This is part two in a multi-part story. It is recommended that you read the previous entry At the Library first.

“Hey! Hey wait!”
Aidan Brown, half-human, half-lobster, continued walking - or whatever crippled approximation of walking he was left with - and did not turn around.
“Wait!” A young woman's voice, tired, worn out, urgent. He continued on; nobody would or could be talking to him.
But then, with his one good eye, he noticed the woman at his side, easily matching his pace. He stopped.
“It was you… screaming earlier,” he slurred, the words reluctant to leave the mush of his mouth. “Outside the library. You saw me? You can see me now?”
“Yes,” she said. “But no one else can?”
“No one else can,” he said. His good eye scanned her briefly. Very good looking. Tall, slim, elegant. Then he looked down and saw the ruin of her arms. The ugly thalidomide-born stumps, the two things that might be fingers where they terminated. She saw that he saw, and she flushed.
He was about to ask why she could see him, especially as no one else could, when a child - a daughter maybe - appeared from nowhere and pressed up against the woman.
“What time is it?” she asked.
The woman raised and turned her arm and looked down, as if to check a watch, then stopped herself. “I forget sometimes,” she apologised.
Aidan Brown took three long wheezing breaths and steadied himself on his walking sticks. “You forget you've never had hands?” His lung palpitated in its half-corrupted housing; the platelets around his jaw moved and fidgeted with every painful intake or expellation of air. “Sorry,” he offered. “That was harsh. So… how long have you had your birth defects?”
The woman weighed up the risks of confiding in this strange, consumed creature; wondered how much she would be endangering her daughter, and how much she would be protecting her. She remembered the words at the library. Next time, you'll walk. That would be ten miles. She couldn't go on like this.
“Not here,” she said. “Can we go somewhere, get something to eat?”
Aidan studied her for a few moments and shook his head. “I don't really fit anywhere. People trip over my tail, drag their chairs over my legs… There's a park maybe two blocks away. Usually quiet. Your daughter - daughter? - can play there whilst we reminisce about the good old days.”
“Good old days?”
“Yeah, when you didn't have thalidomide and I didn't - wasn't… this.”
The woman smiled nervously and looked back at the library in the distance. Whatever this monster was, they shared a common history. “Okay,” she said. “Let's go.”
° ° °
“I woke up like this five weeks ago,” the woman said. She sat on a park bench in the shade offered by a maple tree, watching her daughter play on the swings. Aidan Brown stood near her, lopsided, awkward, mopping his face with a handkerchief. He shifted his weight on his walking sticks and shooed his persistent fan club flies away.
“You have proof you had hands before?” He asked. “Sorry for asking - I just - “
“In my clutch bag. Big pocket on the inside.”
Aidan Brown hesitated, then with his good hand he rummaged inside the woman's bag. “Don't mess it up,” she warned.
“Think I got it,” he said. He pulled out a photograph, much worn, much looked at, of a goddess in a pastel pink bridesmaid's dress, holding her daughter smiling in her arms. Such lissom arms; such elegant hands and long, slender fingers. And a watch that, even today, she had forgotten she no longer wore. Aidan searched for something to say - a platitude, a consolation, a gesture of solidarity, maybe, but nothing was adequate - how could it be? In the end he slipped the photo back into the bag. “I'm sorry,” he said.
“It was him,” the woman said. And then, in hushed tones, as if she didn't want even her own breath to hear, “Harold Maine. He did this.” She closed her eyes. Sounds of children playing, bees or wasps or flies buzzing lazily, automobiles on the highway. And New Best Friend Aidan Brown wheezing and gasping as he stood above her, resting on his walking sticks.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “I figured as much, the sonofabitch. Knew it soon as you screamed. Nobody else sees me, notices me, it's like I don't exist. So you scream, and I wonder how come… I'm glad you waited for me outside.”
“I wasn't going to,” the woman said. “I was waiting for…” She trailed off and looked back at her daughter. “Angela! Come away from there! Stay with the small kids.” And back to the matter at hand: “I'm not a brave woman,” she continued. “I'm not resourceful, or quick, or smart. I live - lived - on my looks. I'm afraid for myself and for my daughter. I couldn't see any way out.”
“So you weren't for waiting for me after all?”
“No,” she confessed. “I was waiting for a truck. A big, big truck. I was going to throw myself and Angela under it.”
“Christ. Really? I'm sorry… What made you change your mind?”
The woman shook her head and laughed softly. “Angela. I couldn't pick her up.” She raised her stubby arms and the two deformed fingers on each stump. “I didn't change my mind. I just physically couldn't do it.”
There was silence between them for a few seconds, punctuated by the cries of the children on the swings and the flies buzzing around Aidan Brown's head. “And then you saw me,” he said, “and you thought Halle-fucking-lulleiah, things ain't that bad after all.”
“I saw an innocent monster,” the woman said. “Something that couldn't exist. Horrific, nightmarish, agonised.”
“You sound like my ex-wife.”
“I recognised the work of Harold Maine. I knew he'd done that to you - whatever that is.”
“He was a regular at a home game I run,” Aidan said. “Poker. Always suspected him of not being quite right. Three weeks ago I see him set the deck. I confront him. He leaves. Phones me later, tells me I'm going to regret ever fucking with him. Tells me no one's going to listen to me again.” Aidan took a swig from a bottle of water and mopped his brow again. The mandibles and feeders around his mouth - or whatever they were - clicked and clacked momentarily.
“The next day, nobody else can see me or hear me. Colleagues, neighbours, people on the bus. I'm totally invisible to them. Like a ghost. The day after that, I wake up like this. Half lobster, or whatever the fuck this is. He rings me, says give him money and he'll make things better, don't and he'll make things much, much worse. No brainer. Been paying him what I can ever since.”
“Must be tricky if you're invisible.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I can't take any money out. Can't go to a pawnbroker. So I'm stuck with valuables - small items of jewellery, whatever cash I can get my hands - hand - on. I'm an honest man. I guess I could steal easy enough…”
“But?”
“But I'm not that sort of person. I'm honest. I've never stolen. Now I'm going to have to.” He watched the woman's daughter playing on the swings. “Amazing bounce-backability, if that's a word,” he said. “Kids go through all sorts of shit, but they're like memory foam. Not like us.”
“No,” the woman agreed. “Not like us.”
“So…”
“So…”
Angela came running up. “It smells fishy here,” she complained. Aidan Brown rolled his good eye; the woman laughed. The girl ran off again.
“So what do we do about this?” The woman asked. “You know he'll never free us. You know he can fuck us up in ways even we can't imagine. I can't go on like this.”
Aidan Brown nodded. “How many d'you think he's collecting from? How many others out there waking up wrong every day? How does he do it?”
“I don't know,” the woman admitted. “Let's find out.” She stood up suddenly and called her daughter over.
“Where are you going?”
She looked at Aidan Brown and shrugged. “The library. Wherever Maine is, that's where you'll find the other ‘poor fuckers' like us.”
“Christ,” Aidan wheezed. “We've only just left there,” he complained. “Took me half a fucking hour to get here, and now we're going back?”
“You don't have to come.”
“Well forgive me but…” He shooed the flies away and hesitated awkwardly. He raised his lobster claw, and touched her own malformed limb, softly and without malice, and she surprised herself when she did not flinch.
“…I thought you might like someone to hold your hand,” he wheezed. The different plates of his mouth moved outwards quickly, unlocking and blossoming open in what could have been some form of laughter.
“Fucker,” the woman said. “Absolute fucking fucker.”
“You know it,” Aidan said. “Come on; now we've founded the Harold Maine Fan Club, it's time to swell our numbers.”
Next


Dear ████,
Have you ever been out camping? As a child, while spending a night with other boy scouts at a camping site, I'd already started to realise what place we, the humans, reserved in this world. I remember that cold August night - heat of the campfire, long shadows of people around it, stretching out in all directions. The fire seemed to rise up to the very sky, putting the starlight out, so bright it was; sparks danced over its tongues. Heat burnt our faces and cold always chilled our backs. It was as if the world was bisected; one was bright, hot, locked inside a tight circle of people, the other cold and strange, sneaking up from behind our backs. Do you know, ████, that Chaos is always in a leaping stance? It hides under the outer shell of all things, inside the shell of the world that seems so right and rational, but that is just a mask. Chaos is like a panther hiding in the bushes, tense, ready to spring. Its leap is infinite - it is flying forever, like an asymptote, approaching the line but never reaching it.
First I thought that our world simply got old. God's grown ancient and can't handle His responsibilities anymore. God got crazy and in His crazed state He started devouring his children like Cronos.
I thought the reason might be in the world's deterioration - like a scratch on the fine surface of a CD which causes all the information on it to distort. I thought maybe the space-time continuum has simply worn out like an old cloth. And we had to mend its holes.
Then I pondered - wasn't the world full of what we now call anomalies before the civilised people came along? Wasn't it at the time of crowding around fires that the planet was crawling with unfathomable creatures? They say that now that we contain such creatures that could bring forth the world's end, we cannot make the tiniest mistake, or breach protocol even a little. We are so certain of this that we consider ourselves the saviours, the atlases who carry the world on their shoulders. But let's not forget that we weren't always here, and the sky never fell in those 14 billion years. Also there are the far reaches the galaxy where human, let alone the Foundation's, influence doesn't reach. What about those places? Does the deterioration never reach there? Does it mean that Earth is the source?
That got me thinking that we, the humans, were to blame. The more we wear the nature out, the further our progress moves, the more anomalies we get. The balance has been upset somewhere. Maybe there are too many of us, maybe we deem ourselves more worthy than we deserve. Maybe when we first disturbed the structure of an atom by splitting it, we mortally wounded the Universe making it bleed. We know that before us there were multiple civilizations on Earth, and each of them was crushed by a new, less-developed one. There was a horde a barbarians for each Roman Empire. That's it, I thought, The number of anomalies is proportionate to the progress. Each new civilization that's gone too far is wiped off the face of the Earth thus regulating the amount of Chaos in the world to the required quantity.
And yet the ancient mysteries weren't giving me piece of mind. Since I had the 6th level of clearance, I already knew more than any of you. And the puzzle I could make out of the pieces crashed all my theories.
I came to realise with bigger clarity that before us the planet was ruled by powers so potent that the wise men weren't aware of them. When we, the stubborn children, imagined ourselves the kings of nature, when we spread like cancer over the surface of the Earth, we inevitably engaged them in a conflict. We ousted them, proclaimed them unnatural, gave them numbers and placed them in cages.
I know, dear ████, that all of you were stunned by my return. You stopped waiting for me after all these years. The fact that I hadn't aged a year made a lot of you talk about the Second Coming of the Administrator. No, I'm not a god, I've never come close to being one. I'm just a man who's been where no one should be. I've missed a lot, and yet I've gained even more.
I was delighted to find out my country house was still in one piece. Of course, it's become a little lopsided - there was mold growing in some corners - but otherwise, it was just as I'd left it. I see, during all these years none of you had the brilliant idea of going down into its basement. It made me happy, as it meant the secret bunker remained untouched. Much has changed, ████ - some Sites have disappeared, others have been built. But there are things that never change, while the Foundation that I've created still stands. One of those things is in that bunker.
I once said we'd never return into that long night from whence we came. I've drawn a protective circle on the ground, reinforced it with walls and locked it with the sign of the Trinity. And yet all we've accomplished during these years hasn't made us better. There's still the same cold freezing our backs and the same heat burning our faces. The same world unsaved. Someone has to break the vicious circle.
When you read this, I will have reached my goal. Maybe you're already standing at the brink of a new world and your eyes are opening. All humanity is rubbing their eyelids after their long slumber. It was the slumber of self-assurance and deep narcissism. We believed we could name things and decide if they deserve a place in the Universe. We decided we knew the laws of nature and we could consider the creatures we couldn't understand unnatural. And, most importantly, we thought we were the last thing keeping the world from crashing down, as if it couldn't exist without us, as if the sun wouldn't come up without us. Because of this, we raged a bloody war against something we don't even have a name for. But now, ████, you're going to see that our main enemy is our own fear. You'll see that the Foundation wasn't really necessary in the first place, and after its doors burst open, the world will find a way to obtain a new balance, because God would never have created a stone He could not lift.
Remember - the panther is leaping infinitely. It always tries to reach and never does.
Forever yours,
███████ █████.


It was a horrid place, where no laws stood and gods gathered like insects attracted to a great fire. The Great Abyss, it was called: a crack in reality beyond the eyes of mortals.
Great beasts were bred there, where they fought and bled and consumed one another; great gods were drawn there, licking this wound of the universe like parasites. But an even greater beast had been there, the God Eater, a titan among them, who had lurked there for aeons. A godly beast of enormous size, she had consumed countless, and all that were in her path would find no escape.
The Maker of Machines had also been there, weaving a web of laws and order above the cosmic abyss where minor gods would get tangled and trapped. He was a different creature, desiring not the flesh and blood of other gods, but perfection and order. His existence was tolerated by the God Eater, as he was of no flesh, and therefore not delicious to her. She also found it pleasing that with the webs he weaved to trap the prey, her food came easier.
The Maker of Machines had fixed countless disturbances in the clockwork order of the universe, and had built many grand machines each perfect in every detail. But even with his great skills and power, his task to mend the Great Abyss was impossible to achieve. He had concluded his actions to be futile, but was unwilling to give up. It was his one and only goal.
A creature of order and reason, the Maker of Machines once looked down upon the beasts and the God Eater in disgust, thinking of them as a disease and the crack as a plague. But aeons later, he would stare numbly as his webs of laws broke time and again. He would then wonder whether chaos is the true natural order and whether he is the real disease, as he mended the webs once more like a tireless spider.
As his hopes turned into despair and then indifference, and his passionate creation turned into mechanical repetition, the Maker of Machines wondered if he was wronged by his own perception. For once he looked towards the gods but saw them not as foul beings, towards the abyss but saw it not as a wound, but as something merely different from himself. He realized that his vision of a perfectly ordered universe was never meant to be.
The Maker of Machines wondered if he should make something other than machines. It would be something new: Unlike the machines which he planned out every detail before building, and unlike the gods who were created chaotic and mindless, but a hybrid of both kinds.
But even with his new goal in mind, all the Maker of Machines managed to construct were other kinds of machines. He could not break his own limitation of ideas, so he placed his eyes on the God Eater. This great beast, consuming millions of gods, would then in satisfaction breathe out their remains. And in these ashes of the past gods, the Maker saw new hopes.
Collecting the ashes, the Maker came to a sphere and spread them among great waters. And in a bold attempt to imitate the Beast's action, he breathed his own essence and ideas into them.
Life was then created. The ashes of gods breathed out by the Beast grew and prospered in the water, and their minds also sprouted from the ideas the Maker had bestowed them. The Maker watched and knew that it was not perfect, unlike anything else he had created. But the machines he built had no potential, for they were too carefully planned out beforehand and all their potential had been realized. Life, however, was filled with potential. Machines, he could predict; but life, he could not anticipate.
The Maker watched life grow and felt the great joy he had not felt for aeons. A new vision of the universe was unfolded before him. But these newly born beings were of flesh, delicate and delicious, which gods crave the most. So the Maker weaved webs once more, so the hungry beasts could not reach them with their claws.
But the Maker's protection was short lived, as the God Eater, the greatest beast, came across the small sphere. She came to bring doom to the very life she had breathed out. The Beast did not intend to prey on them, as they were too small for her taste, but neither did she care that her mere existence would shatter this fragile world. And the Maker could not let this happen.
The Maker wished not to fight the Beast, as it was now clear to him that neither of their existences were wrong or flawed. And it was only because of her that life came to be. The Maker tried to reason with the God Eater, and even went so far to beg her to choose another route and spare this world. But the God Eater was a beast after all. She neither understood nor cared, and came closer and closer.
The Maker had to defend their creation. Life was new and had endless possibility, and had become his purpose and meaning. The Maker told the Beast that he was sorry, and the Maker of Machines made one last grand machine. A cage, forged out of his own existence, to house the God Eater and banish her away from life.
As the last grand machine was made, the Beast screamed and cursed, but the Maker could not feel that. He felt only himself shattering, descending to the sphere and manifesting into physical forms. A broken machine himself, he could no longer protect life, his most proud creation, a hybrid of him and the Beast.
But the Maker was tired, and he closed his eyes.


The Factually Correct and Profoundly Engrossing Story of Rose Labelle, Savior of Site 19, Bane of the Anomalous, and Emissary of the Library, in which She Ventures into Lands Unknown to Search for the Lost Tome of the Daevite Empire, Meets Several Beings Both Alien and Divine, Discovers (and Slays) the Darkness within Her Own Heart, and Enjoys a Complimentary Continental Breakfast at a Two Star Hotel

Saving Site-19
When the Chaos Insurgency invaded Site-19, it wasn't counting on RESEARCHER ROSE LABELLE, hacker extraordinaire, basically the best person in the entire SCP Foundation. Even though they had the help of ALL the GOIs, from Prometheus (which came back just for the occasion) to that goddamn circus or whatever, and all the Black Queens, all the scary GOIs plus all the non-scary GOIs which became scary just for the occasion. You don't even want to know how much you'd pee yourself if you saw this version of Wondertainment, my god. But Rose Labelle stopped them all. Because she is literally the best.
The absolute best. There is really no competition. Don't listen to her telling you otherwise, because that's bullshit. Super bullshit. Why aren't people writing more fics about Rose Labelle? Why isn't EVERYONE writing Rose Labelle? Why is Troy fucking humming that Phantom Menace song? Wait, hang on, that's real life slipping in. By 'real life' I mean, like… A RL-Class end of the world scenario. It's… a code word. This is absolutely written in character. Forever. Let's, uh… call this a CK-Class event. You guys like that bullshit, right? At least it's not a fucking XK-Class event. People really overuse XK-class event, right? Well, guess what, the invasion of Site-19 was an XK-class event, alright. Scorched earth, religion, all of them. It was fucking all the XK-class events. It was every K-Class scenario. The SK-Class dominance shift, the AK-class loss of consciousness scenario, and whatever other letters there are. All of them, even the ones that don't actually have the letter "K" in their classification and fuck up everything. It was every worst thing that could ever happen, that's what the point is.
But Rose Labelle hacked them.
And that's how she saved Site-19.
The motherfuckers never saw her coming.
P.S. Also Rose Labelle has dated every iteration of the Black Queen, so long as they're the badass ones.
Bane of the Anomalous
"Help!" Dr. Bright commanded. "SCP-963 has gone out of control! I am becoming a dark eldritch god!"
"It's okay," Rose Labelle said. "I'm on the case."
Rose Labelle hacked the shit out of SCP-963 and saved SCP.
Still Baneing
"Thank you," Dr. Bright said. "I'm your biggest fan. But what about the rest of the SCPs?"
"I will hack them," Rose Labelle said, and she hacked them. Then she made out with her hot girlfriend. All her hot girlfriends. Probably.
The Foundation crumbled, but in a good way, as all the SCPs became either totally controllable or totally non-anomalous, whichever was more convenient for the Foundation. Except for the people who hate crosslinking, or using SCPs, or Omega-7 and Alpha-9 — for those people, all the SCPs just went away, so everyone would be happy.
But some of the SCPs stayed, so that that Rose Labelle's story wouldn't be totally anticlimactic, I guess.
III: Emissary of the Library
All the members of the Hand also loved Rose Labelle, because of all the prophecies she fullfilled and all the massive queer star power she exuded with every step. Except for the Hand members who worshiped dark eldritch gods, but they got won over when all the gods stopped being evil because they were so impressed by Rose Labelle.
The Library was also super impressed by Rose Labelle because she wrote so many super great and valuable books (and fanfics) that the Library created a whole other wing for her. And then they elected her Emissary of the Library, a position created specially for her.
One of the Librarians asked Rose Labelle what her secret was. (One of the mute Librarians with no mouths, but Rose Labelle was so great that Librarians could speak in her presence.) Anyway the Librarian wanted to know how Rose could be such a greatest author and writer forever.
Rose Labelle said, "I don't just write. I fuck the words into the page."
And like God saying Let there be light, so it was true.
(Speaking of God, Rose Labelle has totally dated Sophia Light, which means she's literally dated Jesus. Because that's canon.)
Beings Both Alien And Divine
Rose Labelle slew and/or befriended all the gods. She won Eschatology while she was at it. Also she fast forwarded to the ending of Resurrection and won that.
Oh right. I forgot. SPOILERS FOR RESURRECTION IN THIS TALE, GUYS. I'll need to scroll up and add that warning later.
Slaying The Darkness Within Her Own Heart
"Darkblade, my love," Rose Labelle said, looking into Darkblade's liquid eyes, "I'm sorry, but despite the vastness of our epic love, we cannot be together."
"Why not?" Darkblade said, looking like the most heartbreaking thing you can imagine, while still being attractive and definitely masculine.
"Because I'm gay," she said.
Then Darkblade ripped open his trenchcoat, revealing a dress, or something else feminine-assigned (while keeping the trenchcoat, obviously). "But by the power of your love, I am… actually a girl!"
And it was true. Darkblade, who was now a she, was just as badass as ever, but now an appropriate addition to Rose Labelle's dreadlord harem. And they all lived happily ever after.
Gentle reader, you may ask: But Rose Labelle was supposed to slay the darkness inside of her heart? Which was obviously a metaphor for her love for Darkblade? Well, how do you think they got together in the first place? Rose Labelle defeated Darkblade long ago, both in combat and by metaphorically slaying him her with sheer force of personality, making her unique in the universe and fulfilling seventeen distinct prophecies from cultures dating back to millions of years before the advent of humanity. Darkblade revealed that he she was actually a figure more like John the Baptist, making way for the Christ figure of Rose Labelle. And finally, Darkblade made sense.
Complimentary Breakfast
Over breakfast, because she was already out of supernatural threats, having defeated, seduced, and/or won over them all, Rose Labelle was crowned Queen of the Foundation. As her inaugural act, she used amnestics and Foundation magicks to end homophobia and transphobia and sexism and racism and poverty and world hunger and murder and all of the ills of the world. Forever. Motherfuckers.
THIS IS WHY ROSE LABELLE IS THE BEST CHARACTER, OKAY.

—————————————

– hide block

"I… what? Is this about me?" — Researcher Rose Labelle
"Why is this implying the Foundation is a work of fiction? Who signed off on this?" — Researcher Rose Labelle
"Is this supposed to be a Mary Sue thing? I didn't do any of that. I've never even met Bright." — Researcher Rose Labelle
"That's not how SCPs work! You can't hack SCPs. Why is this filed in the official documentation intake?" — Researcher Rose Labelle
"I do not have a harem." — Researcher Rose Labelle
"Guys, Bright just sent me an email. I don't want to open it. I'm kind of terrified." — Researcher Rose Labelle
"Okay he's just sent me three emails. No, two more just arrived. I'm not opening any of these." — Researcher Rose Labelle
"I can't imagine ever characterizing the writing process this way." — Researcher Rose Labelle
"Wait, Darkblade? What?" — Researcher Rose Labelle
"I quit." — Researcher Rose Labelle

Oh, shit, this hasn't met the impossible world count since I started an hour before the deadline. Lemme fix that.

All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl.

– hide block

All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rose a dull girl.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: I just realized I never actually mentioned Rose Labelle finding the Lost Tome of the Daevite Empire. That's because this story was the Lost Tome of the Daevite Empire all along.

—————————————

– hide block

"No really, whose work is this? I'm not amused." — Researcher Rose Labelle


Extranormal Event #: 2016-045
Date of Occurrence: 01/1/2016
Event Description: From approximately 6:00 pm to 11:00pm a broadcast overwrote the regularly scheduled programming for a number of television channels with an unknown film. Immediately after its release, the film secured a rating of -[REDACTED] on Rotten Tomatoes, and multiple individuals attempted to file lawsuits against the broadcasting networks for “mind fuckery [sic] and crimes against humanity.”
Follow-up Actions Taken: Visual Class-A amnestics were distributed through the use of the Neptune Protocol. All digital information pertaining to the film, with the exception of a single copy, were expunged by Foundation web crawlers. As per standard procedure, the film was shown during the weekly “Super Crappy Philm night.” There were no survivors. See Incident Report 2016-045 for a list of both physical and mental casualties.

Addendum 2015-045-1: partial recording of the Philm Night

 Accessing....Log Revived

7:36 pm
“Alright everyone, hope you got your popcorn ready, cuz we got a real doozy tonight! The memetics guys said that the D-class tried to lobotomize himself five minutes in. I expect you guys to reach at least the 30-minute mark with your mind intact. Will be good for dealing with contango hazards…or something. Anyway, let's get started! Put on your 3D glasses…Ok now put on another pair. Yes, on top of the ones you already have. This shit is in 6D motherfuckers! Prepare for pain.”

[Sound of a television booting up. Scene opens with stock footage of pandas. Voiceover performed by a man trying and very much failing to sound like David Attenborough] “The panda, one of the most endangered species on the planet. Few survive in the wild, and even fewer breed in captivity.Who could have driven these innocent creatures to the brink of oblivion? [Cut to generic war footage]Man. Man drove this catastrophe to occur with-[13 MINUTES OF SUPERFLUOUS EXPOSITION EXPUNGED]. Now, man attempts to fix his wrongdoings, but in the process, he will destroy all that he holds dear.

[Sound of multiple Foundation personnel crying can be heard in the background and continues for the rest of the film].
8:00pm

[A man and a woman are seen talking in a laboratory.]
Woman: “But Doctor Carter, are you sure that this…serum? Will work?"
Dr. Carter: “[Super thick Brittish Accent] Yes Ms. Sue, of course I do. This serum will increase the breeding capacity of the pandas by 1000% percent. And it is completely safe, I tested some on my cat and he was completely fine.[Though the open window, multiple poorly rendered storm clouds slide into view on an otherwise completely sunny day]."

8:10pm

[Cuts back to a suburban home with Dr. Carter and Ms. Sue inside]
Ms. Sue: “The cure was a complete success Doctor! Now we have even more pandas”
Dr. Carter: “Yes Ms. Jane and I could not have done it without your help. Why don't we have sex?"
Ms. Sue: “Of course.”
[The two move out of the frame and the camera centers on the vial of ‘bear serum', which shakes as multiple hairs begin to grow out of the liquid. In the background, a poorly animated shadow of a cat begins to grow and morph into an ursine shape]
Cat: “ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR”

8:19pm

[Doctor Carter and Ms. Sue are seen driving down the road, both missing various articles of clothing. Ms. Susan is bleeding from multiple claw wounds]
Ms. Sue: “Doctor!, I-I don't understand. How could this have happened?"
Dr. Carter: “I don't know. The chemicals must have mutated and infected every atom of DNA within the body of the cat! W-What could this mean?"
Ms. Sue: “Doctor… I'm not feeling so good. Rather…UNBEARABLE RRRROOOOAAAARRR.”
[Dr. Carter screams and swerves off the side of the road].

8:45pm

[President Obama is seen sitting at a table with other officials. Everyone watches a news report showcasing a column of bears engulfing the Statue of Liberty.]
President Obama: “[Turns towards a general] I want everything in New York. Army, Navy, Airforce. Hell, bring in NASA too! We have to stop this thing before it spreads any further.”
General Bearington: “ROOOOAAAARRR.”
President Obama: “I knew I could count on you General Bearington.”

9:00pm

[Dr. Carter is seen standing beside General Bearington as both survey a large battlefield. Below them, soldiers fight in close quarters with the bears. A large grizzly takes a swipe at a random trooper, but the blow is unable to cut through the man's heavy armor.]
General Bearington: “ROOOAAAARRR.”
Dr. Carter: “Yes Mr. Bearington, the armor I designed is working absolutely perfectly. It is completely impenetrable to their claws! With this we will be victorious in - [scream is heard from below] what the?!”
[A soldier far back from the main line drops his gun and nurses his hand in pain. As the gun clatters to the ground, a ring of sharp teeth is shown to have formed along the handle and the metallic finish begins to shift into a brown tone. The armor of multiple soldiers starts to shudder and grow hair. The gun on the ground twists and raises itself up. The newly formed bear's mouth emits a resounding roar]

9:10pm

[The president and Dr. Carter are seen communicating with each other through a video phone. Carter's connection periodically cuts in and out throughout their conversation].

Dr. Carter: “It's no use sir! The chemicals in the serum are evolving! Anything it touches becomes bears!"
President Obama: “Hmmm…Becomes bears…Wait a moment! I have an idea.”

9:15

[A number of soldiers are seen at the end of a bridge, shooting at a line of charging bears. As the bears stampede closer, a single soldier panics and tries to flee, only to be stopped by the hand of a large man with a full beard. He pats the shoulder reassuringly before wordlessly stepping out in front of the line of soldiers and slowly walks towards the bears. A few other large men with massive facial hair follow. The soldiers call out to them, yelling at the men to fall back to cover, but they continue to walk, even as a large black bear approaches. It lets out a menacing howl and claws the face of the first man. Behind them, the soldiers gasp and look away. But the man barely has a scratch on his face. He simply wipes off the blood and smirks as the bear looks on, completely dumbfounded as to why the man is unturned.]
Bearded man: “Heh, fool. We're already bears.”

[Bearded man proceeds to punch the bear off of the bridge and into the water below. The other men charge into the literal sea of bears. The bears panic and flee into the forest. The men triumphantly embrace each other and share a passionate kiss.]

9:30pm

[Dr. Carter, General Bearington, and a number of physicians are seen crowding around an operating table, examining the corpse of one of the bearded men. He has no physical injuries, except for copious amounts of dried blood around his ears.]
Technician: “I don't understand it. They were just listening to music on their phones when all of them started screaming. How did they die?”
[Doctor Carter grimly sets down a number of X-Rays of the inside of the man's brain. Claw marks are clearly visible on the interior of the skull. All present gasp]
Technician: “B-but they were supposed to be immune!”

Dr. Carter: “Exactly [throws down a pair of earbuds, still covered in fur and teeth], they were our best defense aginst this Bearmageddon.”
[All present silently bow their heads.]
Dr. Carter: “No friends, we must not give up on hope. The vaccine is still under development, we can beat this!"
General Bearington: "[squints] ROOAAARRR."
[All jump up in surprise]
Dr. Carter: "You're saying that there is no way the bears could have snuck those headphones in from the outside!?"
General Bearington: "[nods] roar."
Dr. Carter: “ [turns to look back towards the corpse]. If Mr. Barrington's assertion is true…[looks around at all individuals present] We have a traitor amongst us."
General Bearington: "ROOOAAARRR."

9:45pm

[General Bearington is seen hunched over sadly in a prison cell. Stripped of his rank and his hat. Other cast members are standing outside of the cell.]
Dr. Carter: “I can't believe we didn't see it sooner. Mr. Bearington IS A DAMN BEAR.”
President Obama: “Good work people. You've stopped the greatest threat to reclaiming the planet- .”
Dr. Carter: “ No problem Mr. President happy we could-.”
President Obama: “for Bearkind!.”

[Majority of soldiers turn their weapons on the party]
Dr. Carter: “Wait What!!???”
President Obama: “ [Coldly laughs] oh foolish Doctor. So so intelligent, but so so stupid. What is the thing that we Americans pride most? [Dramatically removes his gloves and smiles as he reveals his claws]. The right, my dear doctor, to bear arms.”

9:55pm

[General Bearington is seen lying in a pool of blood. To his left, a headless and armless Obama corpse slowly freezes in the harsh Himalayan cold. Dr. Carter closes the eyes of his ursine - no- HUMAN comrade.]
Dr. Carter: “I'm sorry friend.”
[The entire scene is suddenly cast in shadow. Dr. Carter looks up. The bear's final push is at hand. Their entire army has formed into a mountain of bears which dwarfs even Mount Everest. Atop the writhing mass is Mount Rushmore. Every president's face having morphed into a different kind of bear.]
Dr. Carter: ”[Barely above a whisper] By god.”
UNKNOWN: “ABOUT TIME YOU CUNTS CALLED ME.”
[The clouds part and a beam of light shines through the heavens, Evaporating many of the bears. A figure wreathed in fire descends. Scantily clad angels wielding anti-tank rifles sing out a chorus of heavenly song as music begins to play
Jesus Motherfucking Christ: “[Cracks knuckles and draws twin AK-47s] LET'S START THIS SHITSTORM.”

[The entire sky is lit up in a blinding flash of muzzle fire and quickly darkens with the rain of bullets.]

10:45 AM

[The ground is colored red with blood and bear meat]
Jesus Motherfucking Christ: “[Scans the carnage] Welp, I ain't cleaning this crap up. Have fun bumble fucks [turns to leave].”
Dr. Carter: “Wait, Mr. Christ.”
Jesus Motherfucking Christ: “Da fuck is it kid? Make it quick, I gotta be knee deep in Joan of Ark's pussy five minutes ago.”
Dr. Carter: “W-Well sir, I have a simple request. [holds up the corpse of Bearington] This man saved my life, he is a hero and deserves -.”
Jesus Motherfucking Christ: “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get what you're saying.”
[Jesus Motherfucking Christ takes General Bearington, injects him with a needle full of heroin, and embraces him. Both figures glow for a few seconds as holy choir music begins to play in the background. Bearington's eyes flutter open.]
Dr. Carter: “B-Buddy?”
[Bearington's eyes stay fixed on Dr. Carter, a look of slight remorse on his face]
Dr. Carter: “Buddy!”
Bearington: “ROAR.”
[Scene abruptly cuts to black. A squelching noise is heard. Cut to Dr. Carter's horrified face. Cut again to the feet of the embracing Jesus and Bearinton. A single chunk of neck meat drops to the ground. Cut to Bearington's face, dripping with blood and tears. The back of Jesus's head begins to grow hairier. Cut to the head of a former president piled on top of a heap of bear corpses. He slowly chuckles as the heavenly choir of above beings to deepen. His laughter is quickly drowned out as the angelic symphony becomes an ear shattering chorus of roars.

11:00

Literally Everything: RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.


Once upon a time, in the mysterious land of Brooklyn, New York, Ruiz Duchamp was getting fucked up in Joey's house.
twinkly wind chime sound effects
“Ruiz. Your art. I'm telling you, it's not good.”
“Everyone's a fucking critic,” he said as he threw back his head and swallowed.
“Should you really be taking all of those together? Won't that like, kill you?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely. And what's it too you if I die? And my art is fantastic you prick.”
“It's a bunch of saw blades hanging from the ceiling, with letters that spell ‘this s art u fcuks.'”
Ruiz took a swig. “Indeed it is.” He took a puff. “But you're missing the point.”
“Which is?”
Ruiz chewed and swallowed. “That it's art and that you're a fuck.”
“Oh my god.”
“Listen, Joey. What was the last cool thing you made? That cheesy celery platter whatever. Cheese and celery don't even go together.” He sniffed and licked his fingers.
“Your dad seemed to like it.”
“My father is a self-righteous Critic. Just like you!” Ruiz stood up and walked over to Joey's sofa. He face-planted into a throw pillow. “Vve problmm wivv ur urt iz -“
“What?”
Ruiz lifted his face off the pillow. “The problem with your art, Joey, is that it all has to do something. It has to serve some purpose. Why can't it just exist, and in existing fulfill its purpose of being art. Art should evoke, not invoke. Art should make you feel like you just did a line, not help you draw one. And art should definitely not be food. That's dumb, Joey. It's just dumb.”
“If you didn't like my cheesy celery bites it, you didn't have to eat them.”
“But I did Joey! And they were gross.”
Joey took a sip of his coffee. “You're an asshole, Ruiz.”
“No, I'm a dick. There's a difference. And this dick has to take a piss. You got a bathroom in here?”
“Down the hall.”
Ruiz Duchamp rose from the couch and stumbled down the dimly lit hall. The morning light barely reached the shaded bathroom. Ruiz fished a bit of mushroom from between his molars. “Nobody gets it,” he mumbled as he closed the door behind him. “Nobody gets it.”
Ruiz's ears ached at the sound of urine meeting toilet water. The sound was deafening. Ruiz watched as the tornado in a bowl became a star-speckled, nebula smoothie. “Here we ffffucking gooo.”
Ruiz slammed open the bathroom window, and punched through the thin metal screen. He took a running dive through this new trans-dimensional portal and landed in the side yard. The bathroom was on the ground floor so Ruiz fell about 6 feet but probably cracked a rib. He slowly got up with a groan then took off running down the street.
Joey stood in the open bathroom door and took in the scene. There was large puddle of very dark pee next to the toilet, which he didn't even blink at, but he looked for a long time at the torn, slightly bloody, window screen. “Well. That's new.”
Molly walked down the stairs and over to Joey. “Hey. Don't let Ruiz come in this house anymore.”
“Yeah.”

“Cause yer friends don't dance and if they don't dance, then they're no friends o'mine.” Ruiz had slowed to a jog and also veered into the middle of the street. Lucky for him, Joey lived in a quiet neighborhood with little traffic. Unlucky for that little traffic, most of it was stuck behind Ruiz. Ruiz's painfully off-key singing was interspersed with many honks and shouts of profanity - and not all of it from himself.
Ruiz's trajectory eventually skewed enough that he drifted off the road and on to the side walk and into the yards and through a stranger's house.
Cops were called.

Ruiz arrived at the shop at exactly 11:46 am. and promptly sat down in the waiting area. The sign above the door swung lightly in the wind: “The Snipper of New York.” He made an appointment as soon as the first hair dresser was available. “She must be new,” he thought. He also pondered as to why she was so calm when her hair was on fire, but only briefly. Ruiz sat back down and waited quite patiently, given his current mental state. Mr. Pico Wilson walked into the main floor of the shop from a back room. He walked over to the front desk computer, not noticing his brother, now intensely fixated on a purple hula dancer hanging from the ceiling. Pico performed his usual check of customer numbers and current transactions. He finally checked the waitlist.
“What the motherfucking shit? Who the shit let Ruiz IN THE BUILDING?”
“I think that would be your new girl,” Ruiz said, still staring at the ceiling.
“GET OUT.” Pico screamed.
“Fuck you, Pico.”
“Are you drunk again?” Pico began reaching for the phone.
“Among other things.”
“I'm calling the police.”
“No. Shit. No. I can't get caught by those Stupid Cock-sucking Police again.”
Ruiz bolted out the door. The bell jingled as he left.

John Nelson, sat at his desk as his class worked on their projects. 1:24 pm. Nearly time to go home. Nelson got up to check on the student's progress. Jane was working on a very curvy vase for her mother. It seemed to being going along nicely. Steve was making a bowl for his girlfriend… at least it looked like a bowl. Ruiz was working on. Wait. The fuck
“Ruiz,” he whispered, “what the ever loving fuck are you doing here?”
“I thought I could learn a little bit about art from The Sculptor himself. Since I'm apparently so bad at it.”
“Ruiz, you can't be here. How many drugs are you even on right now?”
“Your mom.”
“What?”
“I'm on your mom.”
“God dammit Duchamp.”
“Wooooaaaahhh. John. I don't mean to freak you out. But there are like 12 of you right now.”
“What are you talking about Ruizzzzzz
ZZZZZ”

Oh fuck.

RUIZ.
you need to
GET OUT of herrrrrrrrrrr
EEee
eee
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fcuk
John Nelson's arms split in three.
Ruiz covered his eyes with his tentacles.

Ruizz

There were about
12 17 a fuckton of 40 copies of Mrrrrrrrrr Nelson now. Each one shatttered into clay, only to be replaced by one and a half more.
“I think I ought to leaf.”

“Ruiz. I'm telling you. You need to lay off the drugs.” Came a disembodied voice.

But I like them

“They're not good for you. You need help."
A phone erupted from his navel. “Please see a doctor,” it said.

I don't want to

“The drugs, they fuck you up.”
“THAT. IS. THE PURPOSE. OF THE DRUGS."
“I know. I get it. But get it somewhere else. Sorry.”
Ruiz was disappointed. He walked into his favourite room, passing the box of ecstacy pills saying ‘These are Ecstacy Pillz'. He looked passively beyond ‘here are the hypodermic needles'. He had one piece that he'd been saving for a particularly disappointing event. He closed the shower curtain, and breathed slowly. Everyone was a fucking idiot. Nobody got it. Nobody REALLY got it. As he turned the knob, liquid water sprayed across his scalp and flesh. His final thoughts were that it didn't matter. At least he got it. He really got it. And that was all he needed.
Nobody got it.
Ruiz Duchamp woke up on the bathroom floor, his clothes soaking wet. His head nearly imploded as he turned off the shower. “Fucking hell,” he said as he walked over, eyes half open, to his stash.
“Never again,” he said, as he dumped them all into the toilet.
Never again

Never again

Never again?

NE
VER
AGAIN?
never again
Never again.
Never Again
NEVER AGAIN
He leaned over the toilet.
‘that shower was pretty cool'
he puked a lot


ADULT CONTENT

This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.
Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts
Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.
Explicit depiction of sexual acts.
Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Depiction of severe mistreatment of children
Depiction of self-harm
Depiction of suicide
Depiction of torture
{$custom-content}
If you are above the age of 18+ and wish to read such content, then you may click Continue to view said content.
Continue
Back to Front Page
« prev |{$current}| next »

Disclaimer: This tale uses the word "fuck", and not as a curse word, as meaning what it means in the dictionary.
The doctor gazed into the looking glass. In the looking glass was the looking Glass, reflected by their own glassy look into Glass's looking glass. Looking, Glass made their looking glass show Glass's ass, the looking glass showing a crooked ass as Glass crooked to move Glass's ass's crack away from the glass's crack that made Glass look aghast.
"How's the ass?" asked Glass, unsure whether that Glassy pass would pass as ass.
"Eh," said Diogenes. "I've seen worse."
The two of them were doctors, and not the "let me write you a prescription" kind of doctor, or the "invented a soft drink" kind of doctor, or the MFA kind of doctor, although Diogenes might have liked art. Glass probably didn't. But there was one masterpiece that they both enjoyed equally, and it was found in Diogenes's bedroom. It was the poshy French poster for some movie or a street or something that hung above Diogenes's bed as they fucked each other until the air was unhealthily thick with fuck-smells.
They were not the most prominent faces amongst the senior staff, not to everyone else. If you asked someone about them, they might not be able to describe their appearances, or their personality quirks, or what genders they are, even if that person was writing a story about them. But those things don't matter when you're in love. Which they were, with the idea of frequent animalistic sex between shifts.
They had toys, only to be used with each other, or maybe with themselves if the other wasn't around, but with the agreement that they'd think about each other or maybe role-play like the toy was the other person but turned into a sex toy that could still talk and was nervous about the whole situation. The really kinky stuff was really just for show, because Diogenes figured that having a whole hidden shelf of sex equipment would be sort of badass compared to having a lonesome dildo shoved in a drawer somewhere. Mostly they stuck to the bare necessities: Velcro-brand velcro cuffs, a blindfold nicked from a cognitohazard station, and a Lowe's paint stirrer to administer smacks and stir the sex paint1. Diogenes had a double-ended number that they had named "Twin Peaks" (to go with the bullet vibrator Eraserhead, and the less said about Videodrome the better) but Glass objected to it for reasons that should be obvious.
"I'm really dissatisfied with my work right now. I know we're doing good, and I know we're more successful than ever, but it feels so empty and futile. We're killing ourselves in a career of sacrifice to a world that never asked for the service and doesn't know we're doing it. Did you know that the Foundation takes ownership of everything I come up with and then uses almost none of it that doesn't have any application in keeping weird things from touching people or each other? I could have won the Nobel Prize in whatever it is I do. I could have recognition, and not just the facial recognition that lets me in to see the animal monster. I could have accolades other than the Skippy for Best Cube and the Lifetime Stare-At-This-To-Reset-Your-Meme-Addled-Brain Award. I and you, Diogenes, are stuck here, for life, and the only comfort I have in this sterile hell is found in your sweaty, tremulous genitalia," said Glass. Or, that's what Glass would have said if they weren't face-deep in Diogenes's sweaty, tremulous genitalia.

Footnotes
1. rating: +49+–x


I wrote this for the 2016 Crack Fiction Contest.
The title I chose was by thedeadlymoose, and came with the requirement that I include my own, original character in the tale. Bonus points would be awarded based on how much of a Mary Sue that character was.

Chapter 1
The moon was black with clouds.
The 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302 drove down the dark country road. It wasn't 1970 though, it was the present. Agent Troy Lament sat in the passenger seat, thinking, while his partner and best friend, Agent Herc Leroc, drove at 20 miles over the speed limit (which was his average driving speed).
At 17 years old, Herc was the youngest agent in Foundation history – not that he let it get to his head, though. He was dressed simply, with a t-shirt and some skinny jeans. Troy knew that these clothes were against regulations, since agents were required to wear black suits, but he knew that telling this to Herc was a waste of time – you may as well be telling an alpha timberwolf not to howl under the moon after a righteous kill. Herc also wore a fedora, tucked low over his eyes, which were a mysterious indescribable shade of gunmetal blue that people found both magnetic with also an undertone of scary, because of how intense they were.
“So what do you think about this case, Herc?” Troy asked, looking over at his best friend.
Herc said nothing for a while, watching the road. “Something's not right,” he said at last. “A whole town goes missing inside of a few weeks, and no leads? I think it's a trap.”
Troy sat up in his seat. “Then we have to turn back, and tell the Foundation so they can send more agents!”
Herc shook his head, his fedora casting mysterious shadows over his gleaming eyes, and chuckled. “And let those guys have all the fun?” He stepped down on the accelerator so they were going 130 mph at least, and cranked up the radio, making System of a Down's B.Y.O.B. blare from all the speakers.
You crazy son of a bitch, Troy laughed inwardly, as the 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302 roared along the cracked asphalt.

Chapter 2
Now it was five hours later, and still at night.
Troy and Herc had reached the small town of ██████, where they moved down a desolate Main Street, the weak light of the streetlights glinting off the chassis of the 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302. There was no one anywhere – the place was more deserted than a bra store on Mardi Gras. On a hunch, Herc took them away from the center of town, toward the outskirts; he eventually turned onto a narrow lane among the cornfields, the farmhouses going by one by one, all dark and empty-looking.
Without warning, a huge shadow jumped in the middle of the road.
“Herc, watch out!” Troy screamed.
But Herc had already seen the danger - he stepped on the brakes, the 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302 skidding to a halt, the glow of the headlights revealing a gigantic beast, all fur and teeth, at least six feet tall, standing on its hind legs.
“Is that…a giant ferret?” Troy said, squinting at the shadowy shape.
“We have to get out of here,” Herc said, his sixth sense, honed by his grueling training as a U.S. Marine, warning him of impending danger. He put the 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302 in reverse, but before he could turn the car around more of the creatures emerged from the cornfield around them, surrounding the car on all sides, their red eyes burning like ninjitsu shurikens.
“What do we do?” Troy asked, starting to panic as the beasts moved closer to the car.
Out of nowhere a Molotov cocktail struck the windshield, the bottle shattering, enveloping the car in flames.
“Aw shiiiit!” Troy shrieked.
“Look in the back under the floor mats, hurry!” Herc said, maintaining his calm somehow.
Troy obeyed, looking behind their seats and pulling back the floor mats to reveal a hidden compartment with two fully-loaded AK-47s inside. He felt a glimmer of hope. “How did you know we'd need those?” he asked.
Herc turned toward him, the glow of the flames revealing a long jagged scar that ran across his left eye – a memento from his troubled past.
“I just had a feeling.”

Chapter 3
Troy and Herc ran into the cornfield for cover, leaving the flaming wreckage of the 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302 on the road behind them, the giant ferrets hot in pursuit.
AK-47s at the ready, the two best friends struggled to see in the darkness, the cornstalks around them full of shadows that shifted menacingly, the air alive with eerie animal screeches. Out of nowhere, a giant ferret jumped in front of Troy and swung at him with his claws. Troy wasn't quick enough to react, busy as he was having another one of his SCP-106 flashbacks, but Herc had him covered – he shot the beast through the eye, and it collapsed to the ground.
“That's the sixteenth time you save my life,” Troy, who felt better now, said over the ferret screams as the two of them resumed running.
“Actually, it's the seventeenth,” Herc replied with a foolhardy smirk. “Not that I'm counting.”
Just then, three ferrets leaped out from the cornstalks, hissing insanely. Herc and Troy each shot one, then took down the last one together, execution style. Blood and gore exploded from the beast's body and it fell backward, gurgling its dying breath.
“Is that all you gut?” Herc said with his trademark cockiness, reloading his AK-47.
“Herc what's going on here?” Troy said as he tried catching his breath. “Why are these things attacking us?”
“I don't know yet,” Herc said, his eyes glazing over mysteriously as they did every time he thought about his tormented past, “but there's something…familiar about this whole thing.”

Chapter 4
Troy and Herc had managed to lose the ferrets, but now they were stuck in the middle of nowhere, behind enemy lines, with no cellphone reception and no way of contacting the Foundation. After an hour of walking, they spotted a light in the distance and moved toward it, arriving at a farmhouse at the edge of a cornfield.
“Look,” Troy said, “there's people behind that barn.”
Keeping to the field for cover, the two agents (and best friends) made their way to the other side of the barn, and watched from among the cornstalks, with mounting horror, the scene unfolding there: dozens of cultists in black robes with hoods were standing around a huge bonfire, chanting evil incantations. At the center of the circle they formed, in front of the fire, was a large cage containing dozens of terrified-looking, normal-sized ferrets. As Troy and Herc watched, an immense ferret, at least eight feet tall, its fur mottled with black and white, walked out of the barn on its hind legs. It was wearing a large, glowing amulet on a chain around its neck. The giant ferret reached inside the cage and took out one of the regular-sized ferrets.
“What is it doing?” Troy whispered.
As the chanting reached its crescendo, the big ferret took hold of the amulet around its neck, causing the barn behind him to pulse with a red light, and touched it to the normal ferret. Red lightning shot out of the amulet at the small animal, coursing through its body, making it to squeal with pain. Herc stiffened, his jaw tightening with rage.
“Are you okay?” Troy asked worriedly.
“Yes,” Herc said, a deadly look in his eyes. “I just can't stand to see innocent animals being tortured. As you know, I'm a strict vegan.”
Lightning stopped shooting from the amulet, and the barn became dark once more. The giant ferret dropped the regular-sized ferret to the ground, where it began to jerk and convulse and screech in agony.
“Look,” Troy breathed. “It's growing bigger!”
He was right. As the two agents watched, the ferret began to bulge and swell in size, so that within a minute it was as big as a person. At last it stopped growing and fell silent, still breathing but twitching feebly on the ground. The cultist nearest the ferret stepped up to it and removed his robe, revealing his fully-nude body; two large cultists approached with bottles of oil and began greasing up the man with their hands until his skin was slick and shiny with reflected firelight.
Next, the two cultists knelt down by the ferret on the ground and pulled its mouth open; with their help, the naked man began forcing himself, feet first, into the ferret's mouth. The process took several minutes, the naked man slowly disappearing, inch by inch, inside the ferret, their two bodies combining, becoming one. When it was over, the man/ferret slowly got to its feet and let out a chilling roar of triumph, while the remaining cultists continued to chant.
“My God,” Troy said, stunned. “We had it all wrong. They're not ferrets, they're…”
“Furries,” Herc finished for him. His eyes took on a faraway haunted look. “Now it all makes sense, why I thought this looked so familiar.”
“You mean…you've dealt with them before?”
Herc nodded grimly. “They're called the Fur Clan. They're furries, dedicated to making the most realistic fursuits ever. Living fursuits. And it looks like they finally succeeded.”
“How come I've never heard of them before?”
“You probably don't have the clearance. They were my last assignment before I asked to be transferred to Site-19.”
“So they're dangerous?”
Herc's mysterious eyes grew dark with remembered pain. “They took out my whole task force, I was the only survivor. I…never forgave myself for that, for letting my friends down. The nightmares still wake me up at night. Sometimes I think I'm cursed, that I attract death.”
“Then we have to stop them,” Troy said sympathetically, “so you can finally put your demons to rest.”
Herc looked up at him with a determined expression. “No. This is something I have to do myself. You see the ferret with the glowing amulet? That's their high priest, HuskyLove MuttShadow. I didn't recognize him at first with his new fursuit, but he's the one who gave me this,” he said, pointing to the jagged scar across his eye. “You could say we have…Unfinished Business.”
“You're my best friend, Herc,” Troy said, “I'm not letting you face them alone!”
“You have to. I need you to get outside the city limits and warn the O5, tell them they have to firebomb this whole town. We can't let this thing spread any further.”
“What about you?” Troy asked, his throat tightening with emotion.
“I'm going to make sure they never hurt another ferret again.”

Chapter 5
The chanting around him louder than ever, High Priest HuskyLove MuttShadow was about to reach inside the cage by the fire to grab another one of the small ferrets, when suddenly all hell broke loose.
Without warning, gunfire erupted from the cornfield, killing the cultists around him with deadly, sniper-like precision; the shots seemed to be coming from every direction at once – HuskyLove estimated at least twenty shooters. The ceremonial circle broke apart as the remaining cultists fled the scene - only then did the shooter reveal himself, stepping out from among the cornstalks, starkly lit in the glow of the bonfire's flames: firing two AK-47s at the same time, he began to effortlessly pick off the fleeing cultists from a distance. HuskyLove felt his ferret jaw drop – how could a single man have done all this? Then he saw the man's face, recognized the fedora, the scar across his eye…
Of course, he thought. Who else could be behind this?
One of his AK-47s clicking empty, Herc tossed it to the ground and walked up to the high priest, aiming his remaining weapon at the man/ferret's large, fur-covered head. “Sorry to break up your little party,” Herc said.
“Agent Herc Leroc,” HuskyLove said, his long mouth stretching into a toothy smile. “I see you got my invitation.”
“So this was a trap, then. Why?”
“I wanted you to see how far along we'd come since the last time we faced each other. I knew that if I turned an entire town into giant ferrets, I'd catch the Foundation's attention, and that they'd have to send their best agent to investigate. Though I admit I still hadn't decided whether I was going to kill you… or turn you into one of us.”
“It's over, HuskyLove. I just killed most of your followers, and the Foundation will be here in a few hours to carpet-bomb this place back to the Stone Age.”
HuskyLove's whiskers twitched with amusement. “Well, I'll admit you fared better than I'd anticipated, but you haven't beaten me, Leroc. You think this puny little town was the end game?" The high priest chuckled. "This was just a test run. I'll start over elsewhere, in a metropolis this time, maybe New York, or Tokyo. From there I'll have a whole country in no time, and then… the world."
“Not on my watch,” Herc said as he pressed the trigger of his AK-47 – but the weapon clicked empty. He tossed it aside, his eyes narrowing. “I guess we'll have to do this old-school style, then.”
The two opponents faced each other, their silhouettes outlined by the gigantic fire behind them. HuskyLove cracked his neck and knuckles menacingly, while Herc assumed an imposing martial arts stance belonging to the unique style of muay-thai/krav-maga/kung-fu he had developed during his street-fighting days in Bangkok.
Then HuskyLove rushed at Herc, and the final fight was underway.

Troy was almost at the city limits – he should be coming within cellphone range any time, now.
He'd heard the gunshots, watched Herc take down the cultists; now, looking back from the top of the hill where he stood, Troy could see his friend fighting for his life against the high priest of the man/ferrets, his movements graceful, lightning-quick, Bruce Lee-like in the glow of the bonfire.
And yet it wasn't enough.
His opponent was simply too big, too strong to take down; as Troy watched, Herc performed a devastating kick/punch combination attack, repeatedly striking the giant ferret in the chest and abdomen with his fists, then delivering a perfect roundhouse kick to his head - astonishingly, though, his opponent barely seemed to register the blows: instead, leaping forward, he swung at Herc with his razor-sharp claws, mauling him across the chest; as Herc screamed and stumbled back, the man/ferret grabbed him and threw him several feet through the air, sending him crashing through the side of the barn. He then followed in after him, stepping through the gaping hole in the wall and disappearing from Troy's view.
Troy fought an urge to go back and help Herc - no, he told himself. The mission had to come first. He had to trust that his friend could take care of himself. He turned around - the hardest thing he'd ever had to do - and resumed running for the city limits.

Inside the barn, Herc was in bad shape.
His chest and arms were covered in claw marks, and a deep cut ran along his cheek, bleeding down his face and onto his torn t-shirt. HuskyLove was stronger than he could have imagined - his living fursuit must be giving him superhuman powers.
The high priest swung at him again with his massive claws, and Herc jumped on a nearby ladder to avoid the blow, climbing up to the barn's second floor. On the ground floor below him, he could see a complex machine that pulsed with an eerie red light. This had to be what was responsible for transforming the ferrets, he thought - the machine must be able to bend reality somehow, and HuskyLove was controlling it with his amulet…
Before Herc could think any further HuskyLove jumped up from the floor below, nearly ripping into him with his claws. Herc fell back, desperate – he knew he would not survive this, but he had to at least try to take the high priest down with him.
He had to end the madness.
A plan formed in his mind, and he moved closer to the edge of the balcony that overlooked the floor below, where the machine was. HuskyLove came after him, smiling savagely, certain he had already won. Faster than lightning, he struck, his claws slicing into the flesh of Herc's arm and shoulder. Herc screamed out in pain, his fedora falling to the floor below, but then, gritting his teeth, he leapt up and caught hold of a wooden beam above his head - taking advantage of HuskyLove's momentary unbalance, he kicked him in the chest with both feet as hard as he could.
The man/ferret stumbled backward, falling over the railing.
"DAMN YOU HERC LEROOOOOOOOCCCCCCC!" he yelled as he plummeted to his doom. "DAAAAAAAMN YYYYYOOO-"
He crashed into the huge machine below, shattering it under his weight. Red lighting began to arc from the amulet, coursing through the high priest's body, causing him to shriek in agony as he was burned alive from the inside out.
"AAAaaaahhhHHH! aaaAAAAAHHH! AAAaaaaAAAAAHHHHhhh!"
The broken machine began to pulsate with insane light, a horrible metallic screeching emanating from within its depths. As HuskyLove's fursuit caught fire, the air inside the barn began to distort, and Herc felt time slow down, then move faster, then slow down again.
Then the amulet exploded and a red shockwave of blinding light struck Herc in the chest.

Troy felt the earth rumble under his feet just before an immense flash of red light lit up the night sky – a second later the barn exploded into a million pieces.
His heart stopped.
He fell to his knees.

Epilogue
Three weeks later
Agent Troy Lament watched the people disperse after the ceremony, moving down the graveyard path on their way back to their cars. The Director of Site-19 had been in attendance, as well as all the O5s, and Herc had been posthumously awarded the Foundation Medal of Bravery, First Class (his fourth one) – but what difference did it make, Troy thought. His best friend was still gone.
He stared at the grave, fighting back tears – of course, it wasn't really a grave, since there was no body. After the town had been contained and carpet-bombed and the remaining cultists killed off, efforts had been made to recover Agent Leroc's body, but only HuskyLove's charred, mangled corpse had been found in the debris of the barn.
Sometimes at night, Troy dreamed that his friend was still alive somewhere, that he'd somehow managed to survive the explosion. But he knew that couldn't be, that it was just make-believe, fantasy. He had to face it, hard as it was: his friend was dead, the best friend he'd ever had, even better than Sandlemyer.
Wiping a tear from his face, he turned around and walked away from the grave.

THE END?


AN: im writing this becaus i dont like how carlisles route is handled in the gamme. u basically only get 2 be friends with him and i think es really awsome so im writing this story to show how it should be reallu.
SCP VN is normally in site 19 but i think highscool of cheyenne point is better place to set it because everyone can idtenfitywith highscool relly well and im in highschool so i want to.-yoric the snek//
YORIC the highschool student was very nervous on his first day of school. He had just moved to cheyenne point from Pheonix arizona to cheyenne point he had wanted to move for a while because this was where his dad (Agent Dimitri Strelnilkov) lived. he had wanted to get away from the halls of his fenix arizona highschool for so long. now he had a chance- to go live with his father, russian strongman and secrit agent strelnikov. the man who strangeled a whale with his bear hands.
wen yoric arrived at cheyenne point, location of the highschool, sisters of cheyenne point, the famouse SCP FOUNDATION feeder school that created such agents as agent dr imants and doctor professor imants, the famous wonde twins, strelnikov ment him at the small airport that servicesd the area.
Strelnikov said in his deep russian voice and thick accent "Hello Yoric my son it is good to see you alive and well. Are you here to be trained as russian like aI amn?:"
Yoric said "no father i am here to attend South Cheyenne Point Highschool" but then strelnikov boomed "GOOD! WE WILL START TRAINING IMMEDIAT"
and so they left to hgo to strelnikov';s lodge. there over the course of a year yoric learned how 2 throw knives and do flips and stuff. he could sneak through a moonless night as quiet as a snake who slithered and shit. anyway, one day he was drinking vodka with strelnikov on the proch. his was watered down to like 40%. he said "father i want to go to school."
strelnikov was silent for al ong time and then he said
"Da."
So yoric went to school.
Part 2:
yoric was stunned the first day he saw carlyse actus. That straw blond flyaway hair. the softness of his sk1n. the way his eyes would defocus in class nd the teacxher would be like "carlysle!" and he would be like "what?"
he was beautiful and yoric loved him at first site. he did everything he could to get close 2 kaktus carlylsley actus and aeventually they were in the same art club. it was pretty cool and carlilly achtung was an awesome at painting and stuff. hs art came alive like an scp magic thing.
months later and he was fast friends with carry anderwood but he couldn't bnring himself to explain his feelins to the won he loved. they were cleaning up the art room after schoool was over nd they had just put the last canvise away. Carly Ambrose turned to him and said "yoric lelroy i have something i wnat to 2 tell u"
"wat" sed yoric.
"i love you" said chimicanga alfonso.
yorics heart grew tghree sizes larger. then chibodino ambibly strepped cloiser. "how do you feel about me yoric strelnkibo elroy dawkins?; nd yoric paused. he bit his lip, eyes shining brightly in the afternoon sun. locusts played softly outside like a chorus or smthing.
yoric pauised nd looked away and then he looked back at candy axew nd he said "I love you 2. i have always since i saw u a month ago nd i will love uy forever."
":oh yoric" said Chumbawumba Acting and then he threw his arms around yorics brawny shoulders nd kissed him. it tasted like cactus. yoric kisseed him back and their tonges intwined. Christmas Achewood mooned softly into his mouth. "ive been waiting for this for so long he said."
His hand slowly moved towards yoric elroyu strelnikov dokins light rights the third's belt buckle. he began to unblick it slowly while kissin him on the mouth really sexy. yoric started to blush nd said "r you sur you want 2 do this ChichinItza Altitude?" and Caramel Ambivilant said "Yes. Ive wanted to do this for so long."
but then yoric richard elegent vampire the excellent fifteenth said "wait i have somethin else 2 tell u."
"wat" said Chipmunk Alfredo
"im a snake" said yoric dawnkins strelnikov rights lighjt richard elengent the third fiftheenth
and hje was. then he bit Chilly Argentina in the arm and slithered away and Crabpot Alucard got poisoned and died. cause he was a stealre and he did a bad thing, the end.


THE FOLLOWING PROGRAMME HAS BEEN APPROVED FOR APPROPRIATE AUDIENCES BY THE DAI AKIHABARA TEREBI ANIME RINRI KANRI IINKAI. THE ANIME HAS BEEN RATED R+15. NO ONE UNDER 15 ADMITTED. SOME MATERIAL INAPPROPRIATE FOR CHILDREN UNDER 15.

Preface: The following Tale is written for the April Fools Crack Fiction Contest of 2016.

THE FOLLOWING PROGRAMME HAS BEEN APPROVED FOR APPROPRIATE AUDIENCES BY THE DAI AKIHABARA TEREBI ANIME RINRI KANRI IINKAI.

THE ANIME HAS BEEN RATED

R15+
NO ONE UNDER 15 ADMITTED.

SOME MATERIAL INAPPROPRIATE FOR CHILDREN UNDER 15.

VIOLENCE, MASS DEATHS, MATURE CONTENT, DEPICTIONS OF ANOMALOUS ACTIVITY, AND LESE MAJESTY WILL BE FEATURED. VIEWERS CAUGHT IN VIOLATION OF THE RATING ARE TO REPORT THEMSELVES TO EITHER AN OPS STAFF, MODERATOR OR ADMINISTRATOR FOR EXILE UNTIL THEY COME OF AGE 15.

BY GRACE OF BEST GIRLS µ's, HIS VIRGIN MAJESTY, THE WIZARD EMPEROR OF DAI AKIHABARA, PERSONIFIED CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE AND PRESIDENT OF THE OTAKU COLLECTIVE.

Previously on SCP The Anime, part 3!
Two (wo)men. A dog. A monkey. Where's the pheasant?
[The Akihabara Metropolis is engulfed in flames, reduced from its famous akihabara1 of world culture. Corpses of the deceased and defiled lay everywhere, disembodied and skewered in many gory and interesting ways. The vicious armies of the Daevite march in a single file back into their massive warships by Akihabara Bay, dragging with them the thousands of slaves captured from Dai Akihabara.]
[The O5 Council meet again, viewing the situation at Akihabara from a screen. Other than them, Dr. Judith Low is in attendance.]
O5-10: Even Dai Akihabara has fallen. We may be facing an SK class dominance shift, if we don't do anything.
Low: O5-sama, in my research of SCP-140, I believe we can do something to stop them. It speaks of a chosen one.
[O5 Council groans collectively.]
Low: Do we have any other choice? Look, the Daevite Onigishima garrison was once stopped by…
[Dr. Rights got out of bed, where an unknown man is still sleeping. Both parties are naked.]
Low (V.O.): Momotaro…
[Dr. Kain enters his Egg Walker machine, armed with various weapons.]
Low (V.O.): …His dog…
[A group of Foundation operatives are on an expedition in the jungle, led by Dr. Bright (wearing a D-class as his vessel). A monkey swoops in from the branches, and grabs SCP-963 from Bright's vessel.]
Low (V.O.): …And his monkey…
[Closeup on Dr. Light's portfolio, which is lowered to reveal that Light is seated next to Low.]
Low: …And his pheasant.
Light: Are you serious?
Low: According to the prophecy, there were some errors with the reincarnation. Look, Bright-san can possess a pheasant but you have to wear a monkey suit.
[Scene shifts to a changing room. Light steps out to reveal her tuxedo. Rights, Low and Kain look on approvingly, but Bright is screeching from the pheasant he now resides.]
Kain: Low-hakase, may I dispute the sheer improbability of your so-called prophecy?
Low: Blame the writer of these prophecies. I only interpret them.
Rights: Wow! You look totally hot, Light!
[Light blushes.]
[Rights, Light, Kain and Bright slowly walk along a dark hallway. The only source of light is the end of said hallway, leading up to a stage.]
O5-12 (V.O.): Our enemy is the Daevite Onigishima Abyssal Naval Garrison. When you encounter the Daeva, enact Procedure 69-OKAYAMA immediately. Do not fail us now.
[The four doctors step into the light, with an auditorium filled with Daevite naval officers. Said Daevite officers give a standing ovulation to the four doctors, as a spotlight shines on them.]
Rights: What do we do now?
[Suddenly, the ghost of Momotaro appears before Rights. Only Rights can see it.]
Ghost of Momotaro: Just follow my lead… Wait, I'm a girl?

Even more previously on SCP The Anime, part 2!
Two men! One wish fulfilling device! Nothing else (including said wish fulfilling device) matters!
[SCP-239 stands in front of Neo-Site-19. She is escorted by two MTF agents, and handcuffed by them. She looks up at the black gritty building and smiles.]
Nobody (V.O.): GoIs, prepare. Here are the rules.
[Clef stands in front of the corpse of Fake Priest Buramo of the Holy MEKHANE Church. His left eye is stabbed, right arm amputated and Clef's knife is bloodied.]
Nobody (V.O.): Kill the competition.
[Clef runs from an avatar of Grand Karcist Ion of the Diseased Apostlic Ancestors in a narrow hallway.]
Nobody (V.O.): Survive.
[A door slides open to reveal SCP-239, with a shadow hanging over her. Closeup of 239's face, smiling at the unknown person.][Clef sheaths his Telekill knife.]
Queen of UN Tower cum Director of the Occult Association, D.C. al Fine (V.O.): The Council of 108 are in deadlock. Again. So do me this favour.
Clef: Of course, al Fine-chan.
[Kondraki kneels before SCP-239.]
Kondraki: I solemnly swear to secure the integrity of the War, contain all violators of the War, and protect you — the vessel.
[A mass of SCP-408 are congregating around Kondraki, forming additional duplicates of said doctor. Kondraki and his copies surround Clef, brandishing his weapon fearlessly.]
Clef: More Kon-chan for me!
[Clef skilfully dodges a barrage of bullets from Marshall Carter (using his Dark rifle), with all shots slowed down. As the shots resume normal speed, Clef has passed through Carter and ran ahead of him. Kondraki looks at the scene from a surveillance camera.]
Kondraki: Bring a katana to a gunfight.
[Clef opens a door to a cell, revealing a naked SCP-336. He closes it immediately, and turns to face the screen.]
Clef: Weekly fanservice~
[Clef lies on the floor, as Kondraki finally wrestles the Telekill knife away from him. Kondraki also carries a katana with him.]
Kondraki: Clef-san, can't you see? We need 239-chan. She can wish for a world without skips, a world we can live in peace. You and I.
[Closeup of Clef's hat dropping on the floor. Clef reveals the mass of extremely spiky hair underneath it. Static electricity builds up around Clef.]
Clef: Oh Kon-chan, do you despise me so much that you wish me to not exist?
[The surroundings shift, with walls and the floor melting into an off-white substance. Clef slowly stands up. Kondraki is losing his footing in the changing surroundings.]
Clef: UNLIMITED CHOWDER WOK!

But more so previously on SCP The Anime, part 1!
No one in Hiroshima expected Little Boy in August.
[It is a peaceful morning somewhere in North America. Site-19 is graced by the morning light and all is normal in the world. But suddenly, Site-19 mysteriously blows up in a mushroom cloud.]
[The O5 Council convenes at their table, debating with one another as usual.]
O5-3 Everyone-san, 19's gone. Although nobody died in the blast, including the SCPs and D-class.
O5-2: Three-san, what's with the Japanese honorific?
O5-3: Two-san, you're doing it too.
O5-1: Never mind the honorific! As for 19, we'll just rebuild.
[In the same land where Site-19 once stood, Neo-Site-19 stands. The building only looks more gritty, contrasting well with the lights at nighttime.]
O5-1 (V.O.): Given the highly public nature of recent anomalies, we will be reclassifying a significant portion of them as Explained.
[In Neo-Site-19, Gears and Iceberg are seated adjacent to each other. Both are typing on their respective computers, filling the air with typing sounds.]
Iceberg: Gears-senpai, is it just me or are the girls nowadays a bit tighter on the chest?
Gears: The average bust size of women worldwide has increased inexplicably, that's SCP-906090-EX.
[Iceberg's hand reaches out towards Gears' keyboard.]
Gears: Iceberg-san, what?
Iceberg: Senpai, I'll never let have those boob fiends touch you.
[Closeup of Iceberg's eye staring emptily on the screen.]
Iceberg: No… not even this.
[Blacks out. Sound of clashing metals.]

This is currently SCP the Anime, part 4! To conclude today's episode, a word from the screenwriter himself.

To bring our audience-sama up to speed with a series they know nothing about, we2 have taken the "liberty"3 of using a clip show of previous episodes' scripts. Do patronise us by watching the previous episodes here. This concludes today's episode of SCP The Anime. Bye-bye.

Footnotes
1. (often lowercase) any place that many people visit or hope to visit — Amerika English Dictionary
2. By "we", I mean "I" (singular). There's supposed to be the series creator, but he's quite hands-off. Heck, I never even met him!
3. Correction, we are I am on a tight budget and I'm too busy with late semester work to even hire animators or voice actors.


Leah Mauldin stood in front of the door, butterflies in her stomach. In her 9 years as Chief Financial Officer of Site-101, she had experienced many a challenge. Everything from a cat-turtle that ate all the dollar bills in the site vault, to a sentient computer virus hacking the site bank account, had happened under her watch. She thought she could handle anything. But all her training, all her experience, could not prepare her for her today.
For today was the day O5 command had assigned Dr. Clef as the new Site Director. Yes, Dr. Alto Clef, the man as infamous within to the Foundation as Satan himself, and believed by some to actually be Satan, was now her boss. He who nearly destroyed Site-19 and terminated numerous SCP objects all while carrying a ukulele, was now in charge of the place she had called a second home for the better part of a decade.
After taking a moment to prepare herself, she swiped her security card through the slot.
Beep!
She stood in anticipation for a few moments. Then a feminine voice was heard from a speaker in the card slot. “Come in please,” it said.
Leah stood confused for a moment. She wondered if someone else was in the room with him, then slowly opened the door. “Am I interrupting anything?” she asked sheepishly as she peeked inside. Sitting at the desk was a dark haired woman wearing a fedora, with a mandolin hung around her shoulders. The woman typed at her computer.
After a moment, the woman looked up. “Have a seat right there. You're Miss… uh Mauldin, right?”
“Um… I think this might be the wro…”
“Don't worry, contrary to what you've heard, I won't bite. Well, not unless you want me to. Now, you had a report to give me?”
Leah cautiously entered the office. She stared for a moment at the chair the woman had been pointing to, then sat down and placed her folder down on the desk. As the woman opened the folder and began to skim through it, Leah glanced at the name tag on the desk.
It read “Dr. Alto Clef”.
“So, pleasure to meet you, Miss Mauldin, I'm sure you know who I am,” the woman said, gesturing to the name tag, “According to this, Site-101 being investigated for… tax evasion?”
“Yes, that's what appears to be happening. Um, if you don't mind me asking though, I thought you were…”
“Taller?” Clef cut her off, “Yeah, I get that a lot. Anyways, Leah… Is it OK if I call you Leah?”
“Um, no, not at all. Do you mind if I call you…” she hesitated for a moment, “…Alto?”
“That's fine by me,” Clef continued, “Well, in regards to what we came here for; I think this whole thing should be easy to fix.”
“Oh, err, yes,” Leah sputtered out, “This isn't the first time this has happened. It's usually just a clerical error. All we need to do is…”
“Right, let's hitch a ride on the next flight to Area-55!”
With that, Dr, Alto Clef hurried out of the room, leaving Leah dumbfounded. A few moments later, she doubled back.
“You know you're coming with me, right? That's a Director's order.”

The chopping sound of the helicopter's blades was giving Leah a migraine.
“So, I just want to be clear on this,” Leah said as she rubbed her temples, “You think we can resolve this situation by legally registering Site-101 as a falcon?”
“Yup, a Grey Falcon to be exact. Since it's officially a vulnerable species, we should be able to get a tax credit that way.”
“And you plan on doing this by bringing a highly aggressive SCP, an avian SCP, to Site-101, by helicopter?”
“Exactly, the tax guys will need some proof.”
“And you don't think that's a little risky?”
“Well, you're right, the Grey Falcon isn't endemic to the United States, but I don't think that will be too much of a problem.”
“Actually I was referring to… never mind.”
If anything, Leah had no remaining doubts that the other woman was indeed Dr. Clef.
“Um, OK, Alto, I was wondering something about your, uh, your…”
“My eyes?” she said quickly, “Oh, yeah, my eyes aren't really two different colors, it's just that one of my pupils has been stuck closed since I was a kid, so that eye looks lighter than the other.”
“That wasn't what I… wait, really?”
“Yeah, it's sort of like David Bowie's eyes. Man, I still can't get over him.”
“Heh, yeah.” Leah remarked, holding her head.
“Still, Blackstar was a great album.” Clef suddenly smiled widely, “Hey speaking of that, do you think some music will help with that headache of yours?”
“Um, I don't…”
Clef was already strumming her mandolin.
“In the villa of Ormen… in the villa of Ormen… stands a solitary candle…”

In an aircraft hanger at Area-55, several Class-D's were working to secure hooks around a giant bird. Containment Specialist Nick Magnus stood outside, talking to the two people who were responsible for the operation.
“So you both want to move SCP-1387 to Site-101 because you're being investigated for tax fraud?”
“Look,” Leah was quick to add, “It's her idea.”
“Right,” Dr. Clef added, “I want to make Site-101 legally a falcon, for tax purposes.”
“Yeah boy, he said the thing!” a Class-D yelled from inside the hanger.
Nick turned around and gave an annoyed look, then looked back at Leah and Clef.
“Look, I've been working with that damn bird for years, and in my opinion, this is a dumb idea.”
Leah sighed loudly. “Yes, that's what I've been saying all day! It's impractically dangerous.”
“Oh, I agree,” Nick continued, “You want to register the site as a falcon, but 1387 is a giant seagull.”
Leah's jaw dropped.
“That's fine,” Clef responded, “These are tax collectors, not ornithologists. I don't think it's going to be an issue.”
Leah's jaw fell even lower.
A scream was heard from within the hanger followed by a splat, and then another scream.
“Hold on,” Nick said as he turned around and walked back into the building.
“Hun, close your mouth before a bug flies in,” Clef teased.
Leah took a moment to regain her composure. She cleared her throat before speaking.
“Right, um, Alto, in all seriousness, there's something I've been wondering about all day.”
“Hmm? What is it?”
“Well, I know this might be a bit awkward for me to inquire about, but…” Leah gestured to Clef's chest, “How exactly did that happen?”
“Oh!” Clef said emphatically, “That's what you've been so confused about!”
“Yes, I've been wondering about it all day!”
“Well, since you're so curious, I bought this shirt at this really nice store in Baltimore.”
Leah's mouth dropped again, wider than ever before.
“They give you a discount for coming in with a musical instrument, so I got it for a bargain too.”
Leah said nothing as Nick walked back outside.
“Alright, the skip is secured, and the chopper is ready to go. I'll arrange another one to take you guys back, but first I need to call down a clean up crew to deal with what's left of D-49687.”
About 30 meters away, a heavy lift helicopter started its engines. The blades began to rotate, slowly at first, then gradually faster until they were a blur. Finally, after about a minute, the aircraft lifted off, a rope attached to the bottom.
Ever so slowly, the giant bird tied to the other end was dragged out of the hanger, squirming the whole time. The rope was pulled steeper and steeper, until it was vertical. Then, 1387 was gently lifted into the air.
It was a sight to behold. The Class-D's all shuffled out of the hanger to watch as spectacle.
Snap!
Then the rope broke, and the 20 meter long seagull plunged to the ground. The Class-D's all screamed before being crushed under the weight of the falling bird.
1387 was still for a moment, before shaking itself free of the remaining rope.
Leah was terrified, frozen in place as she watched the creature begin running towards the perimeter fence, wings flapping.
Oh god, it's going to fly out! she thought. She glanced at the others. They seemed unrealistically calm.
1387 jumped into the air, about to fly over the electrified fence. It gracefully flew for a moment, seemingly free at last…
…then crashed down into the fence, writhing for a few moments as it was electrified, then laid down stunned.
“What? But… how?” Leah muttered.
“Well, good thing we clip that thing's wings every month, eh?” Nick said nonchalantly.

“It's a damn shame that didn't work, but I suppose it will make a good story back at 101, right?” Clef said as she patted Leah on the shoulder.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I guess the clean up crew has their work cut out for them. Hopefully Magnus won't have any issues getting that thing back in its hanger OK.”
“I'm sure he'll be fine.”
“Well, either way, we still have this whole tax evasion thing to deal with.”
“Like I said earlier, it's probably just a clerical error. I'll get it sorted out when we get back."
As if on cue, a helicopter landed outside, ready to take Leah back home.
“Well, when you get back,” Clef said, “It was nice to meet you Ms. Mauldin, but I think I'm going to stay here and let you go on ahead without me.”
“Wait, aren't you needed back on site? You're the new Director.”
Clef let out a small laugh. “Oh, that was just probationary. After today you'll have someone a bit more normal as your boss.”
Leah was dumbfounded for a moment. Then, she leaped for the door.
“FREEDOM!”
“Wait a minute, Leah.”
Leah stopped in the doorway and turned back towards Clef.
“I can't let you leave just like that. Besides, didn't you have something you still wanted to ask me?”
Leah was about to speak, but like many other times that day, she was cut off.
“You've been trying to ask me all day why I'm in the body of woman. Well, I suppose I've stalled enough. To make a long story short, there was an incident with SCP-113. That's the reason I'm on probation, by the way.”
Leah stood for a moment, then said, “Alright, but that wasn't what I was wondering actually.”
“Oh, really? Huh, I thought that was kinda the elephant in the room.”
“No, I was wondering why you have a mandolin instead of a ukulele.”
Clef giggled.
“That's just because the author has a boner for mandolins.”