The German Border, near Dresden
February 15th, 1945
Calling them members of a charitable foundation was half-right.
The instant the bombs stopped on the fifteenth, a platoon from Prague — Baker-Six-Six, aka "Rare Mediums" — had been deployed to Dresden. They were relatively close, barely an hour and a half away. The Yanks had decided to take the Axis from two ends, and as such, bombed both Prague and Dresden, so a good part of B66 was behind aiding in recovery efforts and trying to prevent things from getting even worse.
Officially, they represented the "Allied Relief for Victims of the Conflict in the European Theater Foundation", and they had all the trappings of it; fake documentation, supply trucks full of emergency rations and water filtration, bandages for the wounded.
Dresden was close to both the southern and eastern borders, and they were desperate for any kind of relief, for fear that the Soviets would come in from the east and deal them the killing blow.
Anastazie Dvorak kept her head down as they passed through the checkpoint; too often in the occupied zones, she had been stopped because of her 'Jewish eyes', whatever that meant. Someone else had told her that it was a perverse compliment, and that it meant that they wanted to take advantage of you.
Her handler, a kind Ukranian man who she just called Humphrey — because he looked so much like Humphrey Bogart — had finished talking to the German at the checkpoint, and soon, they were bound towards Dresden. It was a fair distance into the country, still, another half-hour.
"Are you all right, Ana?" Humphrey asked. His Czech was passable, at most, but she could hold a conversation with him.
"Yes, thank you." She swallowed, looking towards the northern horizon. "…I feel so much sadness from there. So much loss. They're saying twenty-thousand dead?"
"Two-hundred thousand, Ana." He glanced at the driver of the transport, and then looked back at her. "But word is that the Fuhrer is inflating the figures. I'm sure it's far less than that!" He had a genuine smile on his face, hiding his own unease.
"…they're lying again, then." She felt at her uniform; a nurse's garb, for their cover. "Why do they lie about the number of deaths? It's dangerous and will induce panic."
"I think they know that," Humphrey said, looking north with her. "I just don't think they care."
He didn't have the same sensitivity that Ana did. He couldn't talk to the dead. He couldn't cause spots of cold. He wouldn't faint or scream in the presence of death and destruction. He was just there to make sure she was kept safe.
But you can't kill something that's already dead with a bullet. He clutched his Bible in his breast pocket.

The bombing had stopped at half-past noon. By the time they got there, it was almost five o'clock. The city was dead silent, except for the burning of the flames in the distance, and the sound of the trucks. Every now and again, they would see clothing sticking from the rubble. Ana tried not to think about it. She just focused on the pain she heard.
This city would forever have a psychic scar on it. Even if the wounds were to heal, the mind of this city would be forever concussed, shellshocked. After ten, fifty, one-hundred years, there would still be something in this city to remind the people of Germany — and the world — of what happened here.
"What the hell?" someone asked in Czech. It was the driver, who she called Clark, after Clark Gable; he had the same voice as the actor. "Her ears are bleeding."
"Dammit." Humphrey reached forward to dab at her ears with a handkerchief. "That bad?"
Ana nodded. "The worst yet. Remember Trafalgar Square, four years ago?"
"You wouldn't stop seizing," Humphrey nodded, taking out a white pill and a bottle of water, offering both to her. "Kept saying the children there could taste the war rations, and they were hungry for chocolate."
"Yes." She nodded. Ana took the pill placed it under her tongue, and swallowed it with some water. "It… it wasn't good."
The truck came to a stop. "We're here," Clark said, stepping out of the cab. "I recognize the building."
They stepped out onto the street, in front of what had once been some form of church. It could barely be recognized as one; only a few walls were left, and in the center, some rubble of what had once been the dome and spire. The chancel was the largest part left standing, all dark stone; whether the surroundings smouldered in such a way that it looked dark, or if it was naturally that way, none could tell. The altar, somehow, was mostly intact.
Clark looked at the photograph they had been given, then at the remains of the church, then waved Ana over to inspect it. She herself had taken the picture, with a special camera; 'spirit photography' she called it. It depicted the remains of the church, with dozens, if not at least one-hundred, black-eyed, pale beings looking at the camera. It had frighted her, the Foundation, and the New Dawn Initiative enough to come and find it.
"Who are they?" Humphrey asked, disembarking from the back of the transport.
"I don't know." Her hand balled up in her uniform. "Better question might be what are they. You've heard reports from where Husiatyn Woods used to be? Black-eyed men being seen in the remnants?"
"Then why could you see it?" Clark looked at her, worried. "You said your gift only works on ghosts."
"I'm not— oh." Ana's balance failed, and she leaned against the chancel. "…oh god."
"What is it?" Humphrey rushed to her side, supporting her.
"Someone… someone's underneath. Screaming. Screaming. They're dead and they're screaming. Oh…" She sat down in the rubble, and started crying. Her voice changed, distorted, into first a child's, then a man's, speaking in German.
"Vater, vater, bitte, es heiß! Es schmerzt! Vater!"
"Alec, schließe deine Augen, mein Bärchen… schleiße deine Augen…" She broke down crying in a masculine voice. "That's what they're saying. They burned to death, in the chapel. They were seeking solace. And they died." She began bleeding from the mouth.
"God in Heaven…" Humphrey looked back at the truck, at Clark, and at the half-a-dozen agents that had stayed there. He said, in English, then Ukranian, "Don't just stand there! Let's dig this up!"
The various agents — all men, all soldiers of some form, whether under the New Dawn or the Foundation — all took up pickaxes meant for removing the rubble. "Where do we dig?" Humphrey asked Ana, holding onto her.
"Crypt… they burnt in the crypt…" She looked skyward, at the setting sun. The heat from the freshly-bombed city had made her forget it was winter. The sun was setting so fast.
"Petros!" — Humphrey was addressing Clark here, in Ukranian — "Get on the radio and check with the other teams. See if any of the other mediums are having a reaction like this."
"Yes, sir." Clark ran back to the transport, speaking into the radio.
Ana, eventually, was able to stand. "…give me a pick."
"Are you sure?" Humprhey asked. "You look like you could fall at any moment."
"I have to see them," she growled. "It is the only way I can put them to rest and get them to stop screaming."
The rubble beneath their feet shifted in a motion violent enough to knock one of the diggers on his front. Everyone stopped to look at it, suddenly afraid of what they would find under the ruins of the church should they continue digging. For something dead to move rubble that extremely required a lot of pain, and a lot of anger.

Ana had taken a break after they had set up the work lights. A few civilians had stopped by and offered their services in the excavation; while grateful, they were turned away with emergency food, water, and supplies. They were masquerading as an aid organization, so they had pitched some tents for those who could find them to sleep under.
The church, as it turned out, was a landmark. A younger couple who had survived the blasts had come by for food and mourned how they were to be wed in it in March. Humphrey — being a New Dawn Initiative pastor — had offered to wed them on the spot, so he was off doing that. Something good could come of this, at least.
They were sitting in the cool of the night air, winter suddenly creeping back into the devastated Dresden. They hoped that snow would not come, or else it would mask the cold spots that the mediums in B66 often relied on to detect spirit activity.
The rubble shifted again. It kept getting closer to the altar, and the vestments on it were starting to shake. It was a miracle that it had managed to survive when the rest of it had been burned to the ground. The stone didn't melt, but it was hot enough that everything supporting it broke down.
"I hate Americans," Ana concluded, muttering in Czech so that the Americans from the Foundation wouldn't hear it. "I hate that they can destroy a city like this for no reason."
The rubble shifted once more. Ana jumped, as she was at the back of the chancel, and it had come almost at her feet. She carefully walked around it, and called to Humphrey, "It's gotten to the back!"
"What has?" he called in return.
"The…" she knew he didn't know the Czech word, so she managed, in English, "Ah-nom-ah-li!"
Humphrey directed his crew to dig towards the back; while they had unearthed several pews, no evidence of the crypt was found. They were moving from the front of the church to the chancel, methodically; in hindsight, they should have done it the opposite way.
The picks and shovels came down, lifting away the rubble and beginning to reveal a depression underneath. Ana swooned again. "It's… down there."
"There?"
"Yes," she gritted her teeth. "I hear them. Their eyes are black… they were burnt by fire. All of their eyes. Their skin was covered in ash as it was burned through, and their eyes… they boiled. Oh god alive, they boiled as they died." She ran toward the rubble, and began digging through it with her bare hands. "Let me in!"
"Ana!" Humphrey tried restraining her. "What the devil—"
"I can only put them to rest if I can see their bodies! Let me in! Please!"
"Ana, let the men work—"
They did not need to work much further. The debris exploded outwards, a small chunk of stone grazing the medium's temple as she recoiled from the blast. She clutched the wound on her head and stared at the dust and stone going down a set of stairs; fragments of wood were around it, no doubt the doorway that led into the crypt.
"I'm going down," Ana declared. Before there could be any protests, she had vanished down the stairs.

The crypt was quiet enough that Ana could hear her bones creak, and the blood going through her veins. She could hear the little sacs in her lungs expand and contract as she continued down the tunnel.
She could almost hear the men of B66 behind her, protesting her descent, but she kept onward. She forced her mind to open; the amount of psychic force in this city had made it seal itself like a door welded shut. She destroyed the welds, and leaned against a wall, shocked by what she had seen around her.
There were 432 souls here. She could feel every single one in her head, and she counted them in an instant. Men, women, children, all of them German. "Where are your bodies?" she asked. "Please, I have to put you to rest."
432 pale hands pointed in different, nonsensical directions; some up to the ceiling, some into the walls, others through themselves. She walked on the floor of the crypt, forward, towards the spirit of a child. She expected her foot to hit something; a burned chunk of flesh, some incinerated clothing, a brooch, a toy, anything. Any clue to tell her where the bodies were.
Instead, she found nothing. She groped along the floor, feeling for any sign of human life. Eventually, she found something: a ticket to a play, dated February 10th. Five days ago. It was unburned.
Ana's eyes widened. There were no remains, just debris, from survivors, people who had evacuated the structure. She looked up at the spirits, tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said, standing against the wall. "I can't help you. You never existed. I can't put you to rest."
There was a mass of confusion from the spirits, a murmur, a mumble. How could they not exist? They remembered their lives, their names, their…
…their…
The spirits screamed as Ana sprinted up the steps, echoing their pitiful wail. They never lived, so how could they ever die, ever pass on?

"They didn't exist?" Humphrey asked as he set up his cot. They had made some sort of camp among the rubble, and refugees were coming in to seek warmth, food, and shelter. "That doesn't make sense."
"…Hitler is inflating the figures, you said?" Ana swallowed. "If… if enough Germans — no, if enough people believe that two-hundred thousand souls died here, then… two-hundred thousand souls, who lack bodies, who have always lacked bodies, are going to exist."
"That's insane," Humphrey frowned. "That would mean that, every time a death is falsified, every time a statistic is hyperbolic…"
"…more ghosts exist than the dead." Ana curled up on her cot. "And it's going to get worse. Even if the war is ending, if Germany will soon surrender… Dresden, and the world, will be left with scars for generations." She looked back at Humphrey. "This is the New Dawn you people are facing. This is what is creeping over the horizon. A world where three, maybe four ghosts exist for every body. Not just here. In Russia, the Ukraine, Spain, England, France, Poland… even America. The world will be haunted by the actions of all. Axis and Ally, Foundation and fiend." She pulled a blanket over herself.
"Can humanity live with that, Bernard?"
Bernard Kostyshyn looked towards the horizon, where the moon was rising over the rubble. He would never be able to answer this question.


Previously

The elevator is silent except for the distant humming of the motor. I take one last look at myself in the mirror before the elevator stops and the steel doors slip open. There are no decorations in the light blue hallway that unfurls before me. I walk along the doors, occasionally looking back at the small piece of paper in my hand.
Finally, an apartment bearing the correct number stands before me. I take a deep breath and knock. The door opens after a few seconds and I find myself standing before him. He is wearing a white shirt with a gray vest and slacks.
A smile blooms on his face. “Ah, you must be Eldred. Please, come in.”
“Good evening, Mr. Cranford. It is an honor to meet you.” I reach out and shake his hand.
He returns it. ”Oh, no need to flatter me. Come, make yourself at home.”
I enter and hang my coat on the rack. The apartment is bathed in soft light and a gentle, warm aroma hangs in the air. I move deeper into the flat. Steel, stone, and glass seem to be the theme here. Before I can observe it further Mr. Cranford places his hand on my shoulder and leads me to an adjacent room. A large table awaits us there, with the source of the aroma sitting on it. A large bowl of rice, garnished with shrimp. Multiple smaller fragrances bloom as we move closer to it. Three plates with utensils sit on the table.
“Is there anyone joining us this evening?” I look towards my host.
“No need to worry. This person is a close colleague of mine.”
I feel my muscles stiffen and my hand instinctively begin reaching for the inner pocket of my suit.
William chuckles. “No need for that now. They are my colleague in my, how shall we say, secondary position as well.”
“Oh, what a polite and tactful manner of explaining what you do Will.” A female voice comes from behind me.
I turn around to see a woman in a simple, black dress. Her scarlet hair is cascading across her shoulders, but her eyes are sharp and focused, drilling into mine.
“It's a pleasure meeting you Miss..?” I offer her my hand.
She takes and shakes it. “Antje. And I already know who you are Mr. Jacinto.” I can feel old scars as my hand slides across smooth patches of skin.
“Now that the introductions are done, shall we begin?” William motions towards the table.
We sit down at the table and spend the following minutes in silence, enjoying the food.
William is the first to interrupt the silence. ”I trust Mr. Dark is well?”
I set down my utensils. “Oh, yes. He is deeply sorry that he could not make it, as urgent business in the Baltics demanded his immediate attention.”
Ms. Antje snorts. “Oh, I'm sure he is absolutely anguished over missing out on our company.”
William rolls his eyes and ignores the remark. “Baltics? I did hear something was beginning to stir up there. Wine?”
I shake my head. ”No thank you. Now, if it would be fine, I'd like to discuss some matters that require your attention.”
He sets down his utensils as well and picks up his glass. “Of course, of course. We can't spend all evening just stuffing our faces, now can we?”
I hand him a folder. “We have recently unearthed some items in the Nile delta. However multiple of these items are impossible to market to our clientele. We believe your organization would be interested.”
William leafs through the folder. ”That seems correct. And the real reason you are here is?”
I'm briefly stunned. “I'm sorry Mr. Cranford?”
He sighs. “Why are you here and Dark is in the Baltics? If you just wanted to notify me of some mildly interesting items there was an abundance of channels to inform me through.”
I put the folder back in my bag and place a laptop on the table. “A group of independent individuals has chosen Marshall, Carter, and Dark to act as an intermediary between them and you, as well as vouching for their trustworthiness.”
A disquieting coldness and a flash of hunger briefly appear in Williams' eyes. ”I assume this group would like to open an account with me, correct?”
“Indeed they do.” I nod, open the video call and push the laptop towards William, a notebook already in his hands.
“Good evening Mr. Dark. And you, I believe are my future associate. Shall we go over the basic terms you desire to include in our agreement?” William smiles.
The next hour is a mess of terms, agreements, limitations, assurances and so much more. The smile of Mr.Cranford does not waver for a second. As he passes my laptop back to me, a muffled crash is heard from outside the apartment.
Ms.Antje pulls my attention away from it. “Don't worry, someone probably dropped their groceries or something.”
I gather up my belongings and say my goodbyes. The cool air in the hallway washes over my face and I feel a massive pressure, that I didn't even know existed, lift from my chest. I met with the man himself. I still can't quite believe he exists. I button up my coat and turn to walk back to the elevator.
Two men stare back at me, a third one lying on the ground, his neck twisted. One of them raises a finger to his lips, a silent whirring of gears accompanying the gesture. Then he points at the apartment I just left. He and his partner lift up the body and quickly leave.
I walk to the elevator, ride down and get back in my car. Within 20 minutes the city is behind me.
***
I disassemble my rifle and close the blinds. I switch the light on and, as the brightness fills the room, squeeze my eyes shut. When they are finally adjusted I walk to the kitchen and throw some leftover soup on the stove. Every time the same thing.
A highly important representative comes, they have dinner, they make whatever twisted deal they have and the representative leaves in peace. I know I should be happy never to have to take the shot, but one does start feeling useless after a while. The Tickers in the hallways have no problem dealing with whatever comes their way. If anything makes it that far.
I finish my soup and go to sleep. Same old, same old.
At least I can get up late in the mornings. But then it's just a routine- eat, work out, clean weapons and go to the market.
The plaza is quite full today, people flowing through it like a river. I greet some of the people running the stalls and begin my shopping. Carrots, meat, artichokes for that new dish. I hum underneath my breath while moving through the river of people. I hear the sound of clockwork as a man in a gray suit passes me. While I know there is no threat my body tenses up and my senses kick into gear. All of them are suddenly visible.
A group of teens in baggy clothes just on the edge of the plaza. I know that underneath the fabric hides a thing that would send most people running in panic. A woman buys some potatoes and as she reaches for the bag handed to her by the vendor the sleeve of her jumper slides back just a bit and the top of a tattoo becomes visible. I see a glimpse of multiple snakes forming fingers.
These are only the tip of the iceberg. Some of them never leave their homes, some of them aren't even visible. Every single one dedicated to a united cause.
Honestly, this place probably has more occult firepower stashed in it than any of the headquarters any group has. And all just for the protection of a single man. Admittedly, there is some justification- quite a few don't like the idea of their comrades being slaughtered because an accountant decided they would be a fair trade in exchange for an anomalous hamster.
And lookie here, there goes one. They walk differently than the rest. More caution, more awareness of their surroundings. They are trained to look relaxed in these situations, but you can see even that with enough time to look and the right kind of eyes. And mine are just perfect for the job.
I walk through the market, homing in on the middle-aged woman, her prematurely gray, short hair allowing me to easily track her through the crowd. Her gait changes soon, as she realizes I'm following her. She begins moving towards an alleyway.
I smile. Finally some fun. I follow her into the cool shadows.
She comes to a halt once she is certain nobody will be capable of hearing or seeing us.
“You could let me go.” She turns to face me, her face neutral. I can see the small beads of sweat on her forehead.
I nod. ”Yes. I could. But then somebody else would get you, and I guarantee you, that most of the other ones around here have some quite unpleasant methods of dealing with insurgents.”
“You could join me.” I see her hand begin to slowly move behind her.
“I prefer my organs inside me thank you very much.”
She moves quickly and manages to fire off two rounds, both aimed towards my head. I raise a single hand in front of me while swiftly moving towards her. Ringing fills the alley, as bullets strike steel.
Before she can react, I move in and grasp her head in my palms. I twist and just like that it is done. Her body drops to the ground. I exhale and relax my body.
“Do you need help?” A low, slightly rough voice comes from behind me. Every organic and inorganic strand of my being tenses up once more.
I turn to see the “teen” in the baggy clothes and hoodie.”Well, she's kinda dead, so I don-”
“Disposal.” It interrupts me and removes its hood.
“Oh. Yeah, go ahead.” I quickly walk past it and head back to the market. I don't really want to see what disposal involves. I'm not fast enough though and some noises reach me.
I get my groceries and look back at the thing one last time. It's back with its friends and looks bigger than before. I head back to my apartment. I spend the rest of the day reading and cooking. Admittedly, what I did to that artichoke could be classified more as a war crime, but at least the pork chops turned out alright.
I'm sitting by an open window, reading, letting the gentle breeze to wash over me when I notice somebody on the street. The man is moving with haste, heading towards the apartment complex opposite to mine. I'm quick, but not quick enough. He is inside before I can assemble my rifle. I curse underneath my breath and aim my sights towards the apartment of the accountant himself.
I close my eyes and recite a string of numbers. When I open my eyes the world is green and I can see the interior of the apartment quite well. Thank God for his massive windows. My hands are steady and my finger is on the trigger.
After a few minutes, I see him once more. He's gotten past the Tickers. I exhale and aim. Before I can pull the trigger another figure enters my sight. Before the intruder can react this one swiftly drives a blade into his calf and knocks him on the floor. Is that…? Ah, the accountant's fuckbuddy or whatever their relationship consists of. Judging by some of the things I've seen, I'm leaning more towards the first with a dash of romance. I watch for a few more seconds while she zip ties the intruder's arms and legs. The accountant himself enters the room carrying a chair. Together they get the intruder on it.
The accountant walks over to the window and waves to me before mouthing “Thanks” and closing the curtains.
I disassemble the rifle and return to my book. Maybe I should try the artichoke again tomorrow?
***
Edwin groaned in pain as the blood seeped from his leg. A light turned on and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Wakey, wakey, friend.” The voice of William caused him to open them again.
Dionne and Will were standing in front of him, the latter smiling at him.
“Now, I am impressed. You made it all the way here. I mean if Dionne hadn't been here our friend from the opposite building would have repainted the carpet with you, but other than that good job!” William approached Edwin, who was simply staring at him. Dionne turned her attention to something on her phone.
Will frowned. ”Nothing? No raving, no death threats, not even some spitting in my face? Okay, I guess we'll just go ahead. Who did you work for?”
“The Fifth Church.” Edwin raised his head slightly to look at Will.
“Bullshit.” Wills frown deepened.
“The Factory.”
“Utter bullshit.” Will drove his fist into Edwin's solar plexus.
Edwin gasped for a few moments before speaking again, his voice filled with pain.”MCD.”
Williams brow furrowed. ”Something's wrong.”
Dionne looked up from her phone.”What is it?”
“Look at him. He's good enough to get all the way here, but can't take a beating.”
Dionne moved towards Edwin and lashed out with full force, her fist connecting with his nose. The man howled in pain, tears beginning to streak across his cheeks. Dionne looked back at Will, concern in her eyes.
Will pulled out his wallet and motioned for Dionne to come to him. She walked back to the man and stood next to him. He removed a small card from the wallet, keeping it face down before turning it towards Edwin.
The man froze for a few moments before beginning to tremble. His pupils dilated and blood began dripping from his nose. Will swiftly placed the card back in his wallet.
“Will?” Dionne looked at him.
“Yeah?”
“What was that?” She spoke with some fear in her voice.
“Had a researcher in memetics whip it up for me in exchange for moving some numbers around so they get some extra funding. It's pretty basic, but it gets the job done. The order is simple- say what you can't say. Usually, it works based on your own perception. Makes you say some secrets or something very embarrassing.” Will returned the wallet to the pocket of his suit.
“Two questions. Why didn't you just use that and why did our guest start doing that?” Dionne walked closer to Edwin again, the man slowly recovering.
“No precision. He could've started telling us about the time he took his dad's car in high school.” Will moved closer as well.
“He has some weird secrets by the looks of it.”
“If I'm correct he did that because he has a geas on him. The card tried to make him tell whatever was behind that geas. The geas resisted. Started a loop for a moment. Conflicting commands. Started boiling his brain.” Will lifted Edwin's head by his chin and opened one of his eyelids
The man was moaning softly in pain, blood staining his sclera.
“Any ideas?” Dionne placed a hand on Will's shoulder.
“Call somebody to get him. I'll take care of it.” He didn't look away from the eye.
Dionne nodded and walked towards the other room.
Will pulled out a small box from another pocket in his coat. A small syringe lay within it. He took Edwin's hand and gently pierced the man's skin before pushing down on the plunger. Edwin went limp within seconds and William heard his breathing getting more and more silent.
After a few minutes, two forms in robes knocked on the door. William led them to the body and watched them carry it away.
Dionne came back into the large room after a while, seeing William standing before windows, the curtains draw back. He blew out a puff of smoke and Dionne felt the unmistakable scent of marijuana in the air. She wrapped her arms around his midsection and placed her head on his shoulders.
“What is it?” She asked in a soft tone
“I don't know why he was here. I don't know who sent him. This wasn't his choice. A lot of things.” William shook his head.
Dionne took the joint out of his slightly shaking hands and taking a long drag of it.
“Morality? From you?” She spoke gently.
“One should at least have a choice. I'm not sure whether he was even really a part of any group. I think whoever did this just randomly chose him, put him under a geas, probably something more as well, and let him loose.” Will interlocked the fingers of one of his hands with Dionne's.
They stood in silence for a few minutes, the smoke swirling around them.
Dionne was the first to speak. “At least you have something in you that still cares. Got to be worth something.”
“I suppose.”
“Let's go to bed?” Dionne grasped his other hand.
“Yeah.” Will nodded.
Neither of them let go.

« Unexpected Visitors and Warm Welcomes | Above All, Stand I. | It will come. »


Previous Part — Next Part
SCP Presented: SCP-1369
Although they were no longer in any real danger, Dictator did not sleep soundly in their containment cell, even with Oliver with them. They whined and kicked and turned over in their bed, sometimes gripping the headboard and clawing at the walls. After Foundation personnel determined this was not an anomalous quality, but rather simply night terrors, Dictator was left alone and not bothered any further.
When they woke up the next morning, Dictator's muscles ached. Slowly, groaning, they pushed themselves up with their arms and swung their legs over the side of the bed, making sure not to kick Oliver, who was resting at the foot of the bed, as they did. Even their legs hurt, probably from the four-mile round-trip they had taken yesterday.
Cracking the joints in their fingers, Dictator looked straight into the camera that was observing them. “Hey, are you guys awake back there? I'm hungry.”
A voice crackled over the intercom system. “Hey kid, don't worry, I brought ya' some pancakes.”
“Did you remember the blueberry syrup?”
“What kinda' “caretaker” would I be if I forgot that?” Eli chuckled from the other side.
A few moments later, the small metal flap at their door opened, and a plate with two pancakes, butter, a small container of blueberry syrup, and two slices of bacon was pushed through the door. Dictator quickly fell upon it like a starving dog, covering both pancakes with a thick layer of butter and syrup.
“Don't eat too fast, you'll get sick and if you puke on me we're gonna have a problem,” Eli muttered over the intercom. Dictator appeared to ignore them, instead continuing to eat at their previous rate.
After Dictator had finished their breakfast, and allowed Oliver to lick the plate, they turned their attention back up to the camera. “Okay, I'm ready to go now!” Though their tone was cheerful, there was something… off, about the look in their eye.
Eli chose to ignore it for now.
“Alright, I'm coming down,” Eli said, then swiveled around in his swivel chair to face one of his superiors. Startled, Eli pushed the chair back quickly, and was swiftly stopped by the control panel.
“Dr. Moss,” he said after taking a breath. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Relax, Jones, I'm just here to give you your assignments for the week. I think you'll find them interesting,” Dr. Moss told him. His voice sounded like a constant rolling growl, which was enough to unsettle even Eli. He held out a paper, and Eli took it, his heart in his throat.
Dr. Mitch Moss had unsettled Eli ever since they met. Moss was his assigned superior, and while the Foundation as a whole knew about Eli's “condition”, Moss had been less than kind about it. He obviously did not see Eli as a “real” man, but that was not the only reason Eli was bothered by his presence. There was something about the man that Eli simply did not trust.
Looking over the assigned SCPs for the week, Eli's eyes widened, then narrowed as he looked up at Moss. “No, no way. This is not right for Dictator to see and you know that.” You bastard was on the tip of Eli's tongue, but he did not voice it.
“This is a part of its testing, if you have a problem with it, keep your mouth shut,” Moss warned. “If it is truly as strong as it claims, this should not bother it.”
“The kid already has night terrors, you wanna fuck ‘em up even more?” Eli asked, cursing himself internally for not catching the swear before it came out. “Come on, give the kid a break.”
“It's already been done,” Moss replied dismissively, shrugging his shoulders. “Find out a way to deal with it.”
Eli swore again as Moss left the room, getting up from his chair and walking over to the door.
Although Dictator had been born nearly two-hundred years ago, they were slow to age, unlike the other three genetically identical humans who shared that same DNA. Dictator had been the last to be created, and as a homunculus, no less. They were created to be indestructible, even by the process of aging. So despite them being close to two-hundred years old, they were developmentally the same as fifteen-year-old.
Even as annoying and bothersome as they were, there was no reason for Dictator to be scarred by these anomalies. Eli would protect them, somehow.
—-
With the two of them in such unstable moods, it was inevitable that one of them would notice the other. Surprisingly, it was Dictator who noticed Eli's foul mood before Eli picked up on their own inner distress.
“Uh… you okay, big Bro?” Dictator asked, jogging a bit to catch up with Eli. Oliver trotted up beside them, chuffing with irritation.
“I'm fine,” Eli growled in response. There was a hint of anger in his voice, and Dictator could not help but flinch. Though Eli was usually irritated with Dictator, it took a lot for him to get really angry. Reaching out, Dictator grabbed hold of Eli's arm, forcing him to turn around and look at them. “Don't fucking touch me – ”
“Why are you mad? I didn't even do anything,” Dictator whined. “And why did you take so long to come get me this morning? Is that why you're angry?”
“I'm not angry, I'm pissed off,” Eli shouted, withdrawing his arm from Dictator's grip. “Just – don't ask questions, okay?”
“…Okay,” Dictator sighed after a few moments. They looked like they were on the verge of tears, and finally, Eli gave a heaving sigh again.
“Come on, kid, I'm not mad at you,” he grumbled. “I'm mad with my goddamn superiors. The shit they assigned this week – you don't need to see this shit, it's creepy.”
“Well, that doesn't mean I can't see it,” Dictator said. “I mean, I'm sure I can handle it.”
“Kid, there are grown people who can't handle this shit. You might be a big shot where you come from, but that doesn't mean you're ready for this.”
Dictator pouted, sticking out their bottom lip for a moment. “So what're you gonna do? You have to watch me 24/7.”
“Yeah, I know that, and so do they. That's why I'm pissed off. They wanna expose a little kid to really bad stuff.”
“I'm not a little kid!” Dictator stomped their foot to emphasize their point.
“Yeah, alright,” Eli sighed. “Come on, let's get going. We've got to get to 1369 before we have to check on 2952.”
—-
“So… what exactly is SCP-1369? And why'd you give me this blindfold?” Dictator asked as they walked through the building. Eli was taking many sharp twists and turns, with Dictator struggling to keep up. Eli was extending his steps as he continued to get angrier and angrier, pissed off at the world and the set of circumstances that led him here.
For a moment, he was so engrossed in stewing in his anger, that he forgot Dictator was even there until they tugged on his sleeve again.
“Uh, hey, big Bro? What is SCP-1369, and what's the blindfold for?” They repeated.
So much innocence in those eyes, Eli thought, turning around to address them. Oliver, who had been trotting along beside them, stopped and sat down, leaning against Dictator. Is he trying to protect them, too?
“What would a blindfold usually be used for, kid,” Eli grunted. “It's so you don't see the… thing that's in there.”
“What thing? Is it really that bad?” Dictator asked as the group of three started to walk again. The metal door leading to the observation chamber was just up ahead. “I've seen a lot of tough stuff in my lifetime, you know. I think I can handle it.” Their eyes were still bright with naive, childish innocence, but there was something… dark, about them as well. Something solid and unmistakably not innocent.
“No, you can't. I don't care how many years you've lived, you've got a kid's brain and you don't need to see this shit,” Eli said definitively, in a tone that clearly showed the argument was over. His voice wavered a bit as he fought to ignore the darkness he'd seen earlier in their eyes. “Now, put the damn blindfold on. I'm not opening the door until you do.”
Dictator opened their mouth to protest, but cut it off with a whine when Eli stared them down. Slowly, they tied the blindfold around their eyes, knotting it at the back of their head. “Okay, I'm ready now.” They reached out to grab Eli's arm, allowing him to guide them as they walked in.
Immediately upon catching sight of the thing behind the glass panel of the observation chamber, Oliver hissed, his tail going straight up as the fur along his back and neck rose. Dictator put their free hand on Oliver's back, rubbing gently in an attempt to calm him.
But the angry tiger refused to calm down, instead moving in front of Dictator as if to shield them from the creature behind the glass.
Eli, on the other hand, sighed and motioned towards another doctor sitting at the control panel. “Bring in the D-Class personnel,” he said, voice dull and devoid of its usual fervor. “Let's just get this over with.”
The other doctor nodded and pressed a red button on the control panel. A buzzing noise ensued, and Dictator lifted their head, but made no motion to take the blindfold off.
“Do you hear that?” Dictator asked, stepping closer to Eli. “It sounds like someone's in pain.”
“It's just the object, don't worry about it,” Eli replied, putting a hand on the small of Dictator's back. “Keep going,” Eli instructed the other doctor.
He stepped away from Dictator for a moment, which was a mistake. Almost immediately, they reached up and pulled their blindfold up just a bit, unable to resist the temptation of looking at the forbidden object.
Dictator was silent for more than a minute, and that was when Eli realized they had seen it.
Dictator had laid eyes on the object, and it was… terrifying. And in the middle of testing, no less.
The object itself was enough to terrify Dictator on its own, and at first Eli thought their silence meant they were scared. A mass of four heads, four arms, and a torso that merged into a mass of squirming tendrils, holding its place on the floor. Each head emitted its own moan, each at a different frequency than the other. This moaning did not seem to cease as the D-class personnel, who had disrobed, made his way towards it.
“Dictator! God dammit,” Eli hissed, making his way across the room to forcibly shove the blindfold back down, but the damage had been done. “There's a reason why I tell you these things! Did you think it was just for fun or something?!”
"It's revolting," Dictator finally said, appearing to ignore Eli's previous question. Their eyes stayed fixed on the object, the same darkness from earlier returning to their gaze. "This thing… what purpose does it serve? It should be exterminated."
"We don't do that unless they pose a serious threat to humanity," Eli replied, clasping his hand over Dictator's eyes. "Now, calm down. Let's just get you out of here, alright?"
Eli watched them the rest of the day, wondering if the darkness in their eyes would return. But it never did.


FOUNDATION STANDARD ORIENTATION MANUAL
LOCKDOWN PROCEDURES

Revision 3.9 [Site-81]. Electronic copy.
--------------------
Submitted to Foundation Records Database. Archived File.
All field personnel and Foundation staff have been issued a clearance-specific copy of this manual as of 15/03/17. Do not copy or re-distribute.
--------------------

UTILISATION:
The purpose of this documentation is to inform personnel of basic procedures during an on-site lockdown following a compromise of security or containment. Advanced copies, including re-containment protocol manuals for involved personnel, may be accessed by requesting such from your immediate supervisor.
Refer to this manual as your most reliable source. Lockdown procedures must be fast in order to achieve effectiveness, utilising speed as an advantage over the adversary threat. Misunderstanding basic regulations can endanger you and everyone you work with. Due to this, site administration requires all personnel to be familiar with this manual.
DISTRIBUTION:
Unless directed otherwise, staff are reminded that the content of this manual is strictly classified, and remains site-specific in context. Distribution across sites is a Type-3a offence. Exchange/viewing of copies provided to separate personnel is also prohibited.
Staff suspecting a breach of this regulation are to contact administration immediately.

-----------------------------------------

FOREWORD

Over the years we have come to accept that an entirely secure facility, equally protected from both internal and external forces, is an impossible equilibrium to correctly achieve. This is why lockdowns are an integrated part of our Foundation system. Entering a mindset in which a goal of absolute control exists is a futile effort. It is important to consider that there is always more that can turn out wrong than right. Not relying on procedures such as these would be a complete denial of the wrong. The Foundation is built upon grounds of acceptance, not ignorance. Don't be ignorant.
- Dr. Sawer, Head of Site Safety and Containment Regulations Board.
OVERVIEW
A lockdown is defined as a varying emergency procedure in response to a containment breach or loss of security. Lockdowns are requested using an LRC (Lockdown Response Code), and ordered by the O4 communications group. Once evaluated, lockdowns are classified using Lockdown Degrees, which provide pre-created guidance on the appropriate response, such as AMTF (Armed Mobile Task Force) units and Automated Response Initiatives (ARIs), commissioned when appropriate to suppress the apparent threat.
BACKGROUND
Lockdowns first became official standard regulations following the 1931/03/12 containment breach, and multiple on-site accidents resulting in the severe loss of Foundation personnel, material, and vital assets. Since then, the Foundation has made substantial efforts to re-integrate more secure, reliable and dependable methods of repressing internal instability among sites. Some of the first MTFs (Mobile Task Forces), such as Epsilon-11, were commissioned to advance against the increasing number of contained anomalous objects across the Foundation.
For a number of years, over the period known as the "deep waters", the Foundation was prone to regular breaches and loss of vital assets, due to influencing opposing factions, falling containment standards and disobedience of Foundation personnel, including the creation of the Chaos Insurgency in 1928, where the lowering ethics of the Foundation provoked a unit to go A.W.O.L and re-form as an extremely hostile splinter-group. The response to containment breaches was eventually re-considered and altered by the O5 council in 1935.
Following the containment of multiple Keter-class anomalies in the 1980s, containment breach severity and frequency increased dramatically throughout certain Foundation facilities. New Armed Mobile Task Forces (AMTFs), such as Nu-7 and Eta-5, were founded with the goal of assisting in re-containment and repression of these new threats. Contemporary material science had not developed to a point that would allow for the effective economical containment of these entities. However, as technology advanced, the threats posed by these anomalies and the period known as the "reptile scares" were eventually mitigated by the mid-1990s.
One of the most recent periods involving a Foundation-wide lowering in containment safety involved the infamous "two-naught-seven strikes" throughout 2015, in which eighteen sites were attacked by the autonomously fast, possessive and senselessly lethal entity known as subject two-naught-seven, presumed to have been created by the Chaos Insurgency (CI) in 2011 as an uncontained and un-coordinated biological weapon against the Foundation. The strikes were most effective because they were governed by a complete lack of knowledge regarding a spontaneous attack, the loss of vital security MTF teams, and multiple encounters with civilian populations - attempting to expose Foundation secrecy. Subject two-naught-seven was last observed on the 8th September 2017 in a disused metro station, after assaulting 5 separate MTF divisions and subsequently disappearing under an approaching train.

-----------------------------------------

EVALUATION

O4 COMMAND
Originally, lockdowns were ordered manually by the O5 council, as a response to a distress call triggered from a select facility. Following the rapid scale of the Foundation expansion, registration and commission of any lockdown is now controlled by another group, known as the O4.
The O4 are responsible specifically for the handling of inbound LRCs and alerts from compromised sites, and the appropriate responses issued to these requests. Because of this, the O4 command is a communicative group, and serve as the organisation team for all lockdowns across the whole Foundation.
LOCKDOWN RESPONSE CODE
A Lockdown Response Code (LRC) is communication technique applied when calling for distress or assistance following a lockdown. A LRC will typically contain a super-compacted description of the situation, represented by 3 values: Site Number, Priority, Class. Understanding of an LRC is short and simple. An example would be "15/A/RED-AMBER, which would request an adequate response at site 15 with immediate action to combat at least one Large-Scale Aggressor (LSA) and possible memetic agents.
Not all members of staff are authorised to order a LRC request. Specifically: site directors, containment organisers responsible for the escaped threat, security teams, and all members of administration, are all authorised to issue an LRC code using specific landline communication routes, should an SCP object escape or hostile incursion occur.
For understanding of an LRC (Site Number, Priority, Class), see below.
SITE NUMBER:
The specific site number in which the situation is unfolding. May be multiple sites.
PRIORITY:
Options range from [A, B, C, D, E] with A requesting the highest priority. Priority levels act as a gauge on how fast and effective the response needs to be. For example, a E-priority lockdown for a memetic hazard may take several days for a response to be compiled, whereas an A-priority with the same threat will be enacted almost instantly with maximum efficiency to combat a maximum threat.
For measure, below are the approximated response times to each priority level.
A - <1 hrs
B - <2 hrs
C - <5 hrs
D - <24 hrs
E - <72 hrs
NOTE: Priority may be a key factor in determining whether response from an AMTF/MTF is necessary, or if the site should be destroyed, and may be used as evidence when arguing for destruction used by the Ethics Committee.
CLASSIFICATIONS:
Lockdowns happen in a multitude of ways, and there are an even larger multitude of things you need to consider as a response. Categorising stops people panicking, and conveys a clear description much faster and more effective than a conversation.
- Dr. Hayward, Retired Head of Site Safety Board.
The classification represents the origin of the threat (NOTE: not the severity — that is determined in the priority value) which will require possible tracking, liquidation or re-containment by foreign MTF teams from other sites. Due to the often unfamiliarity of different sites, AMTF/MTF teams require a way of understanding the threat and generating expectations before they reach the site.
Multiple classifications can be used to describe a more complex-origin threat.
Currently, there are 12 classifications, listed below.
CODE: AMBER
Synopsis: highlights the escape of at least one memetic1, infohazardous2 or cognitohazardous3 threat on-site staff are unable to currently suppress without foreign intervention.
Special Guidance: staff are advised to wait calmly for security to escort them and or otherwise remain still, avoid talking (or otherwise acting as a vector for the agent) and to close eyes/ears as best as possible. Do not evacuate by yourself, wait for security to direct you. Do not intervene with compromised staff affected by the agent. Do not attempt to leave the site.
Listed MTFs: MTF-Eta-10 ("See No Evil"), MTF-Eta-11 ("Savage Beasts"), both specialised in the control of memetic threats.
CODE: BLUE
Synopsis: suggests the escape of a sentient object below human intelligence capable of movement.
Special Guidance: N/A, follow orders from security.
Listed MTFs: MTF-Epsilon-11 ("Nine-Tailed-Fox")
CODE: SUPERBLUE
Synopsis: suggests the escape of a sentient object equal or above human intelligence also capable of movement.
Special Guidance: identical evacuation plan to CODE: BLUE.
Listed MTFs: MTF-Epsilon-11 ("Nine-Tailed-Fox")
CODE: GREEN
Synopsis: suggests any possible threat derived from a bio-hazardous4, infectious, or other contamination source5. These may include highly-infectious microorganisms6, biological weapons, or anomalous self-sustaining reactions7 capable of dramatically increasing in severity unless immediately countered. Not necessarily the escape of a single object, a CODE: GREEN may be often used in conjunction with another classification to signify a bio-hazardous threat.
Special Guidance: staff are to avoid contact with any sources of contamination or contaminated individuals above seeking evacuation. Do not leave the site. Staff should expect to be quarantined after the event.
Listed MTFs: Principal MTF deployed to all biohazards threats remains MTF-Beta-7 ("Maz Hatters"). In the case of an anomalous pandemic, MTF divisions will act rapidly in the containment and liquidation of areas affected by such anomalies, which may extend outside of the site if improperly contained. Incidents involving a catastrophic self-sustaining reaction are to be contained by possibly more teams so as to provide maximum efficiency to prevent further spread into an "unrecoverable" situation.
CODE: RED
Synopsis: defines the parameters in which a Large-Scale Aggressor (LSA) such as SCP-2059, has escaped containment and currently poses a substantial threat to the site and Foundation secrecy.
Special Guidance: N/A, follow orders from security.
Listed MTFs: responses are usually of upper priority and almost all available battalion-strength AMTFs are expected to be allocated, such as MTF-Nu-7 ("Hammer Down") and MTF-Eta-5 ("Jaeger Bombers"). MTF-Gamma-5 ("Red Herrings") may also be dispatched to liquidate incidents involving possible public exposure/sightings. Expect a high-resource response. CODE: RED lockdowns are frequent and often well-planned, such is a recurring threat from SCP-682, so staff are to remain aware that security teams are prepared.
CODE: BLACK
Synopsis: suggests the escape of a NTT (Non-Terminable Threat) such as SCP-096. A NTT is defined as a threat that, given the circumstances or present resources, is unable to be terminated by response teams during the incident, or are otherwise invulnerable to any form of attack.
Special Guidance: staff and security are advised to avoid confrontation with the NTT at all costs. Do not engage fire on the NTT unless it has been proven to slow/hinder the advance of the threat.
Listed MTFs: MTF-Epsilon-11 ("Nine-Tailed-Fox"), MTF-Sigma-23 ("Backup Required").
CODE: WHITE
Synopsis: used to describe the assault of a highly-organised major/minor assimilation-force that on-site security are unable to combat.
Special Guidance: staff are advised to evacuate immediately. All SCP objects are to be put into lockdown, and doors/entrances to the site blocked. Data banks may be encrypted to prevent hostile acquisition of vital information. Do not attack hostile combatants unless absolutely necessary. Wait for AMTF battalions to arrive. Security are to protect staff and assets, not to repress the threat. Staff should be aware that defensive ARIs will be selected to combat human targets, and may be indiscriminately deployed during the holding of the site.
Listed MTFs: include all battalion-force AMTFs, such as MTF-Nu-7 ("Hammer Down").
CODE: GRAY
Synopsis: identical to CODE: WHITE, however highlights that the hostile incursion force originated from within the site, often in the form of false staff members. Conveys that hostiles are already within the site, and that on-site security may be highly disordered and compromised.
Special Guidance: identical evacuation plan to CODE: WHITE
Listed MTFs: include all battalion-force AMTFs, such as MTF-Nu-7 ("Hammer Down").
CODE: MAGENTA
Synopsis: used to designate a lockdown involving a dimensional threat, including a spatial or temporal alteration8, continuity error9, incorporeal objects10, trans-dimensional entities11, or objects capable of breaking fundamental natural laws and processes.
Special Guidance: Default evacuation plan, unless evacuation shelters are rendered unprotective due to the nature of the threat, in which case site-security will direct you accordingly. MTF teams may require extensive planning before entering the site, so prepare for a possible long wait.
Listed MTFs: MTF-Zeta-9 ("Mole Rats"), MTF-Lambda-5 ("White Rabbits"), MTF-Mu-13 ("Ghostbusters").
CODE: BLANK
Synopsis: Defines an undescribed threat.
Special Guidance: N/A. Follow orders from security.
Listed MTFs: N/A
CODE: SUPERBLANK
Synopsis: Defines a threat which cannot be described.
Special Guidance: N/A. Follow orders from security.
Listed MTFs: N/A
CODE: COLDSILVER
Synopsis: Defines an event which has or will soon fatally damage the operation of the Foundation. Not for concern of general staff, and unlikely to ever be encountered during your career with the Foundation.
Special Guidance: N/A. Follow orders from security. Expect the eventual liquidation of your department, timescale unpredictable.
Listed MTFs: N/A

-----------------------------------------

RESPONSE

AUTOMATED RESPONSE INITIATIVES
Automated Response Initiatives (ARIs) are mechanised systems providing a specific counter-measure against a suspected breach.
Deployment of an ARI will recognise the Lockdown Degree issued to the breach. The higher the degree, the more prevalent the ARI.
AR-1: "SAFETY PIN"
Initiative responsible for the manually-confirmed detonation of the on-site Alpha warheads located (in cases of subterranean sites) on the surface of the facility. Authorised only in high-threat situations reaching Priority-B, being an effective method of terminating all life directly above, while protecting most sites with underground blast-shielding and remaining mostly intact after deployment. Requires 04 lead operator's approval for use.
AR-2: "EARLY RETIREMENT"
Initiative authorised partial control in the autonomous detonation of the Omega kinetic warheads12 located underneath the main facility. Requires appropriate authorisation from the Ethics Committee.[Further information regarding the AR-200 protocol has been removed as of 03/11/██ by the Ethics Committee. Requesting access to this removed information can be attained through contact of your immediate supervisor.]
AR-3: "BAD OPTICIANS"
Program used to apply sensory impairment, such as strobe lights and high-pitch audio to disorientate and repress hostile combatants. Most often utilised when facing external threats such as raids from hostile factions, or entities responding to a standard human sensual environment.
AR-4: "BIG TOASTER"
Site-specific program responsible for utilising allocated electrostatic tesla-gates, electrocuting or stunning entities or objects moving at an irregular pace not similar to human movement. On a number of occasions, known to have resulted in the stunning of staff suffering from movement problems, disabilities, or other impairments causing a significant variation in movement speed. Due to this, AR-400 has gained an infamous reputation, and has been moved to requiring at minimum of a Class-C Lockdown Degree to prevent further unnecessary casualties. Disabled staff are continually reminded to ask a site administrator to close the tesla gates before proceeding through an active one.
AR-5: "CLOSING TIME"
Issued control over the closure of all doors, communications, utilities and ventilation networks. Can be authorised on-site, and will automatically close select units, compounds and systems to varying intensities, including site gates, sewage systems, power lines, radio channels and issue Protocol 15-A on all data banks, causing most to enter deep-storage. AR-500 is effective due to the rate at which it can respond to a breach, and is one of the most essential response initiatives for any site.
AR-6: "GRANDMA'S ASTHMA"
A further infamous response initiative (a common subject of the Ethics Committee) is in direct and full control over the release of gaseous agents into compounds affected by containment breaches. The AR-600 program utilises multiple agents, including sedatives, reversible-paralytics, nerve agents, vesicants and intoxicants. Separate agents are utilised for specific Lockdown Degrees and in varying states of emergency, or to combat specific evaluated threats. The most frequently applied are reversible-paralytics, allowing retrieval staff but not entire elimination of the threat. Areas flushed with vesicants or intoxicants are designed for repression, while nerve agents are used for direct and lethal results. Few sites are installed with AR-600, and complete deployment of nerve agents across the site requires approval from the Ethics Committee.
AR-7: "SINKING SHIP"
Initiative program designed to effectively control the "reality anchors" influencing the hume level13 within sites containing trans-dimensional objects. These "reality anchors" essentially combine dimensions, "locking" dimensional entities into the same dimensional space as site guards and MTFs, limiting the effects of objects such as SCP-106.

-----------------------------------------

EVACUATION

Evacuation of a site is the practice in which staff will withdraw from affected facilities following a lockdown. Evacuations will proceed within the "Evacuation Phase", the period in which threats are still mostly developing, and have not yet pertained an intensity requiring the closure of the evacuation shelters.
GUIDANCE
Staff involved in any lockdown are to seek evacuation as their highest priority. Detailed evacuation plans and prints can be found in Administration and Security. Smaller plans are also present in each compound. These will direct staff towards the nearest evacuation shelter.
Armed site security staff will also assist in the evacuation process, and divide a team for each affected compound. Teams will accompany personnel to evacuation shelters, and attempt to repress developing threats until MTF units arrive. Staff are advised to follow security teams.
Evacuation shelters can be closed manually if the threat reaches a substantial level, or otherwise given a timeout-lock for 2-3 minutes. Speed and arrival time is critical. Personnel not inside an evacuation shelter before closure are no longer a priority of security, and are handed to the responsibility of MTF units entering the facility. Staff in this situation are advised to hide and not retaliate against threats, or intervene in any way with a struggle or death of another member of staff. Self-preservation is required above the safety of others. Do not startle, distract or expose MTF teams.
Once inside evacuation shelters staff will be registered. Personnel unaccounted for will be added to a staff list for MTF units to retrieve and recover. Staff are reminded that they in the eyes of MTF units are of second priority. A list will also be sent to MTF teams of contained SCP objects and assets within the site that may or may not be an active threat.
Extraction of personnel will commence once all threats have been neutralised or re-contained. Personnel will be examined and quarantined for further evaluation until they are safe from possible contagions, memetic/obsessive effects or post-traumatic stress.

-----------------------------------------

RECOVERY

The recovery operation can last extended periods of time depending upon the extent of damage or public exposure. Recovery includes the restoration of the site, application of amnestics, re-containment of anomalous objects, registration of staff, evaluation of causes, and liquidation of events.
EVALUATED CAUSES
Causes of breaches and subsequent lockdowns can be categorised into the following classes:

Failure of automated systems, such as gate mechanics, specialised containment systems, or data corruption.
Infiltration or incursion from a hostile Group of Interest, (GOI). Members of the Serpent's Hand and Chaos Insurgency utilise this method of attack with terrorising effect.
Disloyalties, unawareness, misjudgements or general faults of containment staff.
Underestimated scale of threat and needs for containment of a specific object.
Uncontainable anomalous objects.
Direct assault or raids from a foreign force.
Memetic/obsessive effects or manipulation of staff. This may include actions forced-upon staff members without consent.

Investigation teams will utilise electronic logs, security footage and witnesses among many methods to identify the cause.
INVOLVED PERSONNEL
Personnel involved in the recovery and liquidation operation following a breach are classified into specific teams, each identifiable by a select symbol. This symbol accounts for both colour-blind and visually-impaired staff, and will be found on the uniform of the personnel of interest.
MTF/AMTF units are identifiable from the triple-red lines symbol. Their role in the recovery process is in securing the facility from hostile combatants/anomalous objects, and in the evacuation of surviving staff members. Most MTF teams are armed, and those heavily-armed with military-grade vehicles and specialised weaponry known as AMTFs. MTF teams will only participate in the immediate response and recovery period after a lockdown.
Registration teams are identifiable from the blue ring symbol. Members are responsible for the accounting of surviving staff, lost assets, neutralised anomalous objects, and personnel mortalities/casualties.
Liquidation teams are the backbone of the recovery operation, identifiable from the yellow cross symbol. Members specialise into multiple sub-teams and roles, including application of amnestics on public exposure, clearance of destroyed facilities, treatment of injured personnel, and evaluation of the total damage.
Object-movement teams are identifiable for the orange dash symbol, responsible for the re-containment and movement of anomalous objects, and often work in-turn with MTF units and other field personnel/agents to secure and evaluate the threat. These teams will be present for the early part of the recovery operation.
Investigation teams are not widely recognised and often hide their role for security measures, but are most commonly attributed to a green triangle symbol, and are involved in the evaluation of events leading up to the lockdown, and the ultimate cause. Investigation teams utilise security footage, electronic logs and witnesses (among many methods) to identify the aforementioned.
RE-CONTAINMENT
Re-containment protocols are the methods object-movement teams should follow in order to obtain secure hold over a specific anomalous object. Each threat will have unique re-containment protocols, and the same method will not apply to all.
Large Scale Aggressors (LSAs) are some of the most fundamentally challenging objects to successfully acquire and re-contain with minimal loss. Multiple encounters with SCP-682 suggest the most effective method of securing is through distraction and luring. LSAs are known to rarely reach a docile state, and may have to be surrounded and forcibly constrained by multiple battalion-strength AMTFs once lured into an appropriate location for acquisition. LSAs may reach a critical level of public exposure, and require considerate re-directing away from a nearby civilian population. Evaluation and exploitation of the threat is critical. Sedatives, depending upon availability, are also a viable option. In almost all cases, total neutralisation of the threat should always be considered.
Dimensional threats are those that may involve a spatial or temporal alteration, space-time rupture, trans-dimensional entities, incorporeal objects, separate dimensional existences, or objects primarily un-constricted by natural laws and processes. Methods of securing include luring, such as the practice used on SCP-106, or reality-anchorage; the process in which reality anchors will merge dimensions, reducing, removing or halting the effects of a trans-dimensional entity, and merging the spatial existence of general dimensional anomalies. Dimensional threats are more often than not lost during a breach if not immediately prioritised, and at times are expendable. These threats are seen as being a damaging combination of complexity and severity, and require extensive background knowledge before intervening.
Non-Terminable Threats (NTTs) are defined by an inability to be terminated, and as such neutralisation is never an appropriate option. Escapes involving NTTs are complicated and require extensive evaluation before action while still accounting for maximum speed of response. Breaches involving that of SCP-096, suggest a docile state can be achieved if effectively dealt with. Converting a NTT into a docile state allows for a fast and clean acquisition. Methods include sedation, allowing the entity to achieve purpose (with relative consideration, if a purpose is required at all), manipulation, hypnosis, or other object-specific actions.
Memetic, infohazardous or cognitohazardous threats often meet the requirements for a well-evaluated and assessed plan of action with little account for response speed. Memetic objects may need handling from sensually-inept personnel invulnerable to the danger of viewing, hearing, or touching. By definition, these effects can spread if not well-contained and isolated from site staff unaware of the object. Mediums of transferring these memetic effects into a civilian population must also be removed where necessary and well-considered beforehand.
Contamination sources must be acted upon swiftly and resourcefully. Most teams will divide into separate roles, preventing the spreading of the contagion while also suppressing the initial source. These may include re-animated organisms, self-sustaining reactions, contagious/harmful entities or objects, anomalous infectious diseases, sources of anomalous toxins, carcinogens, ionised radiation, biological weapons or fungal species. Appropriate hazardous-materials suits should be worn corresponding with the apparent threat(s). Although the role of MTFs is in suppression and isolation of the source and affected areas from civilian populations, quarantining of contagious persons and re-containment of the initial source is a responsibility of the object-movement teams. Threats such as these must be dealt with through exact meticulous and remorseless action in remaining ahead of the risks involved.

-----------------------------------------

END OF MATERIAL

Footnotes
1. Concept of self-replicating information.
2. Information that may harm those with the very knowing of it.
3. Visual threat that may harm those upon seeing.
4. See SCP-2075, SCP-1100, SCP-2870.
5. See SCP-059.
6. See SCP-008, SCP-020, SCP-1121.
7. See SCP-2102.
8. Alteration spatially (in space) or temporally (in time).
9. See SCP-196.
10. Objects not composed of matter, or having no material existence.
11. See SCP-675
12. Suspected kinetic-energy weapon, utilising the conversion of kinetic force into thermal force to devastating capabilities.
13. Measure of "reality" in any given spatial area.


Nobody walked through the snow, playing with a yo-yo. It had no rope, just a ring around his finger and the wheel. When thrown, the ring guided its trajectory and transmitted sensations of speed and tension. However, he could make the wheel stop and float in mid-air by closing his palm. He could then throw it again, and the ring would make the wheel treat the pull of gravity as if facing the same general direction as his open palm.
He had found the toy buried in the snow, looking worn by time but barely used. His goal was to find who made it, but there were no brand or manufacturer marks, and he hadn't seen anything quite like it. No bother. Time wasn't something he lacked, and he had an idea of who might point him in the right direction.
Lying down, he made a snow angel at his leisure. The imaginary friend looked up at him with open arms, and he imitated their gesture. Falling face-first, he vanished into their embrace.

Days stretched into weeks and months as Nobody wandered between old and new places.
He had gone to an artistic convention of the bizarre, but there were no rules and most loved the spotlight more than the brush. Ironic sculpture after radical film blurred together, until the whole event became a uniform, grey paste. In such an environment, none could know the creator of such a simple source of joy as the yo-yo. However, they paid great attention to the quality and origin of materials, so they were able to tell him where to look next. After a lot of snide remarks and upturned noses, of course.
Before leaving, Nobody left behind a simple painting of a bright sunrise and entitled it "Your Future". The convention came to a halt as several artists argued for hours about the hidden meaning, decided it was a jab at them, and congratulated themselves for being so clever. He chuckled to himself and stepped through his painting when it was no longer the center of attention, becoming a bird on the horizon of the canvas.
He soared between painted landscapes, carried by the wind over treetops and skycrapers in a heartbeat. The landing was greeted by a fairgrounds hosting the greatest show on Earth. Brave men tamed fantastic beasts from exotic corners of the world, beautiful women pulled off acrobatic stunts that laughed in the face of death, and addictive games with grand prizes beckoned from every corner. He had been told by the artists that the materials of the yo-yo came from this Circus. There were more tents and stalls than he could count, and he knew for a fact that the people who worked in the Circus were suspicious of inquisitive folk. No bother, blending in was his specialty.
With the right questions placed here and there, he discovered that there once was a boy who would come to this Circus without his parents knowing. He'd beat even the hardest games and collect the prizes in a large backpack. One day, the boy stormed into the crowds with a megaphone in hand and a shine in his eyes.
"Gather around, one and all! I have something to show that you've never seen before!" he announced in his best impression of a boisterous ringmaster. He pulled out a clunky and garish contraption he had built from the prizes he had earned. It was a mish mash of buttons, transparent tubes, cranks, Tesla coils and who knew what else. The whole thing stank of grease and gasoline, had no pattern to its colors, and was held together by duct tape in several places.
"This machine may look broken, but when I turn it on, you will see that it can create fireworks unlike any other! Behold the power of science and be amazed!" The visitors that gathered around the boy were intrigued, but also dubious. Some wanted to take a closer look or touch the machine, and others asked how it was supposed to work. The boy insisted that everyone keep a safe distance and babbled about technical jargon. Since that didn't hold their attention, he cut to the chase.
There was a show of electric arcs and hissing steam as the boy pressed buttons and turned cranks. Pyrotechnics with the spark of life itself came out of the machine and flew over their heads. Everything from dinosaurs to galaxies turned the sky into a symphonic kaleidoscope. The boy shared facts about the living images with all the enthusiasm of a showman and a scientist. When the lights and sound were over, the audience remained silent and wide eyed for several moments, then applauded and begged for more. The boy had not prepared anything else, but did not want to disappoint them, so he made adjustments on the fly that resulted in a catastrophe. No one was seriously injured, but the boy was never seen again. The only signs of him that remained were handmade posters with instruction on how to find secret doors and promises of more shows.
Now knowing the next step, Nobody grabbed one of the boy's posters and searched for an exit. He came across a performer who juggled with the power of her mind. She looked disappointed at the lack of people paying attention to her, but she was only juggling a few balls while standing still. Nobody said she couldn't juggle on a unicycle, and she took it as a challenge. On and on he added another layer of difficulty, always saying the proud performer would surely fail this time, until she was surrounded by a cheering crowd. Away from all those eyes, he entered a photo booth and vanished along with the flashes of light.
Swimming from photo to photo, he covered oceans of frozen memories in the blink of an eye. He emerged upon the halls of the Library, and asked one of the Librarians if there was more from the creator of the poster. After signing his Library card, a Librarian pointed him in the direction of an aged notebook filled with sketches of toys like the yo-yo. As Nobody left, he felt tempted to help or mess with someone, but the Library was a place of order. All his experience with blending in would not help him if he broke its rules. No bother, there would be an opportunity to return soon enough.

It was the season of picnics and water pistols, the laughter of children mixed with birdsong, and the clouds were made of cotton. One could practically hear the wind inviting everyone to look out their window and go experience Nature's handiwork.
The wind could not tell any of this to Timothy Griffin, because anyone he invited into his house should have an appointment and all documents ready. As the wind usually made documents go away instead of bringing them, one could imagine that Timothy was not an avid practitioner of the spring spirit.
That's not to say he was without spirit. Little pieces of it were present in his habits as if placed by ink stamp: regular sleep schedule, carefully calculated nutritional intake and economical speech (for the inevitable crisis of oxygen and ensuing taxation of the spoken word). He had the spirit of clockwork, and he would not let spring mess with that.
However, it was not spring that interrupted his reading of the newspaper, but an arrow. It flew through a window, past the breakfast table and hit the fridge, glueing an envelope onto it. Timothy grumbled and pried it off, not bothering to open it. He went to the window with envelope in hand and saw the archer with his toy bow. He had not been there a moment before, and did not look like any of the kids with which Timothy was familiar.
"What is the meaning of this?" he said, shaking the projectile and trying to block the sunlight out of his face.
"Good morning to you too!" replied the boy with a toothy smile. "It's a special delivery!" He didn't seem intimidated by the tall, broad-shouldered and dark-skinned man.
"I'm busy. And you can use the mail. You could have broken something! That arrow almost hit my favorite mug! It cost me seven dollars!"
"Why would I use the mail? This is much more fun!"
Timothy paused to stare at the envelope like it was a chalkboard full of quantum physics equations. The idea that anyone would try to reinvent something perfectly serviceable like mail was lunacy to him. He was still recovering from the advent of colored television, and now this. The world just didn't give him time to breathe.
He scratched his bald head. "Look, why don't you go play with your friends? It's a beautiful day."
"It's a beautiful day for everyone, silly! And it'll get even better for you when you open my special delivery."
Timothy was about to protest that he didn't even know the boy, but he remembered his toast and went to check on them. The boy turned around a corner and dissolved into wisps of smoke and tendrils of shadow.
Breakfast was had, mail was checked, and no more arrows flew through the window. However, Timothy couldn't keep his eyes away from the delivery for long. After a long time working as a bureaucrat, he had become used to turning down requests. But something on that day wasn't sitting quite right with him. He felt like blaming the food or the news, but deep down, he wanted to know what would happen if he said "yes" for once.
His old eyes widened in shock as he opened the envelope. The first pages were a copy of his blueprints for the anti-gravity yo-yo. But how? And why? Who could possibly want him to think about this now? He had abandoned projects like those ages ago. It was not like he had much of a choice. Besides, he was better off like this. What was the use for winged bikes if they only made you show up late for dinner?
Dinner. The word made the dusty cogs in his brain grind and creak. He remembered his relatives gathered for the meal. Silence. Chewing. Work. Dreams. Disapproval. Chewing. Silence. It was like they were still there to scold him for holding those blueprints. But more memories returned, whole years trying to do amazing and fun things. Mold the DNA like clay to create pets out of a fairy tale, harness the forces of the cosmos inside a portable playground, and forge the perfect playmates for children with special needs. His shock gave way to curiosity about what could have been, and the worries about ghosts of the past faded away.
He looked at the rest of the envelope. There were more of his blueprints, but someone had written compliments and all kinds of suggestions on them. Whoever it was, they sincerely believed Timothy should try to create more of these toys. The final note said "be on the lookout for more hints and suggestions!"
This was nonsense. What about the contact information? He would need it to tell this fool to give up. Timothy had no time for anything that didn't fit on a punch card. He gathered all the papers and headed for the recycling bin. Looming over him in the middle of the way was a shelf containing many prizes for the dedication to his work. Not a single stain or prize out of order. The glow of pride he usually felt when looking at the shelf had dimmed, and the empty spot he had reserved for the next prize did not make him anxious.
For a moment that seemed like an era, there was a sweeping chaos in the cogs of his mind. Fossilized ideas about safety and respectability clashed with the burning need to know if this was all of his legacy. There was anger as he wondered if this was a prank. There was fear as he imagined the risks of pursuing his dreams again. The shelf just stood there, as if challenging him.
Timothy set aside his clockwork spirit and put the papers in the spot reserved for the next prize.

The old bureaucrat went about his routine after the special delivery. His co-workers said there was something different about him, like his body was present but not his mind. He was even seen drawing several pages of strange shapes and numbers that resembled blueprints. If anybody asked the purpose of these drawings, he would say that it was just to remember shapes and keep his memory strong.
The day was uneventful until the lunch break, when Timothy noticed another envelope with his name on it placed on his work desk. He stared at it suspiciously and with a hint of irritation, then scanned his surroundings for any co-workers that might be the ones responsible for this foolishness. Seeing no one of the sort, he opened it and saw an incomplete blueprint for something he couldn't quite identify. On the margin was the message "gather all of the other blueprints in your office and try out the complete design for a great surprise! Ask your fellow treasure hunters in the office for help".
Oh, for heaven's sake! First at home, and now at work? When would this prankster give up? But then again, the message did mention the other workers. Perhaps they were victims of this incessant annoyance as well? Investigating it might help to reveal who was behind all of this and put them in their place.
Following the trail of breadcrumbs, Timothy found out that the other workers had received similar envelopes. Each time he approached one of them, it turned out that the blueprints fit together in a way suggestive of a collaborative project. In the process, Timothy found himself gradually opening up about his old ideas over the next days. Instead of scolding him, his co-workers gave him smiles overflowing with admiration and curiosity. The old bureaucrat's amazement and joy were such that he had to excuse himself for a moment to wipe a tear from his face. They told him that whoever was sending him these envelopes and messages was no prankster, but someone who sincerely believed in his potential. Some went as far as to say that if Timothy ignored these challenges, he'd inevitably let his dreams escape.
And that was all the motivation he needed to tackle them head on. During the next week, he worked overtime to be free for talking with his co-workers about the blueprints. In the middle of all the technical jargon, he found himself genuinely connecting with people after a long while of sulking and aimless drudgery. His eyes seemed brighter and he walked without dragging himself like a sack of bricks. The people around him noticed the improvement and even invited him to parties. All of this combined gave an unprecedented boost to his creativity, which he applied to solving the treasure hunt with childike enthusiasm.
The resulting device incorporated ideas from all around the office. It was essentially a game where the workers would pledge to complete certain office tasks the most efficiently by inserting cards into the device. Winners would accumulate credits, which could be spent to turn on a mechanism that was like a prototypical version of a 3D printer, with more complex objects requiring more credits. People could form teams and challenge each other, trade objects they no longer wanted, or feed them back into the device to get their credits back. And to top it all off, the device always played catchy and triumphant music when a player accumulated enough credits to create the object they wanted. The invention caused a massive increase in the workplace's productivity, and Timothy was offered another promotion. He accepted, but this time, he wanted something more.

Soon after that episode, Timothy's birthday came. All of his co-workers sent him incredible and thoughtful gifts as thanks for having brought so much fun to their lives. However, one gift among them had a name that drew his attention: "From the Old Prankster". Timothy understood who it was right away and saw a certain charm in it. When he opened the gift, the bureaucrat found the anti-gravity yo-yo, his old notebook full of schematics, and a picture of his family.
He sat there for a long time, trying to understand what this could mean. And it suddenly made sense. There was still resentment between him and his relatives. As much as he'd like to dismiss it as typical bickering, he could not remember the last time they had reunited. Would they want him around if he revealed that he still had the same dreams? Did he have to pick one or the other?
There was only one way to find out.
[End Of Part 1]


Previous Tale — Next Tale
SCP Featured: SCP-2339
A part of Eli hoped that Dictator would not come back once they were released the next day. And yet, even taking into consideration the tension between the two of them…
Another part of him wished they would.
As much as he tried to convince himself it was only to save his own ass, Eli was starting to come to terms with the idea that maybe, just maybe, Dictator was more important than he originally thought. After all, he had seen for himself that Dictator possessed the power to fix a rift in the universe. For a moment, he pictured the two of them as the two main characters from the Men in Black franchise, giving himself a chuckle before shaking his head.
When the morning of Dictator's return finally was upon him, Eli forced himself not to bust a blood vessel over it, no matter what the brat decided to do. If they knew what was good for them, they would come back to the Foundation. The last thing he wanted to do was have to drag Dictator kicking and screaming from whatever portal they had hidden in, because that might reveal Eli as being anomalous himself.
Though, perhaps, the Foundation already suspected him as being such; was that why he was assigned to Dictator?
He kept these thoughts to himself as he went about his rounds, before a noise stopped him. Whirling around on his heel, he tilted his head, recognizing the strange noise. It was the unmistakable sound of a portal being opened.
A few seconds after the portal – which appeared to be a section of wavering air – opened up, Dictator stepped through it, looking quite proud of themselves. Wrapped around their waist was a black leash, and attached to that black leash was none other than a huge, male, Sumatran tiger.
Despite being attached to such a creature, Dictator did not seem phased, and neither did Eli. Instead, Dictator just waved and marched over to Eli. “Hi Eli! I'm ready to start my sentence!”
“It's not imprisonment, kid,” Eli grumbled, trying to dodge them when they went to give him a a hug, but missing and resigning himself to being hugged as he was not able to move fast enough. The tiger still attached to Dictator did not seem to oppose being moved around, as he walked next to Dictator without a problem. “Hey, have you fed that thing today?”
“His name is Oliver,” Dictator shot back, reaching over to pet the tiger. He offered up his head for pets, and Dictator rubbed behind his ears. “And yes, I have fed him. He got a whole horse leg today, and a head too. But I shoved it in the pocket dimension because he didn't eat it all.”
“Well, at least it won't eat me,” Eli said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, you might wanna get a vest for the cat. That way, some MTF won't mistake it for an escaped anomaly and shoot it.”
“Well, you have a good point, but Oliver's like me, remember? It'll take a lot more than a bullet to get rid of us.”
“I know that."
Turning his back on Dictator, Eli dug a map out of the pocket of his lab coat and shoved it at Dictator. “Here, you're probably gonna want this.”
“Ooh, is this one of the cool maps that shows us moving? I've always wanted one of those!” Dictator held the map up, unfolding it and holding it above their head as they studied it.
Eli groaned. “No, it's not. It's just a regular old map. If I had anything anomalous on me I'd be locked up and you would get to have some rando as your supervisor. And we don't want that, now do we?” His voice held more than a hint of a threat.
“Well – no, even though you're mean to me, at least I know you,” Dictator said, folding the map back up. They chewed on the thumb of their right hand, blinking wide at Eli. Around their thumb, they continued, “And, well, I guess that's preferable. So I won't say anything about you being… anomalous.” They paused, and then asked, “Do they know about… the other thing?”
“What, about my birth certificate and me? Yeah, they know,” Eli replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “And they probably know about you, too. They'll probably want to do a karyotype on you, just a warning.”
“Eh, let them. It won't change anything, though I am a bit curious as to what my genes will say,” Dictator quipped. “Anyway, all of that aside, what are we gonna do today?”
“First, we need to go to my superiors, tell ‘em that you made it back and you're ready to start,” Eli said. “And then, I'll take you on my rounds.”
“Cool! What about Oliver?” Dictator asked, pointing to the aforementioned tiger, who had sat down and started grooming himself. “Will he get to come with us?”
“They already told you, he can, as long as I'm with you. But it had better not cause any problems, ‘cause if it does…”
“He's well behaved,” Dictator assured him, waving one hand in the air dismissively. “Don't worry about him.”
“It's not him I'm worried about,” Eli muttered under his breath as he led Dictator back through the winding hallways.
—-
After checking in with the superiors and letting them know that Dictator and Oliver were (in a relative sense) safely within Foundation custody, Eli was given the clearance to go ahead and take them on the rounds.
Despite Dictator's usual talkative nature, they mostly kept their nose in the map, following closely behind Eli. Oliver seemed to be leading them most of the way, steering Dictator left and right with the leash.
Eventually, Dictator finally spoke up. “Hey, when are we gonna see some anomalies? Isn't that what we're here for?”
“Don't forget, the Foundation thinks you are an anomaly,” Eli replied dismissively. “Honestly, most of these things would probably bore you. They're just regular old objects that sometimes do irregular things. Like, for instance, we have a menu that, when you order it, uses meat and stuff from endangered animals. Pretty damn boring, right?”
“But how does it get the meat? Does it kill them?”
“No, it just takes muscle tissue and shit. Leaves ‘em in a daze and pretty confused but they never even leave their enclosure. Then we have a chessboard with the souls of little girls in it.”
“That sounds interesting! How about we go see that one in action?”
“No, it requires a child psychologist to be present, and we don't have one on call right now. ‘Sides, we don't use it except for testing, so unless you wanna be the next subject, I'd suggest we check out Safe objects first.”
“That sounds so boring,” Dictator moaned, drawing out the “o” in “so” and “boring.” “Isn't there something cool you can show me?”
Eli paused, heaving a heavy sigh.
“If I do, you gotta promise to keep that mouth of yours shut. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Dictator replied, nodding resolutely.
“Alright then. Let's go hear some music.”
—-
“So, you brought me to a creepy abandoned theatre?” Dictator asked, voice echoing through the mostly-empty structure. Eli, Dictator, and Oliver were all walking down the narrow hallway leading into the main theatre, forced to walk single-file. Eli took the lead, with Oliver bringing up the rear. Dictator was sandwiched uncomfortably in the middle, pushing themselves back and away from Eli with every step, whilst also attempting to keep themselves from tripping over Oliver. “What's so cool about that?”
“I'll show you when we get there,” Eli chided. “We're almost at the main theatre. Then you'll see what's so cool about this place.”
“I can't shake the feeling you made me walk two miles for nothing,” Dictator grumbled, crossing their arms but continuing to follow Eli through the narrow corridor.
Finally, there was light up ahead, and Dictator perked up a bit as they walked out of the corridor. And then, their eyes widened when they saw what they were here for.
A huge – no, an enormous – beehive was sitting in front of them. The buzz of the bees was almost deafening; there were thousands of bees, flying in and out through a broken window in a fairly predictable manner. Dictator gasped, reaching a hand up and catching a bee on their finger.
“Bees!” Dictator exclaimed, flapping their free hand excitedly. “Look – look at all the bees!”
“Yeah, bees,” Eli said, obviously faking excitement. “Lots of ‘em. But that's not what makes them anomalous.” He blew air at a bee as it attempted to land on his nose, apparently not fazed by the flying insects. “Give them a few minutes and you'll see.”
“See what?” Dictator asked as the bee on their finger took off again, flying clumsily through the air.
Eli motioned with his head towards the instruments placed carefully in the main performance area. “Watch.”
After a few more moments, slowly, a ripple seemed to pass through the hive, as if they were all getting a singular message. Carefully, the bees began floating away from the hive and windows and back towards the instruments, arranging themselves in a way they should not have been able to know on a cognitive level. One significantly larger bee flew herself over to the conductor's stand, followed by several hundred worker bees. Together, they clumped together to pick up the conductor's baton, just as the rest of the hive was taking their place.
Dictator opened their mouth to ask something, but Eli put his hand over their mouth, shooshing them as the “orchestra” began to play. A familiar tune floated through the air, and Dictator grew excited again.
“I know this one! It's “This Land” from The Lion King!” They were practically jumping up and down in their spot at this point. Eli stifled a chuckle.
The music started out slowly, but built up to a crescendo a few minutes into the performance. Of course, Dictator knew the whole movie by heart, and Eli could practically see it running through their mind as they held their hands to their chest, overwhelmed with excitement.
“It's perfect,” Dictator whispered. “How do they know?”
“They're anomalous, there's no way of knowing how or why they know,” Eli replied simply. “They just know.”
“Wow.” Dictator did not speak again until after the performance was finished, and at that time they simply clapped loudly, jumping up and down in place. “Bravo, bravo!”
Eli smiled smugly. “See? I told you there were some interesting Safe-class objects.”
Unbeknownst to the two of them, this was going to be a bright start to a very dark path.