The Danelaw of Jorvik

Halfdan strikes a deal.
For ten years, our enemies have come time and time again to wreak havoc on our bountiful lands. Day after day, week after week, Jorvik has suffered losses at the hands of those wretched knaves. We have been defeated at every turn, and now my people have found themselves at the mercy of Alfred. We cannot stand the war any longer- and I am certain it is the same for the Saxon bastards.
And so, for the last time I confronted King Alfred; not to wage war, but to offer terms of peace.

King Halfdan, Chronicles of Jorvik, Book III
22nd August 870

The man panted as his horse galloped forward. The sword in his scabbard shook with the horse's every step, fresh blood still caking his boots.
King Alfred had sent his men yet again, to attack the lands and set fire to the crops and villages.
He gritted his teeth as he rode, cursing King Alfred and his men as he made his way towards Eoforwic. Gripping the reins of his horse, he cut through different trails in an attempt to evade sight from the men who attacked the nearby village of Helmbrucht, emerging into the forest's main trail as he drove his mount ever forward.
On the path, the man saw a gathering of men; some were mounted on horses while others stood nearby a wagon full of bodies and gathered treasures.
"Damn it." The man muttered to himself.
Jerking his horse off to the side, the man swiftly altered the direction he was going, moving off-trail in order to avoid as much conflict as possible. He feared that any encounters with the king's riders would result in his death.
Despite this, the riders had already noticed the man as he changed directions. The riders standing nearby the wagon pulled back their bows, shooting a flurry of arrows at the man.
A rider shouted. "Catch that man!"
The others followed suit, mounting their horses in pursuit. One of the riders held a bow, pulling it back whilst another rode the horse. The arrow nearly found its mark, grazing the man's cheek. He flinched slightly from the pain, and ducked his head to avoid any further arrows.
The man pursed his lips. Tapping the belly of the horse, he gripped the reins harder as he fled from his pursuers. He drove his horse ever forward, forcing it to gallop faster and faster as he rode, but the riders refused to give up. They fired arrows yet again, this time stabbing his exposed thigh and underarm. Blood flowed down from the wounds, and the pain grew with the increasing speed.
The man changed directions yet again. He could see the city of Eoforwic slowly coming to sight. An array of guard posts were visible, and the large stone walls began to tower over him
His horse crashed into the ground.
The man flew off his horse, rolling and splattering blood on the ground. The dirt covered his face, some entering his eye and mouth. The man hastily got off the ground, spitting.
The riders pulled back their bows, shooting another wave of arrows towards the man. His already bloodied arm was pierced again, and his back was riddled with arrowheads. Blood spilled onto the ground, yet the man pushed ever forward. His legs trembled in pain as he ran towards the gate of the city.
Eventually, his legs gave out. The man fell to the ground, leaving a trail of blood on the path. His body was perforated with many arrowheads, and even then, the riders pulled back their bows once more. They intended to kill him, and make sure of it.
But their arrows never hit the mark. The riders fell one by one, swiftly and professionally. The man looked up, and noticed that a small gathering of soldiers stood in front of him. The guards stationed at their posts shot arrows towards the riders, saving the man from his imminent death. One of the soldiers picked up the man, and escorted him to provide aid.
The man coughed out blood. "They… Raided Helmbrucht… Again."
"Damned Saxons. They never cease to wage war." The soldier carrying the man replied, gritting his teeth as he mentioned the Saxons.
"They plan to ride towards Relmshire… King Alfred's last attempt at conquest."
"We shall report this to the King. It is of importance that our lands suffer no more."
The man smiled. "Thank you."

Dawn was arriving. The orange rays shone through the kingdom halls onto the stone floor. Within, a man walked down the corridors, making his way towards the throne room. His noble clothes swayed with the wind, as a warm breeze flew past him down the hall.
The man looked around the hall, observing his surroundings. The various paintings plastered alongside the halls in the castle contrasted quite nicely with the bland, cold stone. Alongside this, the windows arched in a steep manner, resembling that of a cathedral window, albeit without the stained glass. Guards were stationed around the halls, and knightly armor placed near the paintings.
The man's steps echoed down the halls as he approached the throne room. The guards eyed him for a moment, before opening the large wooden door revealing the ornate room which King Halfdan resided in.
King Halfdan looked at the man entering the room, eyeing him for a moment before greeting him in a friendly manner. "Hm? Wilfred, it has been a while. What brings you here?"
Wilfred bowed. "Apologies for intruding at this time of dawn, sire."
King Halfdan frowned and sat upright on his throne. "Wilfred, there is no need to keep the formalities. We are companions, are we not?"
Wilfred chuckled. "It is as you wish."
King Halfdan grinned whilst picking up a cup filled with wine, taking a sip before responding. "Good, that's much better. Now, what brings you here?"
"King Alfred has attacked our territory at once," Wilfred's face became stern and his tone became cold. "Much of Helmbrucht has been razed, and we've sighted more making for Relmshire."
"That damned-" King Halfdan gripped his cup of wine, breaking it in half and spilling its contents over the floor. He took a deep breath. "Apologies, what do you propose we do about this? The raids are devastating our cropland, killing our people and our farmers. We lose more men by the day to that bastard of a king."
Wilfred pulled on his white gloves while thinking of solutions for the incoming raid. He looked out the window from the throne room, the orange rays shining on his face.
"Lord, I think we should offer a treaty." Wilfred faced King Halfdan, the rays blinding the side of his face and the shadows covered the rest of his body.
"A treaty?… We would be conceding to the hands of King Alfred."
"But my lord, the war has turned against us, and we are now seeing its toll on our people."
King Halfdan was struck deep in thought. "It is an option, but how are you certain that Alfred will agree to the treaty?"
"I am not certain, that is why we are offering a treaty." Wilfred grinned, "But rumors have it, Lord, that it is not Alfred who has given the order to raid our people."
King Halfdan eyed Wilfred, leaning forwards and placing his interlocked fingers under his chin, his suspicions raised.
"How do you know this?"
"My men had captured a gathering of his soldiers before fleeing towards Relmshire. They stated that their orders did not come from King Alfred himself, but rather, one of his eorls, Adel."
King Halfdan sat in thought for a moment, before replying. "But why propose a treaty when we know that his eorl is raiding our lands?"
Wilfred smiled. "A bargaining chip, my lord."
King Halfdan's eyes widened, the thought of using one of King Alfred's nobles to their advantage never occurred to him.
"King Alfred certainly would not allow one of his eorls to act on their own accord. Should we deliberately leak the information, there is a high chance he would agree with the treaty." Wilfred continued, "King Alfred values his men, he would not suffer losses as a result of an eorl's rash decisions."
King Halfdan laughed. The idea was quite cunning, something that he wouldn't be able to come up with alone. He was thankful that Wilfred wasn't on the enemy side.
"My lord, not only will we have a greater chance at an agreement for the treaty, we will also manage to bring down his eorl alongside the development of this new truce." Wilfred pulled on his white gloves, "King Alfred will bring down Adel, and most likely use him as an example for any persecutors of this truce."
King Halfdan stood up from his throne and walked down the steps, approaching Wilfred.
King Halfdan patted his shoulders. "Very good, very good! This is a great idea Wilfred. Tell the soldiers to gather a carriage, we are to confront Alfred once more. Should this go well, I will prepare a feast!"
"Yes." Wilfred bowed.
"Your help is greatly appreciated." King Halfdan smiled.
"It is my pleasure."
Wilfred bowed once more towards King Halfdan, before turning around and leaving the ornate throne room. His footsteps echoed throughout the room and down the halls, as he planned to set off for King Alfred's domain.

King Halfdan and his carriage rode towards the gates of Birmingham. The carriage was slow, as it was moving up the somewhat steep cliff towards the gates. They were accompanied with scattered guard posts atop the walls, making his motte-and-bailey castle look impermeable.
The carriage shook during the ride, before stopping abruptly near the gate. Guardsmen stationed around the entrance approached the carriage, inspecting King Halfdan and his men with suspicious eyes before realizing that it was the king himself.
The guardsmen knelt before King Halfdan, as the leader of the group spoke up.
"Apologies, Your Majesty, King Halfdan. We did not realize that the king himself would visit His Majesty, King Alfred." He continued, "May I inquire about your business? His Majesty is quite busy at the moment, and will not accept any meetings unless notified beforehand."
"My underling should have sent a letter a few days prior to the meeting," King Halfdan glared at the kneeling guardsmen, "Are we not allowed entry into the castle?"
"O-One moment, Your Majesty. My men are ensuring that the meeting with His Majesty was indeed planned." The leader looked at up King Halfdan, before diverting his gaze towards one of his soldiers.
While the knights were talking amongst themselves, King Halfdan observed his surroundings. The greenery around them was a sight to the eyes, as he could see the sun shining just over the hill of the motte. He had agreed with King Alfred that they would meet in Birmingham, the capital of Mercia.
A knight approached the group, kneeling towards King Halfdan before letting the guardsmen know about the scheduled meeting.
"My apologies for withholding the meeting. His Majesty has requested that we escort you to the throne room."
"That is fine. I will be bringing my subordinate, Wilfred, to the meeting. If that is alright with your King."
"It is completely fine."
The leader escorted King Halfdan and Wilfred towards a nearby stable, requesting that they place their carriage before entering the domain of King Alfred. The group passed by a nearby garden before entering the castle itself. The guardsmen stationed around knelt as King Halfdan walked the halls. The sun lit up the halls, entering through the arched windows.
Knightly armor were placed directly under paintings, which depicted kings of the old age before the reign of King Alfred. The atmosphere was fairly welcoming, considering the two kings were at war. Not a single touch of cold could be felt throughout the castle.
The guards near the throne room informed King Alfred of King Halfdan's visit. King Alfred, slouched in his seat, signaled that the door to the throne room be opened. The wooden doors opened, revealing a few other nobles located within it. There, he could see a few gathering of eorls and high-reeves alongside the king. Taking a sip of wine, he welcomed his visitors.
"Come in, His Majesty, King Halfdan. What brings you here?"
King Halfdan and his companion Wilfred knelt, showing respect before answering the question. "Greetings, Your Majesty, King Alfred. We have come to propose a discuss an idea for the land."
King Alfred furrowed his brows, slightly suspicious of King Halfdan's ulterior motive—if he had any.
"An idea? What are you planning?"
"Planning? That is quite rude of you to assume, King Alfred." King Halfdan continued, his face stern yet seemingly devoid of hatred, "Our men have fought amongst themselves over and over, and it is starting to take effect."
"A treaty… What merit does this idea have for me?" King Alfred eyed Halfdan, looking for any signs of hesitation.
"Respectfully, King Alfred, do you value your men?"
King Alfred scoffed. "Of course. What point are you trying to make?"
"Then why do you keep sending your men to raid our villages?" King Halfdan pressed him further, his voice slightly increasing in volume.
King Alfred frowned. "Sending men to raid villages? When have I done such a thing?"
"Your man have razed my villages time and time again, or are you implying that such an order did not come directly from you?" King Halfdan glowered, "I have heard from your men that your eorl, Adel has acted of his own accord and attempted to bring down my towns."
King Alfred sat upright, he glared at the gathering of eorls near him before facing his gaze towards King Halfdan and responding.
"How are you sure of this?"
King Halfdan signaled Wilfred to take out a letter they recovered from one of Alfred's soldiers. "This is a letter, the contents of which depict the plan to raid Relmshire two days after this meeting."
He approached King Alfred, respectfully handing the letter to him. King Alfred opened the letter and read its contents. His eyes widened, crumpling the paper and glaring at his eorl, Adel once more.
King Alfred bowed. "I see. I apologize for the foolishness of my underling."
"Though it is unfortunate I have suffered many losses, the treaty I have proposed will hopefully cease conflict for the time being."
"A treaty, hm? It does not sound bad, what else is there apart from this?" King Alfred questioned.
"You refrain from sending your men into my territory. Additionally, we request that free trade be held towards our kingdoms. Give and take, our kingdoms both prosper."
King Alfred sat back on the throne, thinking for a few moments. He took another sip of wine, then answered.
"…Why should I trade with your kingdom?"
"I believe the war is starting to take effect on your lands. You are running out of metals."
King Alfred shook at the statement. He thought the information was known only to himself, and a few other subordinates of his.
"I can easily conquest another town for metals." King Alfred shot back.
"With the number of men you have? Perhaps, but eventually, you will lose your resources and weapons, allowing other kingdoms to take a hold of your own."
King Alfred sat in thought, circulating potential consequences as a result of accepting the proposal. Yet, he seemingly could not find any faults.
King Alfred hesitantly responded. "…I agree with the proposal. We will cease to send men into your territory, and allow free trade."
"Then it is agreed upon that the Danelaw be established." King Halfdan smiled, reaching out his hand towards King Alfred.
King Alfred shook the hand. "Once again, I apologize for the foolishness of my underling. I will ensure that he is properly punished."
"If you're truly sorry, give me three barrels of wine. Then I shall forgive you."
King Alfred paused. "We will reimburse you with wine. A gathering of my men will send you wine by carriage."
King Halfdan laughed while turning his back on King Alfred. He walked towards the exit of the throne room while raising his hand as if to wave lazily.
"Take care. May your lands prosper."
King Halfdan left the throne room, exiting the castle shortly after. While this was happening, King Alfred had imposed punishment on his eorl, Adel.
"Send this man to the dungeon! We will make an example of him later." King Alfred ordered.
"Yes, my lord."
The eorl, Adel, was taken by the nearby soldiers in the throne room, as they dragged him away to the depths of the dungeon under the castle. King Alfred took another sip of wine, and looked out the window in his throne room.
"A treaty… Perhaps our lands will prosper once more." King Alfred muttered to himself.


« Act I - Scene V | Demasqed | Act II - Scene I »

Act I - Scene VI

Interior of a jail. A temporary holding cell is backstage left, and consists of a white bed, and bars surrounding its small area. Downstage center, a glass partition sits atop a table, with a chair on either side. Jazz sits on the bed, alone. She's wearing an outfit that looks ironically similar to that of a D-Class. She shifts between sitting positions and lying flat on the bed, not able to get comfortable. She looks miserable.
After a short period of time, a police officer walks on from front-stage right and crosses behind the partition, up towards Jazz's cell.

POLICE OFFICER
Visitor for Jazz Korbachev.
JAZZ
(surprised)
Oh… really? Who is it?
POLICE OFFICER
One Dana Parry.
JAZZ
(disappointed, and then surprised)
Oh… Oh?
POLICE OFFICER
Just follow me.

The police officer unlocks Jazz's cell door and opens it. She places Jazz in handcuffs and escorts her downstage, and into the partition chair. After a moment, Dana walks in and sits in the chair across from Jazz.

DANA
Hey, I came as soon as I got permission to. What's going on? How are you?
JAZZ
I've been better. Honestly it's just nice to get out of the house.
DANA
(slight chuckle)
You seem to be taking this a bit better than I would have expected.
JAZZ
Yeah… I don't know. I've been deeply depressed these past few days but last night was actually… peaceful? In a way, at least. I guess I just needed some time to think everything through.
DANA
And?
JAZZ
And I've come to terms with it. I'm… I'm glad I'm here. It gives the people out there someone to blame, someone to hate. Don't they at least deserve that much?
DANA
Jazz… there's something I really need to tell you. And… it may further complicate this matter… just a bit.
JAZZ
I'm listening.
DANA
Well… I did some digging and it seems like… jeez, how do I put this… it seems like maybe… the project was… sabotaged.
JAZZ
…
DANA
I… know that sounds like a lot but-
JAZZ
I know what you're doing, Dana.
DANA
No you don't, just listen-
JAZZ
This isn't going to make me feel better. Okay?
DANA
This isn't… I'm not trying to make you feel better! I'm serious, I have proof!
JAZZ
And what proof would that be?
DANA
I talked to Crystal-INE and they gave me documents showing that the project lead only organized a team of five people, even though there were actually six.
JAZZ
So somebody got added after the project started, what does that prove?
DANA
But I did some more digging, and I found discrepancies in readings and reports dating back a year and a half. There's no way this was accidental, it's clearly fudged numbers. Somebody was messing with the machinery from day one. Someone in the team itself was being dishonest.
JAZZ
You sound crazy.
DANA
This is crazy! It's crazy and it's not your fault!
JAZZ
(beginning to cry)
Just… ugh, why does this have to be so complicated? It would have been so much easier if you'd have never told me any of this!
DANA
I know, but we need to find the truth. If not for you, than in order to stop them from doing it again. Okay?
JAZZ
…
DANA
I'm going to get you out of here, Jazz, and then we're going to find out who's behind all this. Okay?
JAZZ
…
DANA
Hey. Hey. I have nothing to gain from lying to you. Please believe me.
JAZZ
…okay.
DANA
Okay. Good. Perfect. In the meantime, I'm going to talk to Michael about arranging a… legal team for you. If you, you know, catch my-
JAZZ
Yes, I got it. Just… whatever.
DANA
I'm sorry, I'd stay longer, but my husband is waiting and-
JAZZ
I'll be alright, Dana. Thank you.
DANA
See you soon.

Dana gets up and leaves. Jazz sighs, smiling slightly. The officer walks over to her and escorts her back into her cell. As she locks the door, Jazz looks through the bars at her.

JAZZ
Hey… there haven't been any calls for me yet… have there?
POLICE OFFICER
I'd tell you if there was.
JAZZ
(shaking her head)
That's what I thought.
POLICE OFFICER
You expecting a call?
JAZZ
I… no… I guess not.
POLICE OFFICER
Alright.

The police officer walks offstage the same way she entered. Jazz sighs heavily and lowers herself into her bed, looking up at the ceiling for a number of seconds before blackout.

End Of Act I

« Act I - Scene V | Demasqed | Act II - Scene I »


I remember my days from before, back when we first made Abracadabra Designs. None of us thought much of it. 'Open a fashion shop. We all want to so let's do it!' It seemed simple because there was no reason for it not to be. I try to scan through the memories as if they're files on a computer. I like to go over them, yet I'm often not sure where to start.
Perhaps the first week— that was interesting.
"Luna come on! Xavier needs you out front!" Maisie calls.
"Why?" Luna asks while stitching a button onto the collar of a dress. She looks up at the five different pieces of clothing held aloft around her in a glittery purple cloud.
"The display fell over, and you and Xavier were who initially set it up! You'll know best how to fix it!" Masie answers.
Luna sighs, placing the dress and sewing needle on the desk in front of her. She flexes the fingers in the hand that now holds a wand instead of a sewing needle and she waves it casually at the clothing that immediately separate and settle onto individual hangers. Luna, now standing, rushes out to join her employees and friends in the main room. As she makes her way over to Xavier and Maisie, her eyes note Flina using her wands to make mannequins do a dance. She giggles, then stops once she lands at her destination.
"Watch and learn." Luna says with a smile before pulling out her wand. Xavier repeats the action, and both use said wands to neatly fix the dress and blouse display.
Flina, clapping her hands together, compliments them.
I was always good at fixing the displays, or at least they all thought I was. Out of the four of them, Flina always seemed the most impressed; I think it was because she wasn't great at organizing. She would always use her magic to mess around with the displays, which I would always find pleasing. She was lively, so full of joy. Back then, it seemed like I was all about order. But honestly, I just wanted to mess around too. I suppose I did from time to time though, like that one day we got really busy.
Laughs can be heard ringing throughout the thin walls of the sizable shop. Flina waves her wand, moving the mannequins to walk into each other. More laughs erupt.
"I'll take the dress that the taller mannequin has on!" The customer smiles.
"You'll look great in that! Let me fit you!" Alize says with a smile. "Everyone interested in pop fashion, go over to display A-2. Everyone into gothic fashion, go over to display A-4. We've got new summer magic style items over at B-3 if you're interested." Alize points to each section as she introduces it. "Flina, show our customers more of our latest items!"
Flina nods with a determined smile on her face. She jumps into the air, using steps made from glittering cloudstuff to aid in her ascent. Luna observes Flina coming her way, so she prepares herself to jump onto the steps. But to her surprise, Luna is lifted into the air, quickly being flown across the room to meet Flina half way. Luna remembers the times that she would turn her face away from customers, in an attempt to keep her scar out of view. But with Flina, the scar doesn't matter. The world was bright and big, and Luna can face it.
Flina smiles, which makes Luna smile too. Flina is silent, but her actions speak louder than words ever could. She is a joyful person that wants others to see the joy in life. Next thing Luna knows, she and Flina are dancing together, the crowd of customers cheering them. She isn't sure how long it will last, but it feels like forever.
Flina was different from all the others. I mean we all took joy in what we did, but bringing joy to others was Flina's whole life. Our shop had many loyal customers. Mainly only one group of people visited us. I was comfortable with it staying that way, but Flina wanted to branch out, share the joy with more people. I knew how risky that was. I didn't know about the Foundation or anything, how could I have? I just knew that magic was… special. To most, we showed card tricks and pulling bunnies out of hats. But to our community in our boutique, we showed real magic. It was only a matter of time before we were discovered.
I don't even want to recount the emotions; Hurt. Anger. Sadness. Hopelessness. Why should I try to go over it? When they came, I knew they were trouble. Flina simply wanted to share her joy with them. She wouldn't listen to me. But they would have found out anyways, even if she didn't make all the mannequins move around. They quickly explained who they were, but none of us understood. For some reason though, one of the doctors looked at me differently. Was it because of my face?
Maybe that's why I insist on wearing a face mask now. Maybe it's because my friends were the only ones who could look at me like I wasn't horribly disfigured. Maybe it's because Flina always made it clear how much she loved my eyes. Maybe I wanted to hide them from those who didn't deserve to see.
Ask me how I ended up becoming one of them, while my friends ended up as objects.
Did they just take me up off the street? That's not how you would think they chose their employees.
The truth, apparently, was that with my education and background, they found me valuable. They asked me if I was okay with this, though I suspect now that they knew the answer and just didn't care. Why did I choose this? All I wanted was to run a fashion shop with my friends.
They still don't allow me near them and I don't even know what Site they're being held at. Ask me how this happened. Ask me why I chose this.
Honestly, I don't know. But I hope Flina is doing okay. She can find the joy in literally anything.
I hope she can bring joy to the researchers assigned to her.
I wish I could be more like Flina. I wish I could take joy in all this. Everything is good, right? That's what the pills they give me say. They say 'your life is here, you are a Foundation employee. Don't mind the past joy you once had. Forget it ever happened.' But the pills aren't quite loud enough. I still get the memories. I still live those moments. When I do, feeling is reintroduced to this vessel that's meant to be me. Maybe one day, I can completely mute the pills and their numbing screams of silence and turn up the volume once again.
Maybe one day, I can get us all out of here.
Maybe one day, we can run our shop again.
Maybe one day.

Previous (You are here!)
Next


Iris Dark woke up with sticky blueberry ice cream residue all over her jaw and a pulsing pressure in her skull. The whisky was punishing her hubris.
Skitter was pacing by the now boarded-up window, talking on the phone with Lucas Monaco.
"Yeah. Yeah, last night. No, we have video footage of the guy grabbing it. Twelve fifteen or so. Probably want to just stick around from midnight and see where he comes from. Yeah. Paradoxes or whatever. Just track him as best you can from then. Ring me back right after this."
Skitter took the phone from his ear, pressed the hang up button, whereupon the phone immediately started ringing and he answered it.
"…shit. Yeah, alright. No, you did the right thing, if they've gone through a Way then we're fucked from there. Could you go back further and wipe it? Or maybe -"
"Time gods won't let you."
Skitter turned to face Iris, surprised to see her awake.
"Can't fuck with my tech cross-temporally. Part of the contract. That's why - hang on…"
Iris sat up and noticed that her arm was missing. She wiggled her fingers and heard it scratch against the floorboards from across the room. She stood up and walked to it while talking, rubbing the blue dry smear off her face with the arm still connected to her.
"Okay, so in principle it should have locked and encrypted everything the second it got too far away from my arm. And due to the contract whoever took it can't leverage hyperbolic time to crack the encryption without the time gods eating them. Same for using any future-era tech. So their best-case scenario using… I dunno, let's say top-shelf Anderson stuff, they'd get it open in a few weeks at the earliest. So we have some time."
Iris picked up her prosthetic arm and clicked it back into the socket. Skitter frowned and spoke back into his phone.
"Cheers, Monaco. What? I dunno, call Robert. 'Networking retreat' or something. Yeah, just tell him when you see him. We can probably take care of it though. Oh! That's reassuring to hear, yes. Cool, see you later."
Skitter hung up.
"So good news, we'll have this sorted in two weeks. Bad news, we are going to be… very busy."
"Why did you throw my computer out the window?"
"Why were you drunk on the internet again?"
"…let's call it nobody's fault and we can move on together."
Iris' whiskey and ice-cream residue coated stomach started grumbling.
"Ideally to get some food, isolation be damned."
"Fine. Where?"
"I would murder a thousand children for a cheeseburger right now."

The two of them seated in a local diner, Skitter talked while Iris was stuffing her face with fries, now wearing a robot-arm-concealing hoodie.
"So as I see it there's a whole lot of 'dunno' around this whole deal. Obviously, we have the camera footage, but that's pretty useless since all it gives us is 'humanoid' and an estimated height. Whoever grabbed the thing seemed to know something was coming out that window, since they'd been waiting down on the pavement for a few minutes. Based on what Monaco saw - and what you said yourself, about the time gods - that probably doesn't mean time travel so much as precognition. Which doesn't even mean this person was a seer themselves, they could have just been in contact with one. And we have them running off into a Way. After all the shit that went down with Raimund last time, I really don't expect this to be a Serpent's Hand deal, but there's also no ruling it out. And we don't have any kind of threat or ultimatum, either, at least not a digitally delivered one."
Iris licked her fingers, grabbed the shake, and started sucking strawberry-flavoured gunk through the straw. Skitter took another bite of his BLT and continued.
"In terms of possible justifications… well, if they wanted it as leverage, there's that aspect. But if they crack it they could just publish the data. Which would be whatever client info you had on that thing, as well as I'm guessing some catalogue excerpts, so some of our inventory. Limited knowledge of prior logistics - though out of date now, I had them run the contingencies. So some limited company knowledge which is already mostly useless, barring the client info. That and I guess whatever porn you had on there."
Iris frowned and flipped Skitter off but continued drinking her shake while he continued.
"So that's the data and software side, and more seriously whatever private projects you had. I guess there's also whatever hardware components you had inside it as well. But I don't expect this happened to break it down for parts."
Iris finished the shake and replied.
"For all my projects I just log in remotely from that machine, so that's not a concern. Hardware wise, all that's in there beyond standard is the auto-encrypter."
Iris' eyes widened.
"Oh! That's… ow."
Iris massaged her temple and pushed her tongue against the top of her mouth.
"Hang on, brain freeze."
Skitter finished his coffee and waited for Iris to recover. She slapped her head and continued.
"Okay, I think I can probably track it if we get close enough. The protocols that remotely wipe it are constantly trying to ping any of my prosthetics. Or at least, they will for as long as the internal battery lasts. Actually, if I reprogram one of my spares we can triangulate - no, a few of my spares, since we need it to be extradimensional."
"So… you can detect attempted handshakes using your arms."
"Ffffffuck okay that was a good one but seriously let's get to the lab."

The two of them stood next to the otherwise unremarkable wall, and then Iris made a sequence of gestures with her hands together, and the wall split apart and two halves swung inwards to reveal her hacker cave. Skitter smirked.
"I shouldn't be surprised that your secret lab password is a Naruto jutsu."
"You recognised it! Robert would probably just think it's sign language. Come on."
Iris walked and Skitter followed, the lights brightening and dimming with their passing. Skitter noted the electronic workspaces in unusual configurations - a circuitboard grafted into pulsing flesh, the lump jolted into animation through crocodile clips hooked into musculature - a complex apparatus with a central crucifix encased in acrylic, labelled "MASS SPECTROMETER (lol)" - a suspended beam of light in the air, like a high-powered laser might leave, but originating from nowhere and disappearing into nothing, leaving only a red streak in space about 30 centimetres long. Iris frowned when she saw Skitter staring at it.
"Yeah, I don't know how I did that either. I tried using a mirror to move it, but… anyway, doesn't matter, don't touch it."
Iris pulled open a drawer and started pulling out her spare arms. Each flopped solidly onto the table, thunking at first followed by wheezing gears and servomotors settling into place.
"How many dimensions do Ways move through again?"
"Seven, but one of them's elliptic and two are hyperbolic."
"Okay, that… wait."
Iris rubbed her chin pensively, considering how hyperdimensional curvature was going to alter the calculus.
"It should be pinging a few times a second, we can boost the sensitivity on each… okay, I think… how big is Wayspace?"
Skitter shrugged.
"Yeah, okay. I think… I could do it with four. Yeah, if it's four, and they're kind of flailing asynchronously. There's some protocol delay bullshit from the laptop I can exploit which should make things easier."
"Including the one you're wearing?"
"I don't really want to reprogram this one to flail involuntarily, so no."
"Alright, so… are you going to need my help for this, or…?"
"Oh, no, you're fine. I can get this hammered out in maybe 2, 3 hours tops. I'll make a pair of these, I think, so we can each wear a set of four anchored onto a backpack. That'll give us some redundancy. I'll grab you when it's done."
"Alright, cool. I'll just, uh… do something else in the meantime. See you in a bit."
Iris nodded, flipping open ports on each arm for reprogramming, and walking off to get an adapter. Skitter walked out, exited the cave, and heard the wall click shut behind him. He pulled out his phone and flicked through some emails. Logistics, logistics, logistics… and then he heard a voice from his left.
"Why hellooooooooo."
Skitter glanced up, emotionless, and looked over. Ruprecht Carter rested limply against a pillar, teeth bared in a near-rictus grin, swirling and swigging a half-full glass of shiraz.
"What?"
"Oh, nothiiiing. Saw the posts last night. Chatted with Monaco. He was my employee first, you know. Messy situation, eh? What's the plan?"
Skitter looked back down at his phone.
"It's under control. Go bug Robert."
"You know he's gone. Lodge drudgery, no doubt."
"I will shoot you to the Lodge by cannon if you don't leave me alone. They will eat your flesh and suck your soul out your eyeballs."
Ruprecht sighed.
"You can just tell me to go away. No need to be rude about it."
"Okay. Go away."
"I mean, you can tell me, but I won't listen."
Skitter looked up.
"What do you want, Ruprecht?"
"Now, that's a deep philosophical question, young Master Marshall. What do any of us really want?"
"I want you to go away."
"Okay, fine. Monaco informs me… not with certainty on his part, mind you… that you may be, over the course of the next few weeks, about to visit… Hell."
"First I've heard of it."
"Well, it's a place filled with fire and brimstone that bad people go-"
"Okay, so you want to come with, or what?"
"Oh, fuck no! I was just wondering if you could grab Amos if you see him. Oh, or David Bowie. Either or, really."
"So, to clarify, if we end up in Hell, which we might easily not, you want me to rescue my great-great-many-times-great-grandfather and bring him back… here?"
"The term would be 'grandsire', and yes."
"I am never calling him that and I am pretty sure that since last year raising the dead is against company policy. So that's a no. And I'm also quite sure bringing him back would fuck with the inheritance blood majjicks that stop you from murdering us all in our sleep."
"That's… a reasonable concern, yes, and I can see why that would be your first thought about it. I'm sure we can come up with countermeasures. But no, honestly, I… well. It was my fault he died. I guess I don't care all that much, it's more that you'd be in the neighborhood."
"Not happening. Not interested. Not going to Hell, even."
Ruprecht grimaced.
"If you do end up in Hell, I assure you, you'll wish you could get everyone out. If nothing else, Amos will have more power there than most. Sharing his Name will be enough to ask for his help. Just keep that in mind."
"Not happening. Go to Hell yourself."
Ruprecht just smiled and walked away.

⟰
The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage
« Neurotic Tendon Seas|Hub|2Cool4Skool »
Where You Belong Is Yesterday's Bad Decision Pile
⟱


Crack. Slam. Crash. Smack. Smacksmacksmack.
Such are the sounds made by the remnants of the ones in the changing room. Cries of laughter, cries of pain, cries of annoyed agony at what's going on around you.
Vision fades in and out. Black, then full brightness, then black again, thrusting you forward into the unknown, yet a predictable unknown. Funny, isn't it?
And the age-old adage enters your head. "Don't be a bystander!" all the posters in the hall chime. Every kid has grown tired of having this message ceaselessly droned into their heads, especially when it's not as if you can have your time to make such a decision in a split-second moment.
However, you do have such time. And the internal debate breaks out once again.
Defend yourself. Do something. Just — use it, don't be stupid, come on.
But you can't. It's not like you could. The risk presents itself, and for a brief moment, you consider it.
The snake's voices hiss in your mind. Calling for you to come closer, wanting you to do this. To give them just an inch of your head for a brief moment, so so quick, then all your pain will be dealt with. They seem to whisper exactly what you want to hear — such are the demons that lay in everyone's head. They wish for you to do what you cannot.

You shake it off. Think back to the beginning of today. Oh, how did this turn out to be like this?

First, you heard it once more. As you walked into class, the taunts and jeers. Not loud enough for the teacher, mind you, despite how stupid the perpetrators are, they aren't that idiotic. "Nest head." "Terrorist." "Headwrap." "Mummy." Oh, so imaginative. If only they'd spent those braincells on learning a bit more history, perhaps? But that's hopeless dredging for another day — one best left to your imagination.
Then, the call. Confirmation. He is the same as before. Maybe he will not remember you on your next visit. Perhaps, you think, that is for the better. Then, then he will not see what a disappointment you've become.
Your agenda. Work piles ceaselessly. It is callous. Unforgiving. You are cold to that world of love, work, and brief moments of play.
Then them. How you wish you could say something, anything to make your dreams come true. But those wasps enter your stomach every time you see them, and alas, you are only left with small talk. It is nothing. They never initiate conversation back. They don't want to have it. They don't want you.
At home, fights. Screaming matches that pound your head into the ground. Being dragged into it. Thoughts of divorce, though they are quick to ensure you it won't ever happen.
One thought enters your mind. No. Both of your minds.

It is not fair. Every ounce of what is decent is stripped away. I have but small, small things to get me through each day. And for what? To repeat it all again.
It. Is. Not. Fair.
And you are angry. Pity is nothing anymore. What does it change?

You have never enjoyed pity. Rather, the snake does. Somewhat. But it's not like you ever are certain people care. They could be lying. Are they?

Oh dear one. All you have is me. All we have is ourselves. Nothing, and no one. They will all leave, it will all end, but you have us.

You spit. "Dear one." Such disgustingly familiar language used by the parasite up in your head. In truth, perhaps it is right. You are often left alone. By your choice, or by others.
You are, at times, afraid to sleep. Because of it. Because of that snake. Perhaps because of something else. We would not know.

And like a slot machine, all of this rings up. Collects and counts and tallies up. Divvies it up to those around you, the calculations made in a split second.
Briefly, you fall to the ground, limp. Those around you are just a tad concerned. Beating someone unconscious is a bit… cramping on the old style.
But you rage.
You can feel it, can't you? The limitless power coursing through every minuscule portion of your body. Pumping, calling, no, urging for you to strike.
And so you do. That power flowing through all of you, your strength as that of an ox. The others are scared. You leap from your position, bruised and battered, a modern-day Leonidas, and slam the next upside the head. You take that anger, and you use it. Beat it, and beat it, and beat him further down into the ground. On and on.
And the snake is satisfied. Are you? You ask yourself this.
No. No you are not. So the snake retreats back to the recesses of your mind, proud of its work, living coiled under its rock to come out and play another day.
The others avoid you the next day. And the hole inside your chest only grows.
Did this help? Did this do anything for you? Will this fix it all?

Yes.

No.

No.

Such anger doesn't do anything for you. And so you leave. You leave, and you thrust yourself into those recesses of your mind, the gyre only tightening. And what a terrifying sight it is. Though you are quite stonefaced outside, the inside betrays the truth. It is raw, and it is hungry, and it is empty and churning and frothing and barfing and holding your head over the toilet and throbbing with pain and barfing barfing oh god it won't stop and anxious and terrified and petulant, and selfish and so so so so worthless and a bad person, the most deplorable and terrible and simply unforgivable. Irredeemable, as some would put it.
And that truth resounds. Let the others tell you otherwise. The parents. The friends. The teachers. You have learned to only drill yourself. To be your own executioner, teacher, and gift-giver. Such is the way of that snake. Such is the way that you live.
It will not change. Neither will how the circumstances are. Even if some evidence, some shred of possible belief points to the opposite, your mind easily, ever-so-silently where no one can hear it, throws up a possibility. And a possibility as a result of that possibility. Leading that chain to continue ever downwards, as your spiral tightens only further.
And so?

So what? That snake, that dragon, that anxiety, it never does cease.

It is. It was. It will be. Such is the way.

« Last Train Home | IN SAFFRON SANDS | SCP-5265 »


« Act I - Scene IV | Demasqed | Act I - Scene VI »

Act I - Scene V

Outdoors, in front of Site-96. Upstage center stands an elevated platform with a podium, on which the PR team in its entirety is standing, with barely enough room for all of them to stay on at once. Downstage, and spread from stage right to left, a large group of reporters stands, facing the podium.

MICHAEL
Hello everyone, thank you for coming to the press conference today, uhh… I don't have much experience with these but I just want to remind you all that we are still… sort of a government organization… kind of… and so we can't share everything, but we can share preliminary stuff, and anything you need to know that's… not classified. So I guess… questions?

The reporters raise their hands and begin shouting for the chance to be called upon. Michael is overwhelmed by this, as his head darts back and forth, not knowing who to choose.

MICHAEL
Oh jesus uhhh… uhh…

Michael backs away out of stress. Evelyn quickly rushes in and points at Reporter A.

EVELYN
You! Go ahead, what's your question?
REPORTER A
Hi, I'm Bertrand Gumpel here from The Typewriter Dot AOL, just how big is the scope of what your foundation does? We've heard snippets here and there that it's a largescale group for stopping and containing monsters, though the word we keep hearing time and time again is "anomalous beings", so to what degree do these things exist naturally in our everyday life, and is it something we should be concerned about?
EVELYN
(unnaturally cheerful)
Ah, well, that's a great question, definitely. So essentially, our world is a whole lot crazier than everyone has been led to believe, but we did that so that you wouldn't worry about all the stuff going on! Monsters is sort of a… a very small subsection of what we actually do, which is, as you mentioned, anomalous phenomena. It's sort of this wild world full of sci-fi shenanigans… like, sometimes it literally feels like a book or movie. Honestly, name any sci-fi trope and it probably exists. Go ahead, name one.
REPORTER A
I… I don't know, Time Travel?

Evelyn laughs and attempts to answer, but is met with an intense and sudden onset of PTSD caused by her literal years stuck in temporal loops as part of her job. She freezes, fully, pausing mid motion and stuck with an expression bordering between surprise and concern.

HENRY
(whispering)
Evelyn? Evel… oh god, alright.

Henry grabs Evelyns shoulders and "walks" her out from in front of the podium, taking her place.

HENRY
It's… it's complicated. Like Mr. Handler said before, a lot of stuff is classified, and to be honest, it's not clear how much we can reveal, so for now just… let's leave it at "sci-fi shenanigans". Alright, okay, next questions, anyone?

Similarly to before, the reporters raise their hands and begin shouting for the chance to be called upon. Henry points at Reporter B.

HENRY
Yeah go ahead.
REPORTER B
I'm Sasha Bloom from Today Weekly. Dr. Ozid, reports from all over the country and in fact, across the continents suggests that the SCP Foundation's logo has been spotted in several locations, including on boxes going into factories and hospitals, as well as on clothing and items worn by otherwise non-conspicuous persons. If we are to believe that your organization is as secret as it is, and yet does as much as it does, how do we know where is safe anymore? Just how many covert sites and operations are being run across the country?
HENRY
Well… a lot. I'm not going to lie to you, a lot of buildings, both abandoned and functional are secretly run by our Foundation, but again, that's as a way to protect the public from-
REPORTER B
From anomalous phenomena, right? From so-called "memetics" and "cognitohazards" and other big new words that have been thrown at us this past week. But I'm not asking about that. The people want answers, and you need to be prepared to give them.

Chandler motions to Henry to let him go to the podium. Henry reluctantly agrees.

CHANDLER
Hi, Chandler Wentworth here, I work for the SCP Foundation, and in order to dispel any rumors or misconceptions you may have about our operations, we'd like to invite a select few reporters and press associates to join us for a guided tour of Site-96, the building we're currently standing in front of.

Mr. Handler looks extremely concerned, as does Henry.

HENRY
Uhhh… Chandler, I'm not sure we should-
CHANDLER
Henry, please, these people deserve answers, and besides, we don't have anything to hide.
MICHAEL
(looking defeated)
Yep, nothing to hide, that's correct. And so the tour, which will be led by me, will be on… Wednesday at 9:00 AM.

Michael shoots Chandler a look that conveys anger, confusion, and annoyance, all at once. Chandler looks genuinely confused as to Michael's reaction.

MICHAEL
I think that will do it for today's event, thank you all for-

The reporters erupt with noise, trying desperately to be called on just one more time. Michael is legitimately startled by this, jumping backwards in shock.

MICHAEL
I… okay fine, FINE! You!

Michael points at Natasha Fliers, who steps forward confidently.

NATASHA
Natasha Fliers, Channel 12 news. Mr. Handler, an entire country is gone.

The air is still for a moment. Natasha seems to be waiting for Michael to respond, and Michael seems to be waiting for Natasha to respond. During this time, the lights dim slightly. Dana walks in
from house doors and paces in front of the stage, holding his phone to his ear.

DANA
Come on… come on… pick up…

Lighting swaps from Dana to the podium.

MICHAEL
Yes… that is… correct…
NATASHA
An entire. Country. Is. Gone.
MICHAEL
…

Lighting swaps back to Dana.

DANA
Pick up pick up pick up…
JAZZ RECORDING
Hi, this is Jazz Korbachev, please leave a message and I'll see you when I see you.
DANA
Jazz, this is Dana, listen, I didn't see you at work today but you've gotta listen to me, I was going to show you this today but it can't wait any longer. There was an extra member on your team. You were only supposed to have five members but you had six, and there are some other weird things in the reports too. Stuff reading too high, engines not working despite multiple checks. I think something fishy was going on, and I don't think it was your fault. Just… don't do anything crazy, okay? This isn't your fault!

Lighting swaps back to the podium.

MICHAEL
I… I understand that an entire country is gone… is there a question, though?
NATASHA
What are you going to do about it? What is the SCP Foundation going to do about North Korea? We don't know if it's destroyed or missing or if everyone on it is dead, we know absolutely nothing. And from what your company has shown, you aren't doing a damn thing about it. At least tell us this much - why? Why did it happen, and who is to be held responsible?
MICHAEL
Well… nobody really… it was part of… well…
JAZZ
(from offstage)
Me!

Jazz walks onstage and up to the podium. She softly pushes Michael out of the way and looks intensely at Natasha.

JAZZ
I am Jazz Korbachev, head engineer on the North Korea project that turned the country into a hole in the ground. It was my mistakes that caused the machinery involved to malfunction, and I am the one solely responsible.

Everyone is silent. The members of the PR team eye each other nervously. Finally, Natasha speaks.

NATASHA
If that's true, you should be in custody. You should be locked up immediately.
JAZZ
I agree. I already called the police.
MICHAEL
Wait, Jazz, what? You did what?
JAZZ
(looking angry/determined through tears)
I said I called the police, Michael. I'm a monster. I killed twenty five… MILLION people.
HENRY
Jazz, that isn't true! You were just doing your jo-
JAZZ
(sobbing)
My job was to keep those machines in check and I failed, Henry! I failed everything and I'm a failure and I'm a failure and I deserve to fucking die!

Evelyn places her hand on Jazz's shoulder, but Jazz throws it off.

JAZZ
Don't try to give me sympathy or you're just enabling me.

Two police officers run on from downstage left. One points at Jazz and they run through the crowd of reporters. Jazz walks towards them and falls to her knees. The police place her in handcuffs and walk her offstage as the PR team looks on in horror, and the reporters take pictures in awe. Lights go out on the stage as a spotlight goes up on Dana, still recording the same phone message.

DANA
Please don't give up, Jazz. I know this seems like the end of the world but it's not. That's all. I'll talk to you soon, I promise.

Dana closes his phone and places his forehead into the palm of his hand, sighing. He closes his eyes for a moment in thought before opening them and placing his phone into his pocket. Blackout.

End Scene

« Act I - Scene IV | Demasqed | Act I - Scene VI »


Calibold

Happy Father's Day

Calibold's Mega Cool Author Page

Item #: SCP-001
Object Class: Archon
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 should not be contained.
Description: SCP-001 is artist and illustrator Andrew Bosley.
SCP-001 is subject to an impassible effect, which causes certain opinions of him to be universally held as fact. These opinions regarding SCP-001 are collectively shared by all with sufficient knowledge of SCP-001.
The following statements regarding SCP-001 are objectively true:

SCP-001 is a talented and creative artist.
SCP-001 is a fantastic father.
SCP-001 is a loving person.

Addendum 001.1: The following letter had been sent to SCP-001 from his son.

Almost a year ago, I came to you with a draft for a short story. It was a silly little thing about a computer with delusions of grandeur and no one to take him seriously. I took it to you not only because you're so skilled in art and writing, but because I knew that you would be willing to help me. You didn't treat me like a child, nor did you tell me I was wasting my time. You encouraged me to pursue the passion I was showing, and also helped me in growing it and learning.
Fast forward to now. That article's been up for a long time, and did pretty well. I've continued to pursue writing, and I've gotten pretty good at it! But the reason it did so well, or that I even felt the courage to post it at all, was because you encouraged and inspired me. Without your help, I likely would have let my writing fall away, and never would have learned how much I enjoyed it or how good I could be at it.
The reason I'm telling this story is because I realize it's perfectly encapsulated just the kind of person you are, and how wonderful of a father you've been. I am beyond grateful that you've pushed me to use the gifts and talents I have to strengthen myself, and the least I can do is use those talents to give back to you.
Thank you for all you've given me, dad. I'm glad I can celebrate you and your achievements this Father's Day, and I hope you continue to remain an inspiration to the people you meet and guide.
I love you.
Happy Father's Day.

+ More by Calibold +

- More by Calibold -

Calibold's Mega Cool Author Page
— SCP Articles —

SCP-7178 — A Thief In The Night
SCP-7179 — E is for Eternity
SCP-6469-D — A BABY?????
SCP-2082 — Elephas cryophilus
SCP-6156 — Oh, Doug!
SCP-6579-D — The Detective Killer
SCP-6900-D — The House of Stars
SCP-5277 — What Can Go Wrong
SCP-5363-D — Controlled Containment
SCP-3482 — fine mayor posters campaign by dado
SCP-5156 — monke
Director Bold's Proposal-J — "Guys, please don't read our SCPs 🥺"
SCP-2693 — Fell Into The Well, Fell Into The Well, Fell Into The Deep Dark Well
SCP-5559-D — The Great Ambrose Bake-Off!
SCP-3448-J — Should Have Taken Him Sleeping
SCP-4456-D — No One Expects The Spanish Decommission!
SCP-4745 — Spooky Scary Snowman
SCP-4645 — Blackmailing Computer

— Tales —

OpusConfidant Wiki - SCP-4645 - Threatini
Diary Of An Existential Kid
Responsible Promotion
Friends Of Us Never Die
Truth Lies
A Team You Can (Maybe) Trust
Happy Father's Day
Mission: Decommission
A Bold Choice
I Am Become Death
Ulysses B. Donkman and the Heinous Hitman
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Eldritch (Sung to the tune of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas")
Chapter One - The End

— GoI Formats —

Manifest 476: Vanishing Galleon
The Book Of Mathisi, Chapter 1: The Parable Of The Three Princes
LTE-8686-Yellow-Kewpie
UIU File: 2001-023

— Other —

Mega Cool Customizable ACS Add-On Ver. 1.8.0 Guide
Decommissioning Department Hub
Fortune Favors
Decommissioning Dept. Theme
Mega Cool Customizable ACS Add-On Ver. 1.8.0
Mega Cool Author Page Tool Ver. 1.4.0
Calibold's Mega Cool Alternate SCP Logos Page
Calibold's Mega Cool Art Page (It's Mostly Just Icons, But Whatever, It's Still Mega Cool)

— Co-Authored —

Abraka David's Proposal — A Peak Behind the Curtain (feat. Ralliston, Placeholder McD, Guaire, Guezma, Jack Ike, Sherf, Yossipossi, Dr Balthazaar, Grigori Karpin, LORDXVNV, Lt Flops, Uncle Nicolini, Metaphysician)
SCP-7400 — Your Honor, League of Legends (feat. Sherf)
I, Hub (feat. many other authors)
Resurrection: New Faces (feat. Grigori Karpin, Nagiros, and redredred)
SCP-5545 — 𝙰 𝙱 𝙽 𝙾 𝚁 𝙼 𝙰 𝙻 𝙸 𝚃 𝚈 (feat. Yossipossi)
SCP-194 — Thank You For Your Cooperation (feat. CityToast)

— Foreign —
Director Bold's Proposal — Language
SCP-LA-II — Fruit