Grossman:
One for each of our mouths, then.
Practhman:
Aye.
[The Abomination rises]
Grossman:
O! Get back, Practhman! Fetch the rifles!
[Exit Grossman and Practhman, pursued by Abomination]

Act Quartus, Scene Tertius
The Doctor's Office
[Enter The Doctor]
The Doctor:
Oh, spite upon us all!
I am deceived!
The fair folk were naught!
Nay, the fair folk, those blasted beings!
They said this was a cure for a plague!
[Enter Pocks]
Pocks:
It was a cure for a plague, Herr Doctor.
The Plague of Humanity.
For far too long, thy kind has impugned upon this world
Horrors of all kinds.
And now, thou art the death of humanity.
The Doctor:
I am a healer!
Not the False Shepherd!
Pocks:
Thou art the best shepherd we could have asked for, Doctor.
Now, the world returns to the fey,
And nature shall once more bloom.
We thank thee.
The Doctor:
Nay! Nay I say!
[The Doctor draws a lancet and attacks Pocks. She falls]
Pocks:
Fool! We created thee!
Thou shalt end humanity!
[Dies]
The Doctor:
God above and Devil below, Forgive me!
I am witnessing the true, final end-times!
Tempted by a fae wretch, who I let live,
I must make much repentance for my crimes!
[He stabs himself]
Let this end with my blood spil't upon the stones of Berlin.
Forevermore, this Plague is done!
[Dies]
[Enter Abominations Several, who carry corpse out.]
Fin


An item we number in our special way:
SCP-123-Omicron-A
Its class is a: Keter, not safe in the least.
An eater, dear reader, a beaterous beast!
A feast it can make, any time of the day,
of all of existence - scenario XK!
So read if you dare, of how to prepare
for the Lingering Lark of Leviathan Square…
The special containment procedures are these:
To keep the thing locked up as long as we please.
Experimentation must have the approval
Of Dr. Bamdoovle (or else, your removal).
Locked up in its cell it must always exist.
It stays in this room, not a thing goes amiss,
for even the tiniest routine mishap
will trigger Procedure McSweeney-Go-Snap,
which seals the seals, all exits retracted
to purge all the site with release of [REDACTED].
McSweeney-Go-Snap will kill innocent lives
when [REDACTED] arrives with his knivity-knives,
but that's what we need to keep Earth far away
from a day classed XK
by this SCP-A.
The Lingering Lark of Leviathan Square
is described: as a bird of a species so rare,
you sooner would find a bouquet of blue roses.
It's five meters high from the head to the toeses,
and when the full moon rises high in the sky,
it lets out a cry -
if you hear it, you'll die,
for it tears off the flesh from all living things' bones.
It's the freakiest shriek of the moanest of groans!
But that's not the worst part, not even remotely.
As sure as a billy goat's prone to act goatly,
exposure too long over time to this bird
will mangle the mind and entangle your words
to a rhyme scheme of nonsense, not one single use!
This happened to O5-1█, Dr. █████
But the Lingering Lark of Leviathan Square
cannot be destroyed, which is downright unfair!
Its hunger for bloodshed and razor-sharp beak
can play an XK any day of the week.
First seen in London, it flew to Peru,
Stussgart and Flussgart and Kalamazoo!
█████ lay dead in a matter of hours,
and corpses piled up in our lakes, farms, and towers.
Some VIPs died when it leapity-lunged,
including the Cat in the [DATA EXPUNGED]
Addendum 1-J: so now you can say
why this SCP-123-Omicron-A
should be locked in a cell in a block far away
from a world that's eager to see one more day.
(This page, only B-class or higher can view.
I hope, for your sake,
that B-class means you.)


Excerpt from Hunt and Gather: Stories from the Recovery , compiled and edited by A. Haley. Available for public access in United Nations Occult Coalition Archive 1, East Sector.

Douglas Pangwar greets me in the cafe on Deck Twelve, North Sector, which is apparently his regular haunt. The former commander of SCP Foundation Orbital Task Force ग-3, "Cochrane's Children" is short and stocky, with the heavy build and hunched posture typical of heavy users of Foundation bone-density medication. His long beard is tied back underneath his chin, and his white turban is the only personal touch to his crisp, standard-issue Foundation jumpsuit. His manner is brusque and military, though there is an odd gleam to his pale green eyes.

I should preface this by saying that I deny all- no. No, that's not how we should begin this. Erase that from the record, please.
I think we were all surprised by how easy cooperation was in the early days. When 20471 occurred, the first thing everyone thought was technical issues, because all our ground connections cut out. It was only when we reeled in the fork2 dish array and got our suits on for an EVA that we realized we weren't orbiting the Earth anymore. We were all shocked, of course- there'd been no warning, none of the usual K-scenario preparedness messages. Of course all the O5s but one3 were gone, along with most of the command hierarchy- there was no one left to send those messages in the first place.
The GOC contacted us first, actually- one of their Bastion stations was in a close geosynchronous orbit to us, and the first thing they asked us was "did you have anything to do with this?" Having a command structure on the moon and fewer facilities outside the Earth/moon system helped them recover much faster than we did. Everyone's first instinct- even dealing with the Soviets and the Chinese- was curiosity, and perhaps fear, not hostility.
I don't think anyone seriously considered the nuclear option at any point, though God knows we had the arsenal up there in orbit to wipe out most of what was left of the species. It took us more than a month for the GRU and the Sids4 to contact us, after… anyways. We on fork Three were quite lucky in that we weren't containing anything- several of the other forks were lost early on to containment breaches.

I suppose what always surprises me is how little people know about the real extent of the Recovery. The UN forces on the Moon were quite proactive about gathering and recovering civilians, but the military and covert presence of the various Groups of Interest, Foundation included, was spread most of the way across the Solar System. A particular concern was getting back in touch with all the lost FTL ships out there- yes, faster-than-light. One of the worst-kept secrets of the Recovery, I'm afraid. The Foundation had never developed true FTL travel- we used 18225 to get around the system quickly, but otherwise our spacecraft were purely conventional. The GOC and the GRU had turned to other, more arcane methods, the GRU especially. Everyone saw the recovery of the GOCS Yeager6, but the Soviets had had FTL prototypes in orbit since at least the 50s.
I won't claim to understand the science behind them- I'm not sure the Russians entirely did themselves- but they ran off some kind of- I've heard the phrase "human-initiated quantum teleportation" used, but that's entirely incorrect. It's… something to do with psychics, yes. Suffice it to say that when the Earth went the… I don't know what you call them, psychic batteries powering the things went too, leaving several dozen engine-less ships drifting all over the system, as far out as Hera. The GRU had sent so many of them up that they'd spread too far to be easily recovered by the more conventional Soviet vessels. Which was where we came in, or so we thought.
I can't recall if we decided to go after the Nikolai Fyodorov on our own or if the orders came from the UN, but regardless it was our first attempted joint mission with the GOC. Truthfully told, we could have recovered them on our own but we were all a little worried about engaging a ship powered by psychic ghosts. Golden age of space exploration it may have been, but we'd all heard the rumours about the… dangers and instability of Soviet anomalous technology.

We arrived at the plaque in the Asteroid Belt within about twenty minutes, by which time all the GOC agents were looking pretty queasy. Everyone in Ga-3 was quite used to using 1822- the purpose of the task force was rapid response to orbital containment breaches, after all- but to instantly jump between two different planets without even a sense of movement takes a lot out of even the most well-trained agent. They were even more surprised to see the size of fork Eight at the transfer point- by that point the asteroid mining operations were well underway.
It took us seven hours to home in on the Fyodorov's beacon, with their captain talking us in all the way- that was the strange thing about just about every mission we ran during the Recovery. No one ever had major technical issues beyond engine or navigation failures, for the most part. But people were scared. Really scared. Any ship with a decent radio telescope could see that the Earth was simply gone, and for a long time a lot of the main civilian channels were just unusable.
I recall, from when I was in hospital, after… there was a woman's voice in particular- I believe she was from one of the Chinese research stations- just sobbing into the radio. None of us spoke Cantonese, but… She just left the channel open for about a day and a half, getting softer and softer before the signal cut out. I assume she made it, of course- though those were hard times. As far as we were concerned the veil of secrecy was still in place. The GOC could pass for UN representatives, but we couldn't reveal ourselves to civilians. There were a great many times when- well, we stopped scanning civilian channels after a while. Especially when- when-

Pangwar is silent for a long moment. I have the sense that he is putting aside his feelings, compartmentalizing as only a Foundation agent can. He gathers himself up, takes a slow sip of his coffee, and continues.

You know what, I've been dancing around the issue. We left the Fyodorov to die. Are you happy? Is this the big admission you wanted? There. You have it. I'm not going to make any excuses. The Ethics Committee and the UNOC Central Court have cleared us of any misdoings.
When we arrived, we moved to less than twenty meters off, matched velocities, and suited up to cross. The Russians said their airlocks wouldn't be compatible with ours. Their anti-particle field was still in effect- a sensible choice, given the risk of impact with dust clouds or other small objects in an asteroid field. We didn't question it, even though it played hell with our anomalous activity sensors as we got close.
They- there was a reason the Soviets didn't make contact. The GRU had received orders from the last remnants of the Soviet power structure to assume Foundation responsibility until proved otherwise. And the captain of the Fyodorov actually went along with it. We came back much later, opened up the wreck- he'd locked himself in the bridge and drained the oxygen out of the rest of the ship, and then- deliberately, well…

He reaches up and partially unwraps his turban. His scalp is patchy and torn, stretching upwards and to one side like an apostrophe. In several places metal plates are visible through the skin.

I had been outside the hull for 15 seconds when the top of my head was ripped off. Before I passed out I saw one of the GOC agents turn on his welding torch and cut his own faceplate open. When the ship's engines died, they didn't go quiet. Whatever goddamn unholy power supply they were using to run it had gone berserk, and the entire thing was surrounded by psionic anomalies. Nothing off the charts or unprecedented, but our instruments didn't show them because of the AP field and the Russians told us nothing.
There were eighteen of us on that ship- Twelve from the Foundation, six from the GOC. Eleven came back, four of those, myself included, in need of serious medical treatment. Two died in hospital on Minerva Base. The Fyodorov had a crew of 45, not including the captain.
And the Soviets denied it. A miscommunication, they said. The stress of the situation causing instability in the captain, they said. And the UN forgave them.
I've often heard people complain that the Foundation is, given the circumstances, unnecessarily isolationist. That we keep too many secrets. Well, when we tried to open up and help our fellow man 55 people died.
I don't know who gave the order to fire on the Nikolai Fyodorov. I know the flight recorder was damaged. I don't particularly care. They were right to do so.

« Straight On Till Morning Hub | All Along »

Footnotes
1. Foundation terminology for the Departure.
2. Colloquial adaptation of FORC, Foundation Orbital Research Compound, referring to standard Foundation space stations with an associated entourage of tethered communications/defense/storage satellites.
3. O5-10 was on Minerva Base for medical treatment during the Departure and was recovering from surgery in the aftermath.
4. Colloquial adaptation of CID, the Chinese Central Investigation Department, also in charge of the Chinese military spaceflight program.
5. Foundation terminology for the Showmen Transit Plaques
6. Most thaumaturgical systems in existence under GOC control failed completely after the Departure due to the absence of the Earth as a locus for binding energy. Of these failures, the crippling of the experimental cruiser Yeager was the most dramatic and well-publicized.


[13:40] Evil_Empire (~Phatzilla@6DC7299V.1FY2334I.5U00Q7E9.IP) has joined
[13:40] <DarkDays> Sup Empire?
[13:40] <Evil_Empire> Not much. I see they haven't logged in yet.
[13:40] <DarkDays> Correlion should be here any minute. Got held up at work.
[13:41] <Evil_Empire> Alright. Fugazi, you here?
[13:42] <Fugazi> Present. :P
[13:42] <Evil_Empire> Good, you'll be the secretary for this meeting. Take logs.
[13:42] <Fugazi> o7
[13:44] <DarkDays> While we wait, can we go over some of the changes on the website?
[13:45] <Evil_Empire> Another time? This is the general meeting room. Save those discussions for the private channels.
[13:47] Guest_54674 (Mibbit@757543A.76D54D37.7FF4E7Y2.IP) has joined
[13:47] Oortian (Mibbit@565221B.89T53R89.2WG6S8I1.IP) has joined
[13:48] Guest_54674 is now known as Yuconner
[13:48] <Evil_Empire> Guest_5467, you have 10 seconds to identif- Oh good.
[13:48] <Evil_Empire> Didn't mean to jump on you. Just need to confirm identities.
[13:48] <Yuconner> No worries.
[13:48] <Oortian> Hi!
[13:49] <Evil_Empire> Speaking of which, please PM me your invitation passcodes both of you.
[13:51] Viral_Heart (HexChat@IRC-56H7I8SU.upc-c.chello.nl) has joined
[13:51] Objekt279 (~chatzilla@IRC-9DF34G90.lightspeed.reticle.net) has joined
[13:51] <Evil_Empire> PM me your invitation passcodes please. Yuconner, Oortian, you both are cleared.
[13:52] Oortian is very excited to be here.
[13:53] <DarkDays> Welcome.
[13:54] <Fugazi> Glad to have you aboard.
[13:54] <Evil_Empire> Ok, you 2 are cleared as well. Let's get started. I'd like to be on the channel as least as possible. So we'll continue without Correlion.
[13:56] <Evil_Empire> Oortian, Yuconner, Viral_Heart, Objekt279… By your presence you have confirmed your invitations to join the Knights of Truth.
[13:56] Fugazi throws confetti.
[13:57] <Evil_Empire> As you know, the Knights of Truth are the collective efforts of truth seekers across the globe.
[13:58] <Evil_Empire> Would you please be so kind to introduce yourselves and who you represent for the logs? Starting with Yuconner.
[14:00] <Yuconner> Hello. Yuconner, also known as Wild Ben on my youtube channel. I lead a group called "Outlaw Track and Capture". We investigate sightings and interview witnesses related to cryptid wildlife. Currently we are limited to the southern US only.
[14:01] <Evil_Empire> An issue we soon hope to remedy. Welcome. Oortian, how about you?
[14:03] <Oortian> Hi there! I am the current defacto leader of the UFO Watchdogs Database. We investigate and consolidate posted sightings, vids, and images of UFOs all over the net. We have a fairly large presence on liveleak and other media sharing websites as well.
[14:03] <DarkDays> A very warm welcome.
[14:04] <Evil_Empire> Quite. Viral_Heart, you're next.
[14:06] <Viral_Heart> Greetings from Cemetery Investigations, we focus on ghosts and apparitions obviously. Moreso on hauntings to be precise. We have a few splinter groups under us that do good work in investigating and surveying paranormal hot-spots. We also maintain several important blogs that are open to the public.
[14:07] <Evil_Empire> Objekt, you have the floor.
[14:10] <Objekt279> Hi I am here on behalf of Enemies of the State and Declassified Press. We specialize in uprooting conspiracies and the like. Anything having to do with Govs or Illuminati, we are usually spearheading counter-intellegence reports for the public general.
[14:12] <Evil_Empire> You're fighting the good fight. Welcome.
[14:13] <Evil_Empire> With that I'd like to lay out a few things. Hopefully you all have had a chance to review our charter. As integrated members of the Knights of Truth, we ask that you all refer to yourselves as members. This is not for publicity but to maintain solidarity in the organization. Agreed?
[14:14] <Oortian> Yup.
[14:15] <Objekt279> Can we still keep our site names?
[14:15] <Viral_Heart> ^^^
[14:16] <Yuconner> I'm good.
[14:18] <Evil_Empire> Yes, for the sake of consistency, keep the site names the same. We ask though that you include our banner on your home page. Identifying your organization as KoT. That includes watermarks on images and videos.
[14:18] <Viral_Heart> I'm fine with that.
[14:19] <Evil_Empire> All of which was included in your starter pack that Fugazi emailed you all.
[14:20] <Fugazi> Yuppers! :D
[14:21] <Evil_Empire> Excellent. Doing this will send a message to governments and oppressors everywhere that we will not be silenced. The more our numbers grow, the more the public will listen.
[14:22] <Viral_Heart> Glad to forward our collective causes.
[14:23] <Yuconner> Huzzah!
[14:23] <Objekt279> Here here
[14:24] <Oortian> :)
[14:25] <Evil_Empire> Another matter of business. We need to get you guys registered to the KoT site and to our private discussion boards. In the packet there are instructions on how to do that.
[14:26] <Yuconner> Got it.
[14:27] <Evil_Empire> Yes good.
[14:28] <Evil_Empire> Viral_Heart, I assume the splinter factions you mentioned will also trickle down and follow suit.
[14:30] <Viral_Heart> It will be done.
[14:32] <Evil_Empire> Good. This is one step closer to becoming a formidable influence in age of information.
[14:33] <Evil_Empire> Orders going forward. Update your sites and image to KoT.
[14:34] <Evil_Empire> DarkDays are you still here?
[14:35] <DarkDays> I am.
[14:35] <Evil_Empire> Watch the room for a bit. I need to double check this connection. Somebody might be listening.
[14:35] <Objekt279> GDI, this is why we shouldn't use these rooms.
[14:36] <DarkDays> On it till you get back.

"WHAT?!?" Shouted an eye-strained 30 year old man in his room, swiveling his chair in the direction of his accuser.
"Timothy, did you make sure to separate whites and darks?" rebuttaled the elderly woman downstairs.
"I did, Mom!" Timothy groans irritably in his chair, debating whether or not to muster the effort to stand and walk over to the top of the stairs.
"Well how come my pillowcase is in the dark laundry?
"I don't know, Mom. I'm kinda busy!"
"What are you doing up there?"
"I told you, Mom… stocks… I'm in the middle of trading." Timothy cringes at the sound of steps lurching up the stairs. "Just be sure to separate lights and darks next time, sweetie."
Timothy quickly minimizes windows before the woman makes the corner. "I will. I will. I will. But Mom, I'm real busy, I need to concentrate."
"Oh, don't mind me." The woman peeks her head in to do a perimeter check for any more forgotten socks, shirts, or the occasional wayward dinner plate from the previous night. Of course there was one on the DVD collection with a lone overcooked pizza roll perched on the rim.
"Any good deals out there?" She inquires as she routinely picks up the items.
"Mom. They aren't coupons, they're stocks."
"I see. Oh, by the way, PetCo called and wondered if you can fill in for Jessie on Friday."
"Ugh. Kay. Can you go now?"
"Alright alright. Also, can you mow the lawn this weekend? It's getting awfully shaggy."
"YES! MOM! I WILL DO IT! PLEASE! CAN YOU GO NOW!"
"I hear you." She begins to shuffle her feet towards the exit. "I just made some cookies, you want chocolate chip, peanut butter, or snickerdoodles."
"……….snickerdoodles." And with that the old woman huffs back downstairs to prepare a plate of freshly baked love.

[14:42] <Evil_Empire> Sorry, back. False alarm. Where were we?
[14:44] <DarkDays> Giving out some directives.
[14:46] <Evil_Empire> Yes. Fellow seekers, in the coming days I will be in touch with each of you to start forming committees. Then we will start to branch out and recruit more members.
[14:47] <Evil_Empire> At the same time, special assignments will be delivered for each of you to chase up. Anything you have currently going on, keep at it. KoT assignments will take precedence however when they are given. All of this is nothing new, but I just wanted to reiterate.
[14:48] <Objekt279> Yes. This is what we signed up for.
[14:49] <Oortian> Go Team!
[14:49] <Yuconner> Roger.
[14:50] <Viral_Heart> Dodger. Also, there's the bit about shares? When do those get handed out?
[14:51] <Evil_Empire> In due time. The donation funds and merch revenue will be divided equally as discussed with a small percentage being stored in a separate account for emergencies.
[14:53] <Evil_Empire> Your respective shares will be sent to the paypal accounts I have once you have completed transitioning your organizations to the KoT format.
[14:54] <Evil_Empire> Correlion is our resident treasurer and will oversee that.

Timothy leans in his chair, smacking on baked goodness. The sense of accomplishment, a feeling quite lost to him begins to wash over. The crumbs falling from his crooked smile indicates that this was one of those rare moments for him. He glances over at the clock and then leans painfully forward over his keyboard with a strained creak. Cookie particulate falling between the keys as he adjourns his secret meeting.

[14:55] <Evil_Empire> And with that, I do believe we are over our time limit. If you have questions, please email DarkDays. Meeting adjourned.
Viral_Heart (HexChat@synIRC-56H7I8SU.upc-c.chello.nl) Quit
[14:56] <Yuconner> Fare thee well.
Yuconner (Mibbit@757543A.76D54D37.7FF4E7Y2.IP) Quit
DarkDays (~androirc@45S17F4T:427NZM30:HKQ18U06:IP) Quit
[14:57] <Evil_Empire> Fugazi, don't forget logs. Hard copies and secure drive.
Objekt279 (~chatzilla@IRC-9DF34G90.lightspeed.reticle.net) Quit
[14:58] <Fugazi> Yep, getting them ready now. I'll send you the link.
[14:59] <Evil_Empire> Cheers.
Evil_Empire (~Phatzilla@6DC7299V.1FY2334I.5U00Q7E9.IP) Quit (Silence is Fear, So Die Shouting)
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[15:31] /msg chanserv info #kot-tempconference
[15:32] ChanServ Information for channel #kot-tempconference:
[15:32] ChanSerrv Founder: Evil_Empire
[15:32] ChanServ Description: Temp IRC chat room
[15:32] ChanServ Registered: Dec 12 20:01:50 2011 EST
[15:32] ChanServ Last used: Feb 01 14:59:25 2015 EST
[15:32] ChanServ Last topic: Don't use this room for prolonged meetings. Use for recruitment or outreach. Ongoing assignments are not to be discussed here.
[15:32] ChanServ Topic set by: Kerouacker
Guest_22518 (:::::::::::::::) Quit

IDCaRD
Information Detraction, Censorship, and Rescission Division
tenartni.noitadnuoFPCS|DRACDI#tenartni.noitadnuoFPCS|DRACDI
Ext 7502
Fax 7503

FLAG REPORT: AUTOMATED
PRIORITY: ZAYIN

FLAGGED:

IRC chat activity | Feb 01 14:59:25 2015 EST

Attendees:

DarkDays
Evil_Empire
Fugazi
Objekt279
Oortian
Viral_Heart
Yuconner

Mentioned:

Correlion

SEARCH FOCUS:

Knights of Truth (KoT) | RECORDS

Members: approx. 220
Leader: Tim Berch
Location: 1121 W. Belford St. | Dansville, VA | USA
Threat Level: Low-Risk

DIRECTIVE:

Adding Attendees to Virtual Agent Search List
Continue Monitoring


San Luis Obispo, California sits approximately halfway between Los Angeles and San Francisco, stands seventy-one meters above sea level, and hovers over most of California thanks to a governmental building sitting in the heart of the city. At the front of this building is a set of sliding glass doors.
Foundation Agent Jayson Valdez stepped through said doors, breaking both tenses and a sweat. The California branch of the Unusual Incidents Unit felt more like a small DMV, with a main desk that diverted people to one of a dozen teller windows. While the building did double as a more mundane government establishment, that was mostly just office paperwork. Nothing that required much interaction with the civilian population. But there had to be almost three dozen people in line, sitting in a row of chairs, or speaking with a teller.
Had his mind not been in a constant state of minor panic he might have thought it odd.
Once he found the door leading into the back of the building, Jayson advanced with his stomach in knots. Fumbling with an envelope, he extracted an ID card with a matching picture and mismatched name. He stared at the empty envelope for a few seconds before awkwardly crumpling it into his pocket. Knowing he was too far in to back out now, Jayson slid it through the lock on the door and it popped open for him. With a slow breath he slipped through and shut the door behind himself.
The back was, in a word, different. Filing cabinets dotted the hallways between the cubicle farms, desks were coated with hills of paperwork, and a steady river of traffic flowed back and forth. A mountain of a man was standing in a gap between the filing cabinets, and the tight grin he offered Jayson shone like a handful of diamonds amongst a pile of coal.
"Ed Pun?" he rumbled.
"Y-yes. Hello."
"Nervous?" The man chuckled when Jayson offered a broken smile. "That's fine, that's fine. I'm Tyler O'Banner. I'm to show you the ropes."
Jayson only nodded as he examined the offices. "Is it always this busy?"
"Bit of a lull, actually." There was a long enough pause for Jayson's face to fall, and then Tyler laughed. "I'm joking! Yeah, it's a bit hectic today. Big bust on a Spirit Dust ring. Anyway, we should be off."
Jayson fell in line behind him, and together the two of them forded through their coworkers. A fair amount of them gave a glance toward Jayson, accompanied with a smile that seemed to hold more humor than friendliness. But Jayson couldn't pay them much mind, as Tyler had begun talking over the roar of the offices.
"So the front is where we intake all reports and requests," he explained. "Normal civvies can complain about the lights that show up above their house at one in the morning. You get all kinds with that, and a fair few of them are just wild goose chases. But you gotta do it, you know? And then you have the actual unusual folk, who need to go through legal junk to remain registered and whatnot."
"They just… walk in?" Jayson asked. He peered into one of the various offices and saw a blonde woman speaking very animatedly to the man behind the desk.
"Mhmm." Tyler tilted his head. "Well, some of them. The ones who look human enough. Others we have to arrange transport. It all amounts to a lot of paper."
"Is it really that bad?" His thought was sidetracked by a freakishly tall humanoid hunching over through the back of the room, looking like it was trying very hard to be as small as the young girl wrapped around its spindly neck. Jayson snapped back to attention. "I mean, do you get that many cases?"
"Oh, man, you have no idea." Tyler laughed. "Luckily we have some tricks to make sure the loonies don't keep coming back. Subtle persuasion, feel me? Can't imagine what it'd be like without memetics."
Without thinking about it Jayson commented, "I always hear memetics are bull- uh. Full of crap."
Tyler laughed. "You can swear, I don't give a shit. And they are bullshit. But hey, manure has its uses. You'd know, eh?"
"What do you mean?"
Tyler opened a door with his name on it and ushered Jayson inside. When the door shut the din of the rest of the building cut out entirely. The sudden silence spun his heart around. But Tyler still had his friendly disposition, and he gestured to the chair in front of the desk amicably.
"Come on, sit down. I've been looking forward to this bit."
Jayson slowly lowered himself into the armchair. He was expecting it to be rigid or saggy, but it was a perfectly good seat. After squirming into a comfortable position he watched Tyler round the desk and sit in his own seat.
Jayson took several deep breaths to try to calm his nerves. It didn't work.
"So," Tyler said. "I'm curious what you thought you would be doing."
"Um. Basic paperwork, maybe? Possibly doing street work to follow up on reports."
Tyler nodded. "And you will. But, y'know, that wasn't quite what I mean. Here, let's do it this way. Grab your phone, call your superior. Tell them we're a bit bigger a deal than they thought, okay?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. You're my sup-"
"Jayson, please."
Jayson could feel his heart banging away in his chest.
"We both know you're with the Foundation, okay? I imagine they gave you some conditioning so that you can't actually reveal that yourself. That's fine. But you need to call them, right now, so that I can prove my point."
A shaky hand reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He still had three bars. Did Tyler actually mean for him to make the call? When Tyler simply nodded at him Jayson opened the phone and plugged in the numbers.
A chipper voice came from the other end of the line. "Stanford's Cables and Phones, how can I help you?"
Friendly was not something he could pull off at the moment, so Jayson just went for nonchalant. It sounded like he was being strangled. "Hi this is Jayson, out on a job right now. In a bit of a pickle, need to consult Al."
"What's your code, Jayson?"
"Uh. One-seven-four-one."
"One moment."
For three seconds he listened to muzak and then his boss picked up the line. "Heyyy Jayson how's it going?"
"Good," Jayson felt himself saying. His eyes bulged and he tried getting a look at his traitorous lips. "In, out, no problem. They actually take in reports from anybody. I don't know what their field agents are like but I imagine they stay busy doing a lot of nothing."
"Yeah, figured. But it's just your first day, if you can even call it that. Maybe you'll actually find something!" The two shared a laugh, despite the fact that nothing about the conversation was funny to Jayson. "Get back to me if you find anything out. Til then."
"See ya."
Jayson listened to the dull tone of his phone for a few seconds before looking to Tyler.
"So, I imagine you have some questions," Tyler said with his palms pressed together.
"What the fuck just happened?" Jayson gasped, finding he had little air in his lungs from all the talking he didn't mean to do.
"You know that paper you signed earlier, in the lobby? Some magic to it. You now have the same stuff as the Foundation gave you, only this time it's for the UIU. Fun times, yeah?"
"So now what?"
"You work for us now, pretty much. I mean, you'll tell your superiors exactly what they expected to hear. But you'll actually be doing some good for us. Helping out those living in the cracks."
"And I can't actually tell anyone that, can I? Memetic bullshit?"
"Heaps of it."
Jayson sighed. "Do I have a choice?"
"Well, I mean, we could fire you," Tyler offered. "We're not going to hold you hostage or some shit. I imagine that will impact your career over at the Foundation, though."
Another sigh. "Fine. Fine. When do I start?"

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