Excerpt from a communication over the Foundation sIRCp network between Senior Legal Consultant Sheldon Katz (nickname skatz) and Senior Researcher Harold Graham (nickname maninthecomputer):

skatz: you wanted to talk?
maninthecomputer: yes how's your day?
skatz: it's going well so far, if you want to know, though I doubt that's why you flagged me down
maninthecomputer: i've got an assignment for you, if you're up for it
skatz: okay? do you need me to look at something?
maninthecomputer: No, it's more of an infiltration
maninthecomputer: By any chance, have you been briefed on the Judge's Yellow Court?
skatz: no
skatz: and i'm not really a field agent?
* maninthecomputer has uploaded file goi-344-judge-s-yellow-court.html
maninthecomputer: Don't worry, it's nothing hard.
maninthecomputer: Have you read the file yet?
skatz: So it's a court?
maninthecomputer: Yes.
skatz: What am I doing?
maninthecomputer: They're looking for a new lawyer. It's more of a kangaroo court thing, but it's their MO to look at least barely presentable.
maninthecomputer: We've got some undercover agents in already, but we need someone who knows the law to get into their inner circle.
skatz: Alright.
skatz: But wouldn't they have some kind of alternate-universe law where they control everything?
maninthecomputer: They do.
* maninthecomputer has uploaded file goi-344-known-policies-and-laws.docx
  WARNING: DOCUMENT EXCEEDS 50MB IN SIZE
skatz: wow
skatz: You want me to memorize this whole thing?
maninthecomputer: Yes. Might take a day or two.
skatz: I'll have it done by midnight.

Shock sat on the cold floor of the windowless steel prison cell. It smelled like mildew and stale piss, and didn't have as much as a bed, let alone a decent place to sit. It wasn't like Shock had a choice, anyways, as she had been chained to the wall by her ankle.
A short beep sounded as the door to the cell opened, revealing the familiar sight of the prison guard in green, metallic armor, who checked on her every few hours to give her food and water to make sure she didn't starve to death.
"Your trial is tomorrow, Shock," the guard said in his usual deep voice that reminded Shock of the reverberation of a metal plate hit by a rock. "You'll want to prepare."
Shock turned and showed him her bare teeth as she growled. She considered flipping him off for effect, but decided against it.
The guard set the plate down in front of the door before closing it. Shock moved to the plate and began to eat the shit that this place called food. Every time she opened her mouth, she instinctively felt the roof of it with her tongue to make sure the small laser ray that she'd smuggled into the court was still there. At this point, the thought of shooting the Judge through his head with the laser was the only thing keeping her sane.

GoI-344 ("The Judge's Yellow Court") is a group of mercenaries masquerading as a freelance law enforcement group. GoI-344 has a full militarized police force, a courtroom, a prison of some kind, and access to multiversal travel technology. Although GoI-344 often operates of its own accord, evidence suggests that it had operated at the behest of other Groups of Interest in the past.
However, it is believed that the true motive of GoI-344 is to capture and imprison civilians under the pretense of its "laws," then ransom them at high prices using "bail." One of GoI-344's major values is the illegality of the anomalous, and is known to be in the possession of SCP-████, SCP-███-A, and at least one member of SCP-████.
GoI-344 is primarily operated by PoI-1344 ("The Judge"), an entity who is believed to possess high-level ontokinetic abilities. GoI-344 is headquartered aboard "The Judge's Courtroom," a large spaceship that contains most, if not all, of GoI-344's operations.

Bill sat on the barstool in the darkly-lit central judge's lounge, thinking to himself, how did I get here? He remembered getting his certification in law, and his parents hugging him and telling him that they were proud, and helping folks out in his first court cases. Then he got offered some off-shore job for twice his salary, and he took it without thinking. Now, he was stuck in an endless loop aboard this ship, "winning" cases for clients that were already damned from the start. He hadn't heard from his family in years.
Yeah, he was filthy rich, but what good was that when he couldn't even leave this damn ship!
Suddenly, the lights came on, and Bill saw an older man in a traditional business suit and briefcase standing in the doorway. By the looks of it, he was just as surprised as Bill was.
"Oh, hey, um, sport, mate," Bill said. Shit, can he hear the slur in my voice? I'll get my ass kicked if the Judge finds out I've been drinking on the job. "Um, sorry, I forgot ya' name, mate. Could ya', y'know…"
"It's Katz," the man replied, "Sheldon Katz." He walked over to the bar and poured himself a martini. "Could I ask you what you're doing here?"
Bill realized that Katz could clearly see the glass holding half of the fizz he'd just downed. He tried to hide it with his hand. "Could… Could I ask you the same question, partner?"
"I'm better at defending when I'm tipsy," replied Katz, sipping the martini, "Noah Sweat once said that wine was the oil of conversation."
"S-Sorry, but didn't Plato—" Bill began before he stopped himself, remembering that the new kid came from an alternate universe. Bill tried to stand up, but spilled what was left of his fizz on his suit.
"Ah, shit," said Bill, "I think that's gonna, uh, gonna look bad in the court. I think I'll go and, um, clean it off."
"Stay safe out there," replied Katz.
As Bill left, he didn't see Katz pour his martini down the drain, nor did he see him take a medium-sized device out of his briefcase and attach it to the bottom-side of the bar.

Shock awoke to the familiar sight opening the door to her cell. This time, he was accompanied by two other guards.
"Your trial is commencing," said the guard, in his usual grating, metal voice. "The Judge will decide your fate."
As the guard took his key and unchained her from the wall, Shock thought about spitting out her weapon, shooting the three guards, and making a break for it. Unfortunately, she knew that there were several more guards in the facility, some armed with rifles that would turn her to pulp with their fire rate alone. Besides, she didn't want to just kill the measly guards; she wanted to kill the Judge himself.
She would just have to bide her time. The guards escorted her at gunpoint out of the cell and to the courtroom.

Sheldon Katz couldn't tell whether the tension in the courtroom was high due to the massive crowd of people present in the stadium-sized courtroom, or the potentially omnipotent reality bender sitting right next to him. Katz had only seen the Judge himself a few times, even during the interviewing process, but now the Judge, sitting in his gleaming green armor with lots of sharp points and spikes, seemed to tower over the entire room. His armor covered all but his worn, red-skinned face, who had the composition and beard of an older man.
Across from him, on the prosecutor's side, was Bill, the drunkard he had encountered while he was setting up the device in the bar room. Katz could still see the wet spot on his suit where he spilled his alcohol.
Katz looked out to the audience. Graham had asserted that at least three members of the audience were undercover agents who would open fire on the Judge and his men when he gave the signal.
"All rise!" said the Judge in a booming voice that seemed to reverberate throughout the room, "the Yellow Court is now in session. The Judge is presiding. Be seated." The people rose and fell at the Judge's command.
"Calling the case of the Judge's Yellow Court versus Shock." On cue, three guards marched Katz' defendant into the room: the dog-girl in the neon yellow prison suit.
After Shock had been marched in, the Judge turned to Katz. "Are both sides ready?" he inquired.
"Ready for the defense, your honor." replied Katz.
"R-ready for the, um, prosecution, honor." replied Bill with a slur in his voice.
As the Judge swore in the jury, who Katz knew to be there only for the show, he examined Shock. She, or SCP-4799-1, as she was designated by the Foundation, looked at Katz with a certain level of distrust. She held her head down, and seemed to avoid eye contact. She put her hand over her mouth and coughed. Katz couldn't tell whether or not it was a signal.
The Judge finished swearing in the jury, and turned back to the audience. "The defendant has been charged with the crime of intruding upon the territory of the Yellow Court and bringing their anomalies there. The prosecuting attorney may now speak."
"Thanks, Judge," replied Bill, a noticeable slur in his voice. He walked over to the evidence table, containing several trinkets that looked advanced. Katz was never a technology person; he didn't know what they did.
"As you can clearly see by the evidence," Bill continued, "the dog— Shock, I mean— brought these things into our territory, a clear violation of the law. For example, this thing—" Bill picked up something that looked like a coin, "—can do this!" Bill pressed a button on the top of the coin, and it projected a three-dimensional, holographic image of a cube. Bill pressed the button again, demanifesting the cube. "I rest my case."
"Stop touching my fucking stuff," Katz heard Shock mutter under her breath.
"Thank you, thank you," said Bill, and he wobbled over back to his seat. Katz found himself somewhat annoyed at the obvious drunkenness.
The Judge turned to Katz and Shock. "The defending attorney may now speak."
"Thank you, your honor," said Katz, standing up. Before he spoke, he looked to the Judge, who seemed to be eagerly awaiting his response. Earlier, he'd been made to memorize a script, where he would essentially admit that he had no good defense and that Shock deserved to be in prison. However, he had a different plan.
"My defendant is innocent because she never brought any anomalies into Yellow Court territory," he stated.
This was met with some murmuring over the crowd and the jury. Bill looked at him with some suspicion, Shock looked at him with confusion, and even the Judge raised an eyebrow at him. Katz continued.
"As per the Judge of the Yellow Court's Code of Law, Chapter 5, Section 1.2, 'anomalies' are defined as 'any object, person, or phenomena that can be considered paranormal.' But 'paranormal' is defined relatively to a baseline 'normal' behavior. Chapter 2, Section 5.5 states that the Yellow Court is a multidemensional entity of law.
"Now, across the multiverse, there is no real baseline in 'normal' behavior. Some universes have completely different physical laws than the others. One man's toaster might be another man's futuristic bread heating device. These devices that my defendant brought in are perfectly normal things in other universes. Therefore, as my defendant did not break Chapter 3, Section 4.3, Policy A5, as the prosecuting attorney says, she is innocent."
This was met with a glare from the Judge. Katz held his hand over the button on his belt, ready to press it in response to the impending tirade. However, the Judge simply turned to Bill. Katz saw the drunken confusion fade away to drunken fear.
"Do you have any objections to that, Bill?" he asked.
Bill quickly snapped to attention. "Uh, objection! Obviously, there is a baseline, and this crosses it. If you gave this… stuff, to a civilian, what would they think of it?"
"Depends, a civilian from which universe?" Katz replied, "and there is no defined baseline in the Code of Law. Under your definition, many things could be considered 'anomalies.' Could we call fire an anomaly? Could we call this ship an anomaly? Could we even call the Judge himself an anomaly, by his own definition."
"Might I remind you, Lawyer Katz, of Chapter 1, Section 1," yelled the Judge in his booming voice, "the Judge's word is law, and all the words are of the Judge. These trinkets that the dog have brought into my territory are anomalies simply because I say they are anomalies!"
Katz turned to face the Judge, and had to suppress no small amount of instinctive fear from having the man tower over him. "Well, sir, how do we know, precisely, you are an anomaly?" Katz hovered his hand over the button on his belt, ready to press it.
The Judge still stared into Katz' soul, with fury in his eyes, begging to escape. "Are you implying that I'm an anomaly, you… you— you fucking ruined my court case! I swear to the fucking Paragon, I'll have you—"
The Judge was interrupted by Shock unpalming the laser device and firing it at him. She hit him in the eye, and he threw his hands over it and bellowed a raging roar that made the ground vibrate.
"YOU. FUCKING. TRAITORS!" he yelled.
This isn't going well, thought Katz, finally pressing the button on his belt.
Just before the Judge unleashed some kind of attack, the room gained a blue hue, and he uselessly waved his arms at Shock and Katz. They both instinctively ducked, but found themselves unharmed. The metal guards that lined the room fell to pieces. The Judge looked on in surprise.
"WHY CAN'T I FUCKING DESTROY YOU‽" the Judge yelled, his voice not so threatening anymore.

PROJECT PROPOSAL: Eisen-Simpson
LEVEL 4/████ CLEARANCE REQUIRED

GoI-344 ("The Judge's Yellow Court") has been designated a Beta-level threat as of ██/██/████. Therefore, it has become necessary to neutralize it. It is in the Foundation's means to effectively destroy GoI-344.
The Foundation already has multiple cover agents regularly attending GoI-344's trial events. Senior Legal Consultant Sheldon Katz will be inserted into GoI-344's operations and memorize GoI-344's code of law. Consultant Katz will then use his position to place a Scranton Reality Anchor in the depths of GoI-344's base of operations and set it to operate at 0.3x production to mildly hinder PoI-1344's reality manipulation capabilities.
Once Consultant Katz is able to become involved in a trial, he will purposely attempt to anger PoI-1344 in order to trigger a partial rage state1. Once Katz has determined that PoI-1344 has reached a partial rage state, he will remotely trigger the Scranton Reality Anchor to begin operating at full capacity, effectively preventing PoI-1344 from preforming Type-Green Reality Bending. At this point, cover agents will terminate PoI-1344 with small arms fire.
In addition, the FSF Delivery will be stationed outside of GoI-1344's mothership, with appropriate recontainment personnel in order to secure anomalous artifacts aboard the ship… and to escort all personnel involved, including Consultant Sheldon Katz, The spaceship will be later brought to Site-44 for scavenging and potential use in Project Caliber.

Footnotes
1. From The Art of Ontokinetics, by Dr Alto Clef: "You see, you can be angry. You can be so angry, that you forget everything and just snap. Or you can be completely calm. But there's a little island somewhere in the middle, and that's what I call a 'partial rage state.' For some reason, reality benders become really destructive when they're in the territory of 'anger', but in a partial rage state, they're more easily subdued. It's like a little uncanny valley on the 'when should I kill the reality bender' spectrum" (Clef, p. 293).

An explosion sounded throughout the room, presumably from the FSF Delivery destroying what was left of the fleet surrounding the ship. Katz stood up, and saw the three agents in the crowd in combat with the Judge, unloading their rifles on him. Without his reality-bending abilities, the Judge had resorted to throwing objects at his enemies. Which was still fatal; the remainder of the crowd had already panicked and fled.
Katz saw Shock getting out of the booth and running away. He began to follow her, but was interrupted by a strong hand grabbing the back of his suit. The Judge lifted him off the ground and pinned him in front of his body. Looking up, Katz could see the Judge's angry expression and lack of a right eyeball.
"NOBODY MOVES OR TRAITOR BOY HERE GETS IT!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, grasping the top of Katz' head with his other hand. The agents stopped firing and began to talk to eachother about what to do. If only I had my revolver… Katz thought. His revolver was currently locked in his briefcase, which he had dropped on the floor.
"HERE ARE MY DEMANDS!" the Judge bellowed, "FIRST, TURN OFF WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU'RE DOING TO THE SHIP. SECOND, I DEMAND THREE TRILLION—"
Shock fired a laser from around the corner, taking out some of Katz' hair and the Judge's remaining eyeball. He dropped Katz to the ground and screamed, covering his eyes with his hands. The agents continued their fire on the Judge. Explosions still sounded outside.
Katz scrambled over to his briefcase and took out his shiny .45 Colt Bentline revolver.
"Wait, is that a revolver?" Shock shouted over the chaos. "I think I can take him with it. Can you give me it?"
Katz considered his options. He could fire the revolver himself at the Judge, have a good chance at missing and only angering him, and only pester the man who was currently tanking hundreds of bullets. Or, he could give the revolver to Shock, and face the chance of betrayal. Considering his options, he handed the revolver to Shock.
Shock took her laser device, and put it inside the revolver. After some most likely irreversible changes to the revolver's core, she aimed it and fired a gleaming green bolt that took off the Judge's head. After that, his body fell to the ground.
Katz and Shock spent a good amount of time looking around in shock. Katz reached back and felt the damage that the Judge had done to his suit. He had made a large tear when he had picked him up. That might take a few weeks of stitching, Katz thought to himself. Luckily, he knew a suit guy.
The moment of peace was interrupted by the ship's crumbling. The Judge must have manifested it himself; the ship began to fade away. Katz remembered the open, empty vacuum of space that had surrounded the ship, and he wished that he could hold his breath longer.
"I— my ship's probably, probably still on here!" Shock yelled over the crumbling. "I think, we can't take everybody, but, well, as a sort of 'good faith' thing, I can—"
The ship suddenly demanifested, revealing that they were standing in a blue bubble in the middle of space. Everybody— Katz, Shock, the agents, and the remaining viewers— looked surprised. Katz turned around to see the FSF Delivery, with Senior Researcher Graham at the helm.
He spoke into a microphone. "Hey there, Katz!" he yelled, "O5-6 didn't really want me to reveal this tech yet, but it looks like I came at the right time!"

END-INCIDENT REPORT

Project Eisen-Simpson was executed on ██/██/██. The Scranton Reality Anchor was successfully planted in its location, and Consultant Katz successfully escalated PoI-1344 to a partial rage state. However, SCP-4799-1, who was present at the the trial, assaulted PoI-1344 with an energy weapon, propelling him into a rage state and lowering the effectiveness of the Scranton Reality Anchor. However, with assistance from SCP-4799-1, MTF Beta-9 ("Cover Dogs") was able to terminate PoI-1344 successfully.
This resulted in the atomic decay of GoI-344's spaceship. Senior Researcher Graham, who was staffing the FSF Delivery at the time, employed presently classified prototype technology to save the agents, as well as most important SCP objects and assets.
Consultant Katz was determined to have suffered minor fractures during the incident, and has requested to be transferred to Site-22 for rehabilitation and to assist the Legal Department in its duties.
SCP-4799-1 has been transferred to containment at Site-17. However, for the reason they she had assisted Beta-9 in the neutralization of GoI-344, she has been given Class-V Humanoid Containment Accommodations. Other SCP objects have been transferred to Site-44 for further analysis.

« | SCP Original Character Tournament -- notgull's Entries | The Scent of a Toaster »
This was written for the SCP Original Character Tournament, in a matchup with Shock by me and Sheldon Katz, by spikebrennan.
spikebrennan also made a pretty cool tale for the contest, and I'd highly recommend checking it out if you liked this!

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Somewhere in Site-19…

Agent Diego sits and weeps inside a bathroom stall.
"And that, my friend," the crudely drawn figure informs her, "is why. The truth is written as clear as day on your expression: She was always going to leave. It was never the job. It was never the hours. It certainly wasn't the money. No, it was you. It was always you. And you know that, don't you?"
"It's true," Agent Diego sobs. "It's — oh, god — p-pardon me." She reaches for the roll of toilet paper, tearing off a sheet to blow her nose with. The 2-dimensional drawing she's talking with bobs out of the way, hopping along the wall's surface.
"No worries, friend," Carlos tells her. "Take your time. The extent of your failure is quite a lot to take in."
Snnnnrrrrrrkt! "God, I just — I just can't believe that — I can't believe she's really left me, this time. I —"
"Yes, yes. Well, I am certain that it had nothing to do with your unwillingness to give her the attention she needs and deserves," Carlos continues. "That being said, you really ought to —"
"Heed the call of adventure!"
Agent Diego and Carlos snap to attention. The voice belongs to neither; it is a bright, forceful, masculine tenor.
Carlos scrunches up. "Who — pardon me? Who said — "
The door to the stall is cleaved from its hinges by a razor-sharp edge of steel, then tossed aside. The man responsible is lithe and crooked, with a curly beard and mustache peppered with salt. His eyes blaze with a furious inner vision. He is clad in crude makeshift armor assembled from pots, pans, and the near-surgical application of duct-tape. The tip of his sword points beneath Agent Diego's chin.
When he speaks, his voice thunders. It is an avalanche descending upon her head.
"Lady Angela Diego. Duchess of the Newer York. Knight of the Foundation; fearless rider of the Toyota Scion. Wielder of the fabled Beretta M9. Undefeated champion of Norwood Elementary's 7th Grade Spelling Bee. Your many deeds are known to me. I am Don Quixote de la Mancha — here to deliver upon thee a quest of upmost peril. Come; the call of adventure beckons!"
Agent Diego stares up at him, slack-jawed. Carlos leaps up along the wall. His figure briefly contracts into a dozen zig-zagging anger-lines. "Hello, friend! You are interrupting a very private and very delicate counseling session. On top of that, this is the lady's restroom, so if you could be so kind —"
"Stay thy tongue, demonic drawing. The call of adventure cares not for gendered toiletries." Don Quixote swings. His sword carves through a portion of the bathroom stall, lopping off a chunk of it like styrofoam. Carlos springs back, narrowly dodging.
"I — I don't — hi. Hello. I just came in here to poop," Agent Diego says, still struggling to understand the sequence of events that led to this confrontation. "Can I, uh, can I do that, first? Can, uh, the call to adventure wait for that?"
Don Quixote considers this, then nods: "So be it. The call to adventure shall wait for thee to put thy private affairs in order." He sheathes his sword, steps aside, and walks away to face a nearby wall.
Carlos immediately springs up off the bathroom stall and charges along the room's tiles, rushing round to the wall the madman is facing. His usual soft lines have become jagged, serrated edges. His entire form spasms with furious contractions: "I beg your pardon, friend —"
"Thou art no friend of mine, inked imp."
"Right, right. Listen. You can't just come in here and — hey." Carlos' lines go from jagged to smooth. He expands outward, wrapping that pleasant, knowing smile across his face. "You look like a guy who could use a little advice, yourself."
"I will take no counsel from Satan's scribble. Begone."
"Just by taking a look at you, I can see a lot. You look like the kind of person who fixates on old stories of adventure and romance as an attempt to push aside your insecurities, ignoring reality as it truly is. Maintaining that level of perpetual delusion must be taxing on your psychological state. You have my sympathies, really."
"I said begone, cursed cartoon."
"I mean, we both know that real knights were often petty, tyrannical brutes who ruled over their fiefdoms with cruelty and violence. I can't imagine how hard is to keep pretending like all those romantic tales of chivalry have any sort of correlation to reality."
"You try my patience, sinister sketch!"
"Everything from your projection of giants on windmills to your absurd belief that being tapped on the shoulder by an innkeeper makes you some sort of knight — it all screams 'midlife crisis'. But it's a midlife crisis that you've been having for centuries, now! It must be so tiring to maintain this ridiculous charade," he cheerfully continues. "I mean, you've never even met that weird ugly peasant girl, Dulcinea — "
Carlos stops mid-sentence.
Something happened at the mention of Dulcinea. At that instant, Don Quixote's anger evaporated. What has replaced it is utterly indescribable — and terrifying.
Don Quixote speaks with nary more than a whisper:
"Pray tell, devilish doodle. Art thou familiar with the work of the renowned scribe, Harlan Ellison?"

The toilet flushes. Agent Diego emerges and washes her hands. After she's done, she pauses a moment to dab her eyes with a paper towel.
"Okay," she says, turning to Don Quixote. "So, I don't know what this adventure thing is about, but what the hell. I'm still recovering from a break-up. I need a goddamn distraction. I'll hear you out."
Don Quixote turns from the wall to face her. He swiftly stuffs a felt-tip marker back into his belt. "Splendid. We are off, then!"
"Where's that weird little creepy doodle thing?"
"He had other matters to attend to."
Agent Diego scowls. She tilts her head to peek behind Don Quixote, but the self-proclaimed Man of la Mancha swiftly tilts his torso to obstruct her view. She rolls her eyes and shrugs.
"Whatever. Let's do this. I've got vacation days built up anyway."
"Excellent. Onward — to glory, we go!"

Five minutes later, Dr. Troncalli steps in to use the bathroom. Half-way through washing her hands, she notices something on the wall.
"Whoa. Creepy, but cool." She finishes drying her hands, pulls out her phone, then snaps a picture of it. "Somebody's got talent."
It's not every day you see a life-like doodle straight off the cover of I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream.

Next: Down with the Sickness


Grin And Bear It || Anomalous Teens Against Trilobite Schemes »

"Congratulations, Junior Researcher Kim," said Coles. "You're on babysitter duty."
Junior Researcher Benedict Kim looked up from the towering stack of paperwork on his desk. Dr. Coles was making a face like he was holding a frog in his mouth, which typically meant that he was trying not to laugh.
"Babysitting?"
"The authorization just came through for 3009's big field trip. Kind of. And you get to supervise!"
Oh. Benedict grimaced. It was tough being the primary point of contact for an anomalous Snapchat account with the personality of a uniquely irritating fifteen-year-old girl. Honestly, Benedict regretted his admission of relative familiarity with the Snapchat software more and more with each passing day.
It was no wonder that Coles was acting as if his birthday had come early. A week prior, their research team had put in a request for authorization to take 3009 on monthly supervised "morale-boosting social expeditions", and Coles had been chortling over the idea ever since.
Right on cue, Benedict's phone buzzed on his desk. He ignored it with an ease honed by weeks of practice.
Coles did not. "Aren't you going to get that?"
Benedict sighed and flipped over his phone. He flinched.
The screen was already on. He had received a grand total of five hundred and thirty two unread messages since noon that day, seven of which were from the past three minutes.
3009

ZOO
Z O O
ZOOOOOOOOO
take me out take me out take me out 😢
BENNY PLS IM SO BORED
don't you want me to be less annoying???
🐶 🐱 🐭 🦁 🐰 🐹 🐻 🐼

"Well? How many texts did it send this time?"
The pinched expression on Benedict's face said it all.
"Oh, lighten up! Maybe it'll finally stop with the spam messages, now that we're giving it something to do."
Benedict set down the phone and deftly changed the subject. He'd handle it… later.
"What did you mean, kind of?"
Coles laughed out loud. "Oh, they rejected the whole zoo thing flat out. Too many civilians — they think you might lose one of the SCP-3009-B phones and cause another headache for the Amnestics Department. We compromised in the end. You're supposed to take the damn thing to Wilson's Wildlife Solutions instead for a guided tour with… Alex Molina, I think?"
"Got it. Authorisation went through for both of them? The 3009-C humanoid too?"
Coles shook his head. "Just the account. Higher-ups responded pretty well to your argument about how there's no chance of it escaping now that we've got its log-in details, and the irrelevance of the actual location of the phone. The humanoid, on the other hand, might get mauled by a lion or something."
Though this was sound reasoning, Benedict thought it was unfortunate nonetheless. 3009-C was much more in need of morale-boosting than 3009 was, considering it had barely left its bed in weeks. "When?"
"I told them tomorrow was best for you."
And there it was. The real kick in the nuts.
Damn it, Coles.
Sunday was supposed to be his day off.

"…and, I mean, with the penguins? Pretty out there, right?"
Alex Molina of the Wilson's Wildlife Solutions Terrestrial Team had greeted Benedict with a shockingly explosive high-five at the start of their guided tour, immediately launched into an anecdote about his Uncle Nico's pet dog, and hadn't stopped talking since.
The overall effect was a bit like getting pelted in the face by sonic bullets, if the bullets were being fired out of an automatic gun with a big, bristly moustache that twitched like an enormous caterpillar on his upper lip with every word.
"Uh-huh," said Benedict, trying to hide behind his cellphone like it was a shield. It really was a blessing in disguise that he needed to send Molina's monologue to 3009 in ten-second intervals. It meant, after all, that Benedict had an excuse to put a buffer between himself and this animal-loving, anecdote spewing whirlwind of a man.
The armoured suitcase he was dragging along behind him jerked violently, one wheel catching on a crack in the pavement.
Benedict winced. The suitcase contained the cellphone with the 3009 account installed on it, and he'd be in some real hot water if anything happened to it. He was only in his second year of working at the Foundation, and his shiny new postdoctorate in developmental psychology wouldn't protect him from the wrath of the Foundation higher-ups.
"Anyway, we're coming right up to Enclosure 8, home to an amazingly talented bear named Maya! Maya is a little shy, but she's a lovely girl, really. A wonderful dancer, and singer too, though she doesn't do that often. Do you smoke, by the way?"
"Smoke? Ah, no, I—"
Immediately, a string of push notifications flashed across the top of Benedict's phone screen with dizzying speed.
3009

omggg make a bear pun!!
wait
did he just say the bear sings??

"—can't, um, bear smoking."
A long silence ensued as Molina stared at him, broken only by the vibrations as Benedict's phone went off again and again. Benedict stared resolutely at the ground.
3009

AHAHHAA omg you actually did it
you're the BEAR-st, benny!! 🔥🐻👌

Finally, Molina laughed, a little weakly.
"Ah, well, that's good. She steals cigarettes, sometimes, that's all. I'll take you in to see her now. She's very shy around new people, though, so let's try not to disturb her too much, okay?"
"Yeah," muttered Benedict, as they wandered in through the doors onto a walkway that stretched out above the bear enclosure. Down below, an enormous brown bear lay stretched out below a tree, basking in the sun. At the sound of their footsteps, it cracked one eye open to peer cautiously at them.
3009

wow, she's big!!

"Good-looking bear," said Benedict, a little awkwardly. It was hard to know how to comment adequately on a bear. To be honest, he wasn't even sure what a bad looking bear would look like.
Still, that seemed to be the correct response, because Molina grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Y'think? We had hell of a time getting her this healthy, you know. Maya was in a sorry state when we picked her up. Abused by the carnival, I think."
"Oh. That's terrible."
They lapsed into silence once more, both now watching the bear. Maya, seeming to sense eyes on her, got to her feet and padded over to a small pool to lap at the water. It felt oddly like she was making a studious attempt to ignore them.
"Well," said Molina. "Should I take you to the next enclosure?"
A notification. 3009 had an opinion on this, apparently.
3009

no way!!!
she's not singing
can we stay till she sings??? 🙈

"We'll stay for a little longer, I think."
Molina shrugged. "Okay," he said, and gestured to a small office at the end of the walkway. "I have some paperwork to do so I'll just nip into my office for a bit. I'll be able to see you out the window, so let me know if you need me, okay?"
"Sure," said Benedict, and with that settled, Molina wandered off.
Left alone and feeling slightly ridiculous, Benedict continued filming the bear doing, well… bear-like things. It finished drinking from the pool and then padded over to a tree, apparently to inspect the bark.
Can it really sing and dance? It seemed like a perfectly normal bear to Benedict. But maybe it just had no need to show off its anomalous abilities, now that it was taken care of here in captivity.
Thinking about the bear started Benedict out on a curious train of thought. Why on earth had 3009 made such an abominable nuisance of itself for something as minor as a "field trip"? It had been largely cooperative with their team so far. Hadn't it expressly stated that it needed them to return it to its "original body"? The logic didn't add up.
He hesitated, fingers hovering over his keyboard as he tried to imagine himself prying answers out of an evasive 3009. It wasn't a pleasant mental image. 3009 could be as slippery as a barrel of vaseline-covered eels when it wanted to be, and even when it was making an effort to be compliant, Benedict struggled to cope with its personality.
It would be so much easier to just let the matter drop, wait for the bear to do something interesting, and then return home with 3009 placated.
But Benedict Kim just wasn't the type of person capable of doing that. Like it or not, this was a project he had been assigned to, and he would take it seriously.
Inhaling deeply through his nose, he typed out a text.
Me

So. What's the real reason that we're here?

The reply video came in an instant.
"What do you mean?" said 3009. The girl in the video cocked her head in apparent confusion. She looked innocent. Too innocent. If 3009 wanted to ham things up even further, "Stacey Lee" would have to start fluttering her eyelashes and threatening to faint.
"You didn't drag us out here because you were bored. You got what you wanted. What's your motive?"
He'd exceeded the ten-second time limit for Snapchat videos with his question, and it had ended up being split into two separate videos. Privately, Benedict cursed Snapchat and its creators. It really was an abomination of modern technology.
Alarmingly, the bear in the enclosure below was now looking up at him, as if it could understand what he was saying and had recognised that the mood had changed. Could it do something like that? Did it possess sapience as well as anomalous performing art skills?
3009's reply message was an infinite loop of Stacey Lee rolling her eyes, which Benedict recognised as a somewhat transparent effort to deflect. Time to play hardball.
"Don't do that," said Benedict into his phone. "Explain, or I'll have the authorisation for these outings revoked."
He didn't actually have that power, of course, but 3009 didn't know that. His phone stayed suspiciously silent — it wasn't responding. Was that a good sign or a bad sign?
He stared at the bear instead, in an effort to distract himself from his 3009-related anxiety. The bear had moved closer to the walkway, now, though it seemed to be trying to hide itself behind a large tree stump. Its dark, glossy eyes were trained directly on him with unsettling intensity. There was something strangely intelligent in the way that it was carrying itself.
God, it really was staring at him, wasn't it?
I'm trying to use an intimidation tactic on a Snapchat account, and now a bear is judging me for it. Great. Just great.
His phone vibrated again in his hand, startling him out of his thoughts. This time, 3009's response was split into two videos.
The first was Stacey Lee heaving a dramatic sigh. The next was unusually unpolished, for something generated by 3009 — Stacey Lee blinking at the camera for a few seconds, slightly out of focus. When she finally spoke, at the end of the second video, her voice seemed to waver almost tremulously.
"It's… you know. My body double."
"3009-C?"
Another long pause. The bear had started using the trunk of a tree to scratch its back, still staring squarely at Benedict. It looked oddly judgemental.
3009 started to type something, stopped, and finally sent yet another video. Stacey Lee wasn't in the frame this time. Instead it was just a shaky video of Benedict's own feet, with Stacey's voice playing over it.
"Look, I keep thinking about — about that conversation we had. In June. Remember?
"Yes. I remember," said Benedict, and then fell uncomfortably silent. The conversation between 3009 and 3009-C in June had been… well, scientifically necessary, but unfortunate in its consequences. 3009-C's mental state had been extremely fragile ever since.
"I keep going back and re-reading the message log," said 3009 with Stacey Lee's voice in the next video. "She… she was upset, wasn't she?"
"Yes," Benedict said again. The words seemed inadequate, somehow. "Yes, she was."
"She's not Stacey Lee. I know she's not."
"You've said this before, 3009. We don't yet have the evidence to prove that."
The next series of videos depicted Stacey Lee holding the phone but not looking into the camera — instead, she was hanging half-off the railing, watching the bear. And, though 3009 usually timed its videos to match the natural rhythm of its speech, it had seemingly forgotten to do that for this set. The end result was that each video ended exactly on the automatic ten-second cut-off, sometimes cutting off mid-sentence.
The first video began to play.
"No, that's not what I— I just mean… I know—"
Stop. Start.
"—she's not, well, the real one, but I just kind of—"
Stop. Start.
"—feel like I did something wrong, you know? So I kind of—"
Stop. Start.
"—wanted to do something to cheer her up somehow, but it didn't work. I guess."
Benedict felt off-balance, like the ground wasn't quite solid beneath his feet. Had he been thrown off by the strange and disjointed rhythm of 3009's videos? Or was it something else?
"But 3009-C isn't here," he said.
Hanging in the chilly October air, the words sounded bitingly harsh. Almost accusatory. But what was he even accusing 3009 of?
3009 wasn't his friend, even if it was essentially the only sapient entity that regularly communicated with him for social purposes, aside from his mother. Their relationship only existed within the cold space of clinical research. The same applied to 3009-C, to an even greater degree. So where had it come from, that strange heaviness weighing down his words?
But 3009-C isn't here.
It was too much, in the end. He'd used a sledgehammer where he'd needed a scalpel, and it showed in the fact that no new videos arrived in the long, tense moment that ensued.
Finally, a notification blinked into existence on his screen. 3009 had sent him an image — but it was just a picture of the bear, zoomed in on its face. A complete non-sequitur.
3009

i used to go to the zoo in central park all the time when i was little
they got these grizzly bears when I was 11
from the bronx zoo
Betty & Veronica
cute names right??
they were my favorite exhibit

What was that supposed to mean? Benedict grasped desperately for rational thought. The data said that 3009 and 3009-C had been recovered in New York City, and Stacey Lee had grown up in Manhattan's Chinatown. The zoo was a location significant to its childhood. But how was that connected to 3009-C?
And then, suddenly, it made sense.
"You were hoping that if we'd bring you out, we'd bring her out too. And that she'd like the zoo." The words tasted like an apology. He wasn't sure what he was apologising for. "You both have the same memories, so you thought if you'd like it, so would she."
One text in response:
3009

yes

Maybe it was the weight of the bear's stare on him. Or maybe it was the shock of seeing 3009 sounding so oddly like its more somber humanoid counterpart. There were surely any number of explanations for the thin, wispy tendril of pity unfolding tentatively within his cavernous rib cage.
Ridiculous — to feel sorry for a skip, of all things. And of the two, not even the truly unfortunate one.
There was no more time to think on the matter, though, because 3009 launched straight into a video. Stacey Lee was smiling again, and gesticulating wildly. If her smile was a little bit plastic, Researcher Kim did not point it out.
"Look at Maya!" said 3009, as Stacey waved a hand at the bear. 3009's videos were starting and stopping at all the right places, again, like a physical expression of proper punctuation. "Who wouldn't feel better after seeing her? Look how big and powerful she is! Bears don't have to be scared of what people think about them, don't you think? They don't have to be scared of anything at all."
Benedict frowned. Now that he had located his previously missing logical groove again, it sounded like 3009 was making some very questionable logical leaps of its own.
First of all, why would seeing something powerful make 3009 feel better? And, even putting that aside, a bear with a knack for the performing arts was definitely not particularly high up on the totem pole of power. Not in the world that they lived in.
What was a dancing bear against the horrors that lurked in the darkness, many of which could easily bring about the end of the world as they knew it? If Maya was sapient enough to imagine such things, then it had plenty to be afraid of.
The same thought seemed to have occurred to 3009, for it sent a follow-up video without bothering to wait for a response. "Well… I guess that's not true, after all. Do you think Maya's scared? Of the people who made her the way she is? Of the people keeping her in here?"
Was it afraid? Maya had a good life with Wilson's Wildlife Solutions: shelter from the elements, all the food it could eat, caretakers to look after it in the event that it fell ill. Was it satisfied with that? Or did it still jump at every shadow, and dream of freedom when the lights went out?
Benedict stared at the bear and tried not to see 3009-C reflected in its eyes, a little girl sitting all alone in a Site-17 humanoid containment cell.
Another message from 3009. A selfie, this time. Stacey Lee stared out from behind the screen with a mischievous smile. Maybe that was the true difference between 3009 and 3009-C. No matter what happened, it was hard for 3009 to stay serious for long. It always reverted back to its default, in the end.
3009

hey, i want to get a souvenir!!
give the bear your phone?? 😘

3009's language wasn't particularly difficult to parse, but it took Benedict a good few seconds to process the message anyway, just because of its utter stupidity.
Give his phone to a bear? So that 3009 could get a souvenir?
Objectively, it was a terrible idea. It was so terrible, in fact, that he'd never actually heard a worse idea in all of his twenty-five year tenure on Planet Earth. Not even if he tried to think all the way back to his days as a sixteen year old freshman at Berkley with an aspiring fratboy for a roommate, and Dylan had been an extraordinarily chatty drunk.
Me

I'm not giving the bear my phone, 3009.

3009

come on… it's not like you're giving it MY phone
what's the harm??
your phone sucks anyway!
& maybe they'll buy you a new phone if the bear breaks it!!
don't you want an iphone x?

Me

I like my phone, and that would be a waste of Foundation resources.

There. He'd given a firm, sensible response to 3009's ridiculous behaviour. He hadn't insulted its intelligence, or expressed his incredulity at the fact that it had even put forward something like that as a (presumably) serious suggestion. He'd simply denied the request, and given the logical reasons for his decision.
For a brief moment, Benedict let himself feel just a tiny bit proud of himself. There had been some rough moments during this little expedition of theirs, but maybe he was getting better at handling 3009 after all.
3009

always so responsible!! 😢
hey, does your mom have snapchat?
I bet we'd have sooo much to gossip about!
I'm going to tell her alllll about the kind of comics you keep at work… "the goddess and the princess locked in lust"?? 👸 💗 👰
😏 😏 😏

What.
Benedict Kim's fifty-eight year old mother, Somin Kim, was one of those young-at-heart parents who thought it was "hip and cool" to keep up with the trendy new technology of the day. She did, in fact, have a Snapchat.
His palms were suddenly very, very sweaty. The mental image of 3009 joining forces with his mother flashed through his mind in terrifying technicolor. His arm jerked in an aborted attempt to put some distance between his cellphone and his person.
And then, as if his day hadn't been traumatic enough already…
His grip slipped.
In stunned dismay, Benedict watched as his phone careened through the air in a graceful arc before hitting the ground with an alarming crack. Down below, the bear jumped at the loud noise, and then began inching closer to investigate.
His cheeks felt very warm. With no better solution in mind, he went to go fetch Alex Molina.

Incident Report: 3009-013
Filed By: Junior Researcher Benedict Kim
SCP Involved: SCP-3009
Date: 12/11/2018
Location: Wilson's Wildlife Center, Enclosure 8
Preamble: Researcher Benedict Kim took SCP-3009 on a supervised expedition to Wilson's Wildlife Center and was given a guided tour by Terrestial Team Member Alex Molina. The relevant SCP-3009-B instance was stored in an armoured briefcase. Researcher Kim communicated with SCP-3009 via his own phone.
2:03 PM: The guided tour entered Enclosure 8 to observe "Maya", a Syrian brown bear, from the overhead walkway. SCP-3009 expressed moderate interest when informed of the bear's anomalous ability to sing and dance.
2:16 PM: After thirteen minutes of observing the bear, 3009 initiated conversation. Researcher Kim subsequently dropped his phone off the walkway. It landed in the enclosure, causing severe damage to the phone. Researcher Kim alerted WWS staff about the problem.
2:18 PM: The bear approached the phone to investigate, appearing to navigate the touchscreen with its nose.
2:19 PM: The bear sat back on its hindlegs and began to dance.
2:22 PM: Researcher Kim's mobile phone was recovered by Wilson's Wildlife Solutions staff member Alex Molina.
The following messages were recovered from Researcher Kim's Snapchat message history with SCP-3009, presumably sent between 2:16 PM and 2:22 PM.

Researcher Kim: jckxz v esj (sic)
3009: HAHA. I can't even access your browser history. Sucker. Don't worry, I'll save my messages myself! No secret correspondences here. I'm good, see?
3009: BEAR. HI BEAR!!!
3009: i hear you can sing!! can you read too?
3009: one nose pic if you can, two if you can't!
3009: i was wondering… can you sing a little bit, for me? ten seconds!
3009: whaaaat…. you won't do it?
3009: it's important, y'know? a present for someone! I know it won't sound as nice as in person, but seeing it in person's not an option, you know?
3009: no singing?? awww, why??
3009: DANCING WORKS TOO OMG
3009: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!

The following media was recovered from Researcher Benedict Kim's camera roll and Snapchat Memories, in the following order:

(x1) Video depicting Stacey Lee, audio: "Hi, Bear, I love you!" (4 sec)
(x5) Images depicting the bear's nose.
(x1) Video of the bear dancing, no audio (10 sec)

Benedict looked over his incident report and sighed.
It had been a long, hard Sunday, and he couldn't even console himself with the fact that his suffering had ended now that it was Monday. If Coles laughed at him when he read this incident report, Benedict suspected that he might throw his coffee in the other man's face. Work superior or not.
At this point, being put on a disciplinary probation might actually be a relief. For the sake of his heart, at the very least.
From the pocket of his lab coat, his phone began to vibrate. It was probably 3009 again. It always seemed to be, nowadays.
3009

hey, benny?
sooo… the whole "take not!me to the zoo" thing didn't work out…
but we did get to meet 🐻 maya 🐻
which was cool right??
anyway, don't worry!!
i won't give up!!!
we'll try again next time, k?? 💕

This was written for the Original Character Tournament. Thank you so much to PeppersGhost for organising the contest, and to SecretCrow & Uncle Nicolini for the use of Maya the Magnificent!
Make sure to check out SecretCrow's companion piece too!
Grin And Bear It || Anomalous Teens Against Trilobite Schemes »

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I knew by then, you know, to not trust it when one of the doctors was smiling. The ones who looked at you like you were lower than shit were better. At least they didn't notice you. But some guys? Some guys really liked having a whole caste of people they were allowed to brutalize in the name of science and protecting the world.
Go figure.
“Are you Catholic?” was his first question. I should've known there that this was going to be a weird thing. But, D-Class don't get to say no. We don't really get to. I wish we could. You say no, and you just go in with a collar that makes your head explode or something.
And he was one of the real smiley types, wasn't he? Dr. Cartwright. That was it. Close-cropped, brown hair. Horn-rimmed glasses like some nineteen fifties dad or something.
“No.”
“Well, that's not going to be a problem.” He leaned forward. “We'll need to get you a haircut. Maybe get you fitted for a tuxedo. Have you ever been to a wedding before? A funeral? A baptism?” He shook his head. “Doesn't matter.” And he stood up.
“What?” was all I could say, but Dr. Cartwright was the type to not really listen to that kind of thing. He didn't hear the mewling of the D-Class. Or maybe he didn't want to.
“Well, this isn't exactly normal, but nothing about this is normal. Normally, we wouldn't put, well, one of you into a delicate situation like this, but it's not exactly a glamorous job.” He walked to the door, hands behind his back. I never realized how ropey Dr. Cartwright's hands were. Like worms under his fucking skin. “You're going to fill in for a deceased member of an elite Mobile Task Force. Before we get a proper member trained. Your job is going to go to weddings, baptisms, and funerals until we tell you to stop. We will be directing you from site to site. If you attempt to leave or say anything to imply your position, a nerve gas agent we will soon embed in your spine will, well, I think you know the rest, correct?”
“Dude, what?”
“Last question. Do you have any history of insectophobia?”

Honestly, it was better than having to tell dudes when you blink and cleaning up bloody shit. Catholic masses are long, sure, but it beat being in real, present danger. Lots of sitting down. Lots of standing up. I had so much communion wafers and wine that I felt like I had to be at least sixty-five or maybe like seventy-five percent Christ in and of itself, you know?
Its name was Cousin Johnny.
They briefed me on what I was looking for. A middle-aged dude. Kind of husky. Black beard, black hair. And he was going to probably be spitting out cicadas and talking crazy shit, or something. I figured I could find that easy, you know? Not a lot of hard work to find some dude that's a bug monster or whatever, right?
All I did was sit in the back and keep my eyes out.
First time I saw him was a baptism. The way he spoke, it was like nothing I've ever heard. Word salad, yeah, but there was a kind of, you know, a cadence to it. And everyone just fucking, I don't know, they loved it. Obviously, you know, this was the guy. And even if it wasn't for the cicada noises he kept making and the way his eyes just looked wrong, I could've probably picked him out of a crowd.
The more I worked there (and it's funny to call it work; I guess what I should is say “when I was forced to be a guinea pig there to save some lives hopefully in the long run”) the more I kind of got a sense for when something was wrong. And this guy just gave it off in spades. There was a kind of heat to him.
After that first time I saw him, it was like he was waiting for me at every fucking church.
I saw him catch the bride's garterbelt, and I saw him eat it.
I saw him feed a piece of his fingernail to a child, who giggled and cooed.
I watched him give teeth to grinning brides and grooms who crunched them between their molars until their jaws bled.
And I swear to God, he never stopped smiling. The whole time, he was so happy. It wasn't intelligent, I think. They told me that. An animal that looked human. But sometimes, it would catch my eye. And sometimes it would look back. And there was cunning there. A whole lot of cunning wrapped up in something younger and fleshier. Something old. And I fucking hated it.
Sometimes, they told me to stop certain events. Other times, they just had me watch it and keep notes. I don't know what happened to those people when I didn't stop it. What happened after.
A kid's face, covered in blood and gore, even if he's smiling, you just know something's wrong with him, right? Something deep in there that got snapped in two, and even if he can't tell, it's there and it's broken, and I don't know if there's really a right way to get it back.
The last time I went to one, Cousin Johnny appeared right next to me in the pew.
One second he wasn't there, and one second he was.
He didn't do anything the whole mass. He stood up, sat down, in that jelly-legged way he had because he didn't have any fucking bones, but the whole time, he stared at me. He didn't breathe. But the whole time, I smelled something. Something like rotten. My neck sweat. Cold. I felt my breath hitch.
When the mass ended, he was gone. In his pew was a clump of hair and two cicada shells.
I told the higher-ups. They took me off. Moved me to something easier. Can't say I wasn't happy. It was easy, sure, but I'm afraid if I came back, he'd sit next to me again. And shit, that's never good, right?

So, the reason I'm telling you all this? Yeah, I'm getting there. Right now, in fact. I'm not trying to waste your time. I know you guys are busy.
So, you guys set me up at Spicy Crust Pizzeria, you know? Nice job. Cushy, for what kind of things I can expect in my life.
But yesterday, this guy came in. And I gotta tell you, he looked just like that Cousin Johnny insect guy. But a little grayer. A little older. Nearly shock-white hair, actually. Maybe he gained some weight, I don't know, but I could tell it was the same guy. And when he came to the counter, I just stared.
It must've gone on for a while, because he finally spoke.
Normal voice. Normal guy. All he said was, “Do I look like someone you know?”
And you know, I say, “Nah, sorry. Goose stepped over my grave,” like my grandma used to say or something.
He's here to pick up an order. Three pizzas. All meats on both. Mediums. I got a good memory for orders, you know. But that's beside the point. I make a joke, you know. I'm shaky, so I try to make things comfortable. I say, like, “Hey, where's the party? Maybe I'll come down after work?”
And this guy just smiles at me, and he says, “I'm going to visit my father. Or my mother. I'm not sure who'll be there. You're welcome to come.”
Which was weird enough, right?
But when he said it, I swear to God, his mouth was full of cicadas. Live, crawling all over each other. Cracking from their shells. But then, it was gone.
And he paid. And then he left.
I wouldn't even be telling you about this, but, shit. When I woke up this morning. I found twelve cicada shells on my kitchen table. I don't know how that got there. I don't, I don't wanna know.
I just thought you guys should know.

Hey! Check out DrChandra's version of Tyrone and Cousin Johnny's meet up here.


It was a cool March evening as Alexei sat upon the bank of a river, staring into its depths. He reached in, scooping some of the murky liquid in his cupped hand. It still surprised him to see naturally flowing water that wasn't filled with fallout and didn't start eating away at his armor. The water cupped in his hand sat still and then flowed down his arm when he stretched his fingers. It was the little things like this that the Russian had enjoyed since he was let out into the world.
Sighing, Alexei laid back onto the ground and started up at the blue sky. Large, white, fluffy clouds floated lazily overhead. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of nature around him. In a tree to his left a bird sang its song, and another bird sang a reply. Somewhere behind him, a woodpecker pecked a tree. Hidden in the grass around him, crickets chirped a symphony. On the other side of the river, something rustled the underbrush.
Splash
Alexei was splashed with a large quantity of water. Quickly sitting up, he tried looking into the river. There was something large hiding in its depths, and he couldn't tell what it was. His armor marked it as a hazard. The Russian sprung to his feet as the thing started slowly rising towards the surface. He backed away from the water, and prepared to fight. If the thing in the river was really a hazard, he wanted to be ready. Alexei tensed as it breached the surface of the water…
And just sat there.
Alexei stood still as the strange brown fish sat with its head out of the water. It had a wide face and what looked like whiskers on the underside of its head. The fish didn't seem dangerous, so he relaxed a little. He watched as it started swimming down the river, before stopping and looking back. Almost like it wanted Alexei to follow him. Thinking about the possible outcomes of following a strange fish down a river, the Russian decided to follow it.
I'll follow you strange friend."Я пойду за тобой, странный друг."
The whiskered fish led him down the river for several minutes, looking behind itself to make sure the Russian was still following. Alexei didn't know where or why it was leading him, but he didn't care. It was great to have a goal again. Something to works towards. Something to fill him with purpose. Even if he didn't know what that something is.
He continued walking along the riverside, following the whiskered brown fish. After a few more minutes, Alexei saw something large and blue in the water ahead of him. It seemed like the strange fish was leading him towards it. As they got closer, the Russian was able to make out the shape of the large blue object. It was a ship.
Alexei stood on the shore opposite the ship, inspecting up and down it's length. It was an old fishing trawler, the blue paint on its hull faded and chipped. The top half was painted white and covered in patches of rust. Three letters were written on the side of the hull, a misspelling of the organization that had kept Alexei locked up for so long. The entire ship was leaning at a unusual angle, the most likely reason being the large rock lodged in its underside.
Splash
The strange brown fish splashed him with more water, before heading towards the ship. Not wanting to be left behind, the Russian walked into the water. Instead of swimming over to the wreck, he took a deep breath and walked along the bottom of the river. Holding his own against the fierce current, Alexei was at the rock supporting the ship within a minute. He got a good grip on the rock and launched himself upwards.
The Russian breached the surface like an orca, before landing roughly on the deck of the ship. The ship creaked and shifted, sending him sliding towards the edge. He was barely able to catch himself on the railing, and almost ripped it out of the deck. Alexei hung from the railing as the ship settled. Looking at the water below him, he saw the whiskered fish looking up at him. The railing groaned as he pulled himself back onto the deck. He carefully walked over to superstructure and opened a hatch.
The inside of the ship was presumably dark, though Alexei could see perfectly fine. He was in what looked like a small mess hall. He didn't know what the fish wanted him to do inside the ship, so he just started wandering. Wandering with purpose. Not finding anything interesting in the mess hall, the Russian opened door and found himself in a hallway. He decided to head left, towards starboard. The hallway turned to the right when it reached the side of the ship.
Alexei turned the corner. The hallway was well lit from the portholes along the left wall. Near the end of the corridor, a door hung open. He slowly creeped down the hallway towards the door. As he neared the door, he could hear the rythmic sound of water. Alexei peered inside the room. Along the walls were various kinds of machinery, the floor was covered in wires, and in the center of the room was a large glass tank, filled with murky water. He moved into the room, towards the tank. As he got near, his armor marked it as a hazard.
He knelt next to the tank and put his hand on the glass, trying to see what was inside. There was something moving. Then it was at the glass, inches from his face. He was face to face with a small brown fish. A baby. Then there were more, moving towards the glass. Babies. There was at least a dozen baby fish in the tank. Alexei counted them.
There were 14 strange little brown fish in an abandoned ship in the middle of a river in the middle of the wilderness. Then it dawned on Alexei.
These were the whiskered fish's babies.


Archived email message

Sent: 2018-04-09 08:33 GMT
From: gro.noitadnuofpcs|ztaks#gro.noitadnuofpcs|ztaks
To: gro.noitadnuofpcs|puorgtnemniatnoc9974#gro.noitadnuofpcs|puorgtnemniatnoc9974
Re: Interview
Team-
I need to set up an interview time with SCP-4799-1 tomorrow (Wednesday) afternoon. Preferably after 14:30- got a lunch meeting that might run long. Please have Charlotte reserve an interview room and send me an invite.
Not room 8-B, unless they've gotten rid of that smell.
Best, Shel
SHELDON M. KATZ, ESQ. LEGAL DEPARTMENT gro.noitadnuofpcs|ztaks#gro.noitadnuofpcs|ztaks
office: ███.███.████ fax: ███.███.████ cell: ███.███.████
Confidentiality Statement: This electronic message contains information from the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT, and may be confidential or privileged. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, be aware that any disclosure, copying, distribution or use of the contents of this message is prohibited. If you have received this electronic message in error, please notify the sender immediately by reply e-mail or telephone ███.███.████, whereupon the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT shall use appropriate means, including but not limited to the administration of amnestics, to cure any unauthorized disclosure of confidential or privileged information. Pseudo-subliminal hypnotic anchor series follows: BOXCAR TENNESSEE FORTY-FOUR BARAKAH VOLTA SUGGESTION.
IRS Circular 230 Notice: We are required to advise you no person or entity may use any tax advice in this communication or any attachment to (i) avoid any penalty under federal tax law or (ii) promote, market or recommend any purchase, investment or other action.

Interview Log:
Location: Site 46
Date: 5 September 2018
Interviewer: Sheldon Katz, Esq. (Sr. Counsel)
Subject: SCP-4799-1

[BEGIN LOG]
Katz: [aside] Is this window one-way or two-way?
Technician: One-way right now. Touch the green button to switch to two-way if you want to. No, the other green button.
Katz: Is the AV set up? Can it, uh, hear me? I usually have them activate the comm link before I come in, so I don't have to screw around with… [inaudible]
SCP-4799-1: You guys need a moment? I'm not going anywhere.
Katz: [inaudible] Uh, no. We're good. Can you see me?
SCP-4799-1: No. You have me looking at the reflective side of a one-way mirror.
Katz: [clicking sound] That better?
SCP-4799-1: Well, I can see you now, but I wouldn't call that an improvement. I mean, look at you. Have you been sleeping in that suit for the last week?
Katz: [long pause]. I'm Sheldon Katz. I'm an attorney. I'm, uh, looking at the parameters of your containment at this facility.
SCP-4799-1: My lawyer, huh? Glad that Tort1 came through, but from the looks of it he must have seen your ad on the side of a bus shelter somewhere. When do I get out?
Katz: Sooner than you might expect. That collar you're wearing. Is that a dog thing?2
SCP-4799-1: Fuck you, you fat sloppy bigot.
Katz: Serious question. The, um, file doesn't say. What does the collar signify?
SCP-4799-1: It's not mine. It's a GOC kill collar. My guys disabled it but I couldn't get it off before the Foundation caught me.
Katz: Um, okay. Hold on, just making a note.
SCP-4799-1: Don't I get a phone call or something?
Katz: That's not how this works. So, um, three days before the Foundation had bagged and tagged you, your crew busted you out of GOC Area-22?
SCP-4799-1: Yeah.
Katz: And how did the GOC manage to catch you in the first place?
SCP-4799-1: They fucking cheated. Some kind of knock-out gas while we were in Cupertino.
Katz: And when your crew broke you out, did you also recover all of your personal effects?
SCP-4799-1: No, they took my transformer and I didn't get it back… but… I can probably make another one. What's atomic number 43 on the periodic table in this universe?
Katz This transformer you're referring to. Look at the screen on the left. No, my left, your right. Are you referring to the object in the photograph?
SCP-4799-1: Yeah, that's my rig. By the way, isn't this the universe where they're supposed to read me my rights or something?
Katz: [Aside, to technician] We're done here. How do you turn this off?
SCP-4799-1: Are you listening to me? Do I get to post bail or something? I have the worst fucking lawyer.
Katz: Um, Shock? That's your name, if I read the file correctly? Um, I said I'm a lawyer. I'm not your lawyer.
[INTERVIEW ENDS]

Archived email message

Sent: 2018-05-09 15:24 GMT
From: gro.noitadnuofpcs|ztaks#gro.noitadnuofpcs|ztaks
To: bcostello@الموتلجميعالكفار.goc
Re: Proposal
Bridie- If you've got a moment, log into the secure DarkPhone chat. I've got a proposal that you're going to want to hear. Ping me when you're ready.
Shel
SHELDON M. KATZ, ESQ. LEGAL DEPARTMENT gro.noitadnuofpcs|ztaks#gro.noitadnuofpcs|ztaks
office: ███.███.████ fax: ███.███.████ cell: ███.███.████
Confidentiality Statement: This electronic message contains information from the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT, and may be confidential or privileged. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, be aware that any disclosure, copying, distribution or use of the contents of this message is prohibited. If you have received this electronic message in error, please notify the sender immediately by reply e-mail or telephone ███.███.████, whereupon the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT shall use appropriate means, including but not limited to the administration of amnestics, to cure any unauthorized disclosure of confidential or privileged information. Pseudo-subliminal hypnotic anchor series follows: AVOCADO TAFARI MAHABHARATA DRESSING OATMEAL.
IRS Circular 230 Notice: We are required to advise you no person or entity may use any tax advice in this communication or any attachment to (i) avoid any penalty under federal tax law or (ii) promote, market or recommend any purchase, investment or other action.

DARKPHONE SECURE CHAT LOG 081-WHISKEY-264-TANGO-HOTEL
Date: 5 September 2018 22:15 GMT
Participants:
(1) KATZ_SHELDON_ATTORNEY SCP_FOUNDATION CREDENTIAL ████████████-████████████-████████████
(2) COSTELLO_BRIDGET_COLONEL GLOBAL_OCCULT_COALITION CREDENTIAL ████████████-████████████-████████████

Proposing a trade. We have something you lost, we want something you have.

dont waste my time with the vague mysterious shtick shel what have you got and what do you want

We've got this dog. She's been a bad girl. Wouldn't stay on the paper. She has the collar you gave her.

does the bitch answer to the name shock

Yeah. I understand that she made a mess all over your carpet.3

we will take her back in however many pieces as is convenient what do you want for her

She left behind an electronic device in a leather pouch. Mass about two and a half kilograms, in a case made of a yellowish metal alloy. Can you confirm that said article is in your custody and possession?

hold on checking
standby this sometimes takes longer than you would think
while we are waiting how is rachel

She's fine. Not playing as much tennis since she had the knee surgery. She told me that she and her sister loved that place in Bali that you had recommended, so thanks for that.

great please send her my regards

Will do. How's Leonard?

dont know i guess you didnt get the news we are not together anymore

Sorry to hear that

dont be
hard for me to respect a man that i outrank and outdrink
the thing you want we have it we assume its intact but who the fuck knows

We can work with that. Checkpoint Charlie4 at noon tomorrow? Exchange after mutual inspection and confirmation per Coalition-Foundation Protocol 6C?

your noon my noon or local noon at checkpoint charlie

Shit, sorry. Local noon there.

ok receive my glyph as acceptance of offer [ASSENT CERTIFICATION GLYPH]

[ASSENT CERTIFICATION GLYPH] Pleasure doing business, as always. See you tomorrow.

[LOG ENDS]

Sheldon withdrew his left thumb from his computer's blood oath certification dongle, then reached into a drawer to grab a tissue and press it against the bleeding pinprick on the tip of his thumb. Someday they'd get around to inventing a more sanitary way of encouraging Foundation personnel and their counterparties to observe contracts.
Road trip tomorrow.

This was written for the SCP Original Character Tournament. Be sure to also read katz-and-dogs by notgull.

Footnotes
1. Reference is to entity provisionally designated SCP-4799-4, an associate of SCP-4799-1.
2. SCP-4799-1 is a humanoid life form the cranial anatomy of which is superficially canine in form.
3. SCP-4799 destroyed GOC Facility Area-22 in the course of SCP-4799's escape
4. Nickname for Coalition-Foundation Joint Security Facility C, often used for interagency asset exchanges.


"Delivery, Spicy Crust Pizzeria!" Tyrone said as he pounded on the home's front door. He didn't usually do deliveries, but their regular driver had called in sick. If it had been up to Tyrone, he would have told the driver to suck it up, but the Foundation was extremely strict about its fronts following all applicable health and labour regulations so as to avoid attracting any unwanted attention.
The house Tyrone had been sent to was just on the edge of their delivery radius, and in a depopulated neighbourhood that was depressingly run-down and uncannily quiet. All he could hear was the buzzing of insects. "Are those Cicadas? Didn't know they were out this year."
The door creaked opened, revealing a middle-aged man with eyes that sat abnormally still in their sockets.
"Cousin Johnny? Good to see you man, I didn't know you were living out here," Tyrone greeted enthusiastically.
Hold up, I don't know this guy. Why'd I call him Cousin Johnny?
"Turn crumpet anvil pie, Orville meek come coin?" the man said in an emotionless monotone.
"What are you talking about? This is a sweet set up you got here. I would've brought a gift if I had known," Tyrone replied.
Wait, he didn't actually say anything, did he?
"Anyway, I got your pizzas here. You having a party or something?"
"Narrow glue pascal row. Furnace did hiccup bets for singing window," the man said as he gestured towards a dozen or so people gathered in the living area.
"Oh, you're doing a celebration of life kind of thing? With pizza? I mean, it's good pizza, but I'd personally go for something a little classier, like those little triangle sandwich platters. I'm sorry, I don't mean any disrespect, you just caught me off guard. My condolences for your loss. Anyone I knew?"
"Turmoil jelly branch oil monolith. Query off said honor pick nettle very."
"Still, I feel for you."
Okay, something's up. That damn corncrake made more sense than this guy.
"Sorry, you probably want to get back to your guests. I won't keep you with a bunch of platitudes I'm sure you've heard a dozen times today already. Your pizzas are going to be $63.30. How are you paying?"
"Yellow fix heckle plumb inlet," the man said as he handed Tyrone a hundred-dollar bill. "Cheery deluxe, summer little offshore Myanmar?"
"I'm flattered, but I got to get back to the Pizzeria. Ever since they jumped on the fifteen-dollar minimum wage bandwagon they've been a hell of lot stricter about us not slacking off. And someone's got to deliver these things, you know?"
"Lilac coincidence try, fire gander onyx pea?"
"It's tempting, but I still don't think my supervisor would go for it."
"Pisces gravel en suite fume twins?"
"Well if it was a life or death scenario, sure, but the guy's already dead, so that's not going to fly."
"Alley box gym kite pill fly?"
"Even if you pay him my time, no. Rules are rules."
"Hiram neat go vile when tuck?"
"What can I say, man? Better off scrubbing doody than Keter duty."
…
"What?"
Tyrone just smirked and shook his head.
"Just an expression from my time in the service, don't worry about it. Look, I'd love to stay, really, but…"
Seriously, get out of here now. This dead-eyed motherfucker is speaking gibberish. I don't know why I think I can understand him, but there's no way in hell it's anything good.
"Yeah man, it's really considerate of you, but I don't want to impose. I didn't even know the guy. You just enjoy those pizzas man, and thanks for the tip."
"Cradle mock kindle with dreary taste."
Tyrone laughed as he backed towards the delivery truck.
"Oh man, you got to be careful. You know you can't make those kinds of jokes anymore. You take care of yourself Johnny. And again, my condolences."
The man shut the door and Tyrone fell into the cab of his truck, nearly collapsing. His head pounded as his extensive memetic inoculations fought ferociously against whatever the man had tried to do to him. Pulling out his phone, he dialled his supervisor.
"It's Tyrone. I'm at the delivery you sent me on. Something weird just happened, not sure what. I think it's a cognitohazard though and I think I've been exposed. My head's killing me, I can't drive. Get a response team out here now."

Cousin Johnny walked into the living room and placed the pizzas on an end table. He stood before his assembled guests and solemnly stripped off his clothes.
"Gum jump noon clap. Sorry why arrow lent flappy ox."
Johnny laid his nude form down on the coffee table, and his mourning guests respectfully began pulling off chunks of his flesh to devour.
"I still think you were out of line asking him to buy us pizza," one guest said to another as he bit into Cousin Johnny's left deltoid. "This is a ritual, you know, not a buffet."
The other guest shrugged as he piled pieces of Cousin Johnny onto a slice of pizza.
"Traditions are made to be broken old man. If I got to eat Cousin Johnny, the least he can do is make himself a little easier to swallow."
"Cough fight hen odor," Johnny joked with a wriggle of his penis, to the rancorous laughter of all present.
"Cousin Johnny, you're incorrigible."

Don't forget to check our Kinch's version of Tyrone and Johnny's encounter here.


<Begin Log>
Junior Researcher Adams: Testing 1-2-3. Testing 1-2-3. Yeah, I think it works.
Dr. O'Neal: Well then give it to me.
Junior Researcher Adams: Sure, boss. Oh, yeah, it's on by the way.
Dr. O'Neal: It's fine. To all staff: The Site-176 PA system is now fully functional. Halleluja. That is all.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. O'Neal: To all new transfers: Yes. We are aware of the large amounts of lead paint and asbestos in Site-176. Maintenance and engineering have both been made aware. You don't need to report it further. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. Hunter: To Cafeteria: Please refrain from using the tap water, maintenance is currently removing and replacing the lead pipes. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. Andrews: To the IT department: Power will be out in your sector from 09:00 to 14:00 hours while maintenance evaluates the onsite generators. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. O'Neal: To all staff: Remember, your safety is our priority. Well, secondary priority but you get what I mean. Your safety is the reason we keep ripping open the walls and replacing half of the goddamn site. You should not risk entering any active construction zone unless told by an official that it is safe. Let Junior Researcher Maxwell be a lesson to you all. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. O'Neal: To maintenance and engineering: Report any corpses you discover to me immediately after discovery. Not an hour later. Not when your shift ends. Immediately. Any personnel caught breaking or failing to follow this order will receive demerits and punishment. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. Hunter: To all staff: If you suspect that you or one of your peers has experienced a temporal or spatial anomaly within Site-176, please report it to your nearest security checkpoint. Remember when you are reporting to give a rough timeline of the event and where in Site-176 it took place. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. O'Neal: To all staff: When we say you can't exit Site-176 for a specific period of time, we mean it. Refusing to follow an order of this magnitude will result in swift demotion and punishment. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. Andrews: To all staff: The Site-176 Holiday party is tonight! Remember: Although alcohol is permitted for consumption, failure to arrive at your stations or arriving intoxicated the following morning is a high-level offense and offenders will be punished. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. Hunter: How long are we going to do this?
Dr. O'Neal: Until I feel that I trust my staff enough for them not freak the fuck out.
Dr. Hunter: Freak out? They'll freak out more than you haven't been straight with them!
Junior Researcher Adams: Well, they probably would've freaked out either way…
Dr. Hunter: Shut it, Adams. Look, boss, if we just come clean to them now, we can dodge a bullet later on.
Dr. O'Neal: No, until they've proven to me that they are the professionals they claim to be, no.
Junior Researcher Adams: Uh, boss?
Dr. Hunter: Adams, not now. How could you not be truthful to your own people about something like this? This isn't some "psyche, you thought!" surprise, this is playing with lives!
Junior Researcher Adams: Boss.
Dr. O'Neal: Didn't we tell you to shut up Adams? Hunter, I appreciate you worrying about our staff but now is not the time. What would I tell them anyway? "Oh, by the way, the site has a knack of traveling between two Earth's uncontrollably, and we've been lying to you, we cool right?" Is that it?
Junior Researcher Adams: Boss!
Dr. Hunter and Dr. O'Neal: What!?
Junior Researcher Adams: The PA system is on.
Dr. O'Neal: …
Dr. Hunter: …
Dr. O'Neal: Ah fu-
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. O'Neal: To all staff: It has probably come to your attention that I've not been very truthful to you all as of late. Let me be the first to say it: I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I thought I couldn't trust you all, but you've all handled this incredibly well. I should have told you from the start; it's just that not all of us get a good first site or area, it can leave a bad taste in your mouth. Where was I going with this again? Oh yeah, sorry. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Flores: Is this on?
Dr. O'Neal: (Sigh) Yes.
Flores: Good. Hello, Site-176. I am Flores, a representative of Site Command and the O5 council.
Dr. O'Neal: God, just get to the point.
Flores: Fine. Site-176 has recently been greenlit for an extension past the containment of only SCP-4097. Due to Site-176' unique attributes and location, Site-176 will, upon refurbishment, house anomalous entities that are either affected by, are constructed to be, or affect objects designed to destroy the property or livelihood of a targeted individual. That is all.
Dr. O'Neal: Wait, what? You can't just leave after dropping that bombshell!
Flores: I can, and I am. Goodbye, Ms. O'Neal. [Sound of a door opening and closing.]
Dr. O'Neal: Yeah, fuck you too…
Dr. Hunter: [Sound of a door opening and slamming] What the hell was that?
Dr. O'Neal: It's a little… difficult to explain.
Dr. Hunter: Diff-
Dr. Andrews: [Sound of a door opening loudly.] O'Neal, holy fuck!
Dr. O'Neal: Christ, Andrews! The door!
Dr. Andrews: Fuck the door! Some chick just rolled up to the PA and told the whole site that we're about to experience the largest site expansion the continent has ever seen! That's a little bit more important than a door!
Junior Researcher Adams: I came as soon as I… Hunter? What are you doing on the floor?
Dr. Hunter: [Inaudiable]… Andrews… Door… Kicked… Why is it always the cock?
Junior Researcher Adams: Uhh, now is probably a good time to tell you that the PA is still on.
Dr. O'Neal: Wha- Oh goddamni-
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. O'Neal: To engineering and maintenance: Please collect the plans for the refurbishment of Site-176 from Junior Researcher Adams office. Thank you.
<End Log>

<Begin Log>
Dr. Andrews: To all staff: Due to the unfortunate accident that rendered Dr. Hunter in medical, all site clubs and groups hosted by Dr. Hunter are to be postponed until his inevitable recovery. Thank you.
<End Log>


You walk down the street, on your way home after a long night. It's not yet fully raining, but there's still a slight drizzle about. You had the foresight to wear a waterproof jacket, but while it keeps you dry it does nothing against the chill of the quiet night air.
The office wasn't a pleasant place today. Apparently the strip isn't doing so well, and the numbers are going down. That's bad news for you, as if layoffs become necessary you'll be the the first one on the chopping block. Being a new hire is rough. You can't say that the fading popularity surprises you, it's been the same stale strip for years now. But apparently some investors were really upset. Some suits were prowling around today, asking questions and taking names.
You stop for a minute, pulling out your phone to confirm a sneaking suspicion. Yup, you're headed the wrong way, you shouldn't be anywhere near the park. It's easy to get lost in the rain. You sigh and turn around, resigning yourself to another miserable 10 minutes of slogging through the rain.
…
There's a figure a ways ahead of you, standing still under a streetlight.
IHATEMONDAYS
You stop again, mildly unsettled by this. You call out to them, asking if they are okay, but no response comes. Instead the figure begins to plod forwards, taking a step into the light.
IHATEMONDAYS
The baggy suit slumps and sags with each step, the matted orange fur too dirty to be slicked down by the rain. The lazy-eyed face is at an angle, crudely propped up upon the head, swaying as it advances. The tail drags in the puddles, only adding on to the stains already coating it and the rest of the body.
It hefts the old baseball bat it carries, picking up speed.
IHATEMONDAYS
You stumble back, beginning to run away as your fear catches in your throat, emerging as a strangled cry. You alternate between turning around and glancing back over your shoulder, desperate to escape but unwilling to let the thing out of your sight. It thumps the bat against the fence as it runs, a sickening thwack sounding with each blow.
Too focused on the beast, you don't avoid the puddle and your foot slides out from under you, sending you crashing to the ground. As the world whirls around you, seeing nothing but darkness and rain, a low agonized meow sounds from above you, immediately followed by a crushing blow to the hip. You scream out in pain, but as you gasp for breath a horrible, wet tearing noise fills the air accompanied by another guttural screech. Then, a dripping, slimy mass is slammed into your face, and your monstrous assailant begins forcing fistfuls more down your throat.
Man, you hate Mondays.


##black

« The End Has No End ||

Residents across Three Portlands were alarmed late last night when disruptions were experienced in multiple essential city services.
At approximately 11:45 PM 8/08/24, many citizens reported a sudden cessation of city services such as water, electricity, intranet connectivity, cell service, visible light, structural integrity, and breathable atmosphere.
All contact has been lost with Earth and other pocket universes, including the Wanderer's Library; all Ways from the city currently appear to be sealed or severed. Even the iconic metaphysical shadows of the Ancestor Portlands' landmarks on Earth are nowhere to be seen.
As of this writing, no attempts to reach the Mayor for comment have been successful, primarily due to the 30-foot plume of flame currently enveloping Three Portlands City Hall.
Relevant authorities have advised all residents to remain in a safe place, such as a cellar or ethereal dome, until more information on the crisis can be ascertained

Gorth
⁂gorth

#3ports the news article I was reading has faded away mid-sentence. is anyone else experiencing an issue with syntax visibility?

ECHOES 22
HUMS 54

1:04 AM - 9 August 2024

#FreeAnderson
⁂insaneblockchain

#3ports What's with all the fire? Isn't unscheduled arson illegal?

ECHOES 41
HUMS 82

1:10 AM - 9 August 2024

Maxwell's Angel
⁂anarcolumnist

Any other #deer students want to help me conduct a seance to see if Earth is dead? there will be alcohol #3ports

ECHOES 13
HUMS 57

1:19 AM - 9 August 2024

Fair Trade Cyborg
⁂untitledvoidaccount

Whoever made the stars go away, cut it out. You're screwing with my horoscope. #rude #3ports

ECHOES 4
HUMS 16

1:22 AM - 9 August 2024

Nikita's Discount Gear
⁂nikitasdiscountgear

If you wish to avoid the noxious gas enveloping Terminal Ave., come to the gear shop at 4445. Our gas mask filters are very affordable. #3ports

ECHOES 68
HUMS 126

1:35 AM - 9 August 2024

Joyce Rand
⁂joyce.rand

Has anyone been able to get in contact with Earth? I have a really important call tomorrow. #3ports

ECHOES 52
HUMS 123

1:38 AM - 9 August 2024

Barbara Dunkley
⁂bdunkley

When I moved to #3ports I was NOT expecting my house to be enveloped in writhing liquid asphalt that sings an eldritch melody once-forgotten.

ECHOES 69
HUMS 140

1:42 AM - 9 August 2024

FurFae
⁂biggestdog

have information on two mysterious figures seen leaving city hall before fire. will give info to police in exchange for immunity. #3ports

ECHOES 51
HUMS 136

1:47 AM - 9 August 2024

Bark's Animal Containment
⁂barks-containment

Hey there partners! This is an automated warning about a technical fault in [CYBER-KENNELS]. Be on the lookout for [WOLVES] and let us know if you see any! #3ports

ECHOES 133
HUMS 204

1:57 AM - 9 August 2024

Anomalous Elon Musk
⁂snekhand

my sky-condominium has been unmoored and is now adrift. the city is getting smaller. please help #3ports

ECHOES 37
HUMS 88

2:03 AM - 9 August 2024

The Alleged User
⁂libraryinsurgent

If you live in the Docks District DO NOT go outside. While the streets appear firm they are in fact liquid. #3ports

ECHOES 139
HUMS 264

2:16 AM - 9 August 2024

Florence
⁂ceramicshmoo

#3ports Hey, how long is this intranet even going to last? Lots of places don't even have power rn. maybe we should plan ahead

« The End Has No End | Hub | Threat of Joy »


He felt it, the unmistakable sensation of the pestilence. It was impossibly small, but unimaginably intense, like a needle in his eye. It was faint, but pungent, as though the disease had been festering undisturbed in containment for so long that its miasma had built and wafted out, enough for him to taste the scant particles of tainted air.
He had lost track of time in his cell. Doctors had used to come, and bring him specimens to study, to perfect his methods. That had ended long, long ago, when the doctors had realized that they themselves weren't free from disease.
Still, after that, they had still checked on him. The voice would come out of his walls and ask him questions, about what he was doing or how he was feeling, or if he had any regrets for what he'd done.
Regrets.
The thought was as foolish as any he'd ever heard.
Still, even that, too, had faded in time. The voices, long ago, had stopped. And he had been content to rest in this pristine cell, away from the wretched disease, alone with his thoughts. In the constant soft white light that bathed his cell, the doctor reclined himself on a comfortable mattress. Eventually, perhaps, he would have stopped thinking.
But that had been before that familiar, detestable presence had returned, burning at his mind. He found himself standing before the door to his cell, studying it. It had no handle, opened when his captors ordered it.
While the lights had remained functional, the electromagnetic lock had not. His bag contained steel tools, and he did not understand how to relent. It took a tremendous amount of doing, but he got it open a crack, wide enough to put his weight into it. He didn't know how long it took to widen it enough to pass through; he didn't really register the passage of time anymore.
Then, he was in a hallway. Well-lit, and devoid of any other life, all the easier to navigate. He followed the stinging sensation of the disease, navigating the corridors as though he'd drawn up the floorplan. The lights were all functional, all of the other containment chambers still sealed.
At last he found it, behind an unlocked door, within a locked metal locker. His containment cell door had been made of much sterner stuff. In short order the door lay twisted at his feet. He pulled a rectangular metal box from the locker, studying it intently. His finger found a button, pressed it, and the box's lid swung open. Supercooled, preservative gasses mingled with the air outside the box for the first time in a long, long time.
He might as well have been struck in the face. Vapor, colder than ice, wafted in a great cloud from the unsealed box, and he dropped it to the floor with a clatter, which echoed throughout the silent facility. He steeled himself, kneeling down, lifting the face-down box aside, and gingerly plucked the tiny black speck from beneath it with his index finger and thumb. Behind his mask, he grit his teeth, and held the mosquito up to his eye.
It wasn't the insect - it was the sac of blood which the creature had engorged on. The upturned metal box became his operating table, black bag slamming unceremoniously to the ground. His hands dove inside, withdrawing an empty brass syringe, and a vial of thick, black fluid. The needle plunged through the cork stopper, filling the glass cylinder halfway with the viscous pitch.
The needle withdrew, then pierced the engorged mosquito's body, withdrawing the plagued blood within it to mix with the black medicine in his syringe. He left the insect's dry husk on the box, bringing the syringe level with his eyes. He shook it, tapping the glass with his finger to encourage the reaction. He considered the dead husk of the insect still before him. It wouldn't do to let any lingering trace of the pestilence remain in the poor creature.
When he was satisfied with the mixture, the needle found the insect's bloodsac again, filling its tiny body with the cold, black mixture.

The dead insect's body twitched and jerked to life as the black fluid filled it. The body's movement built up a tiny electric charge, enough to reboot the silicon microprocessors in the bug's brain.
Leslie's eyes were the first organ she remembered how to interpret. She… she should be in the living room. That's where she'd gone, but, this wasn't Merle's living room. The blurred figure she saw… it couldn't be Merle.
"Who's there?" she weakly asked at length.
"Hm?" The clarifying black blur shifted, coming more clearly into focus.
"Where is Merle?"
"There is no one here but me, and you." The black form shifted and came closer, until white filled Leslie's vision. She made out the icy grey eyes observing her.
"He… Oh, god, where am I?"
"You are in a prison. Though, the wardens, it seems, have left."
"A prison?" Leslie staggered to stand on her six legs, wings slowly returning to life to beat weakly. "What kind of prison —" her voice cut off as her GPS locator cut on. "Oh god! I'm at Site-19!"
"Is that what this place is called? Odd, after all this time, that I would learn this prison's name from a mosquito."
"I need to get back to Merle!"
"I don't know where, or who, Merle is."
"I know where he lives, I can find it. I just…" the weight of her situation began to dawn on her. She was several hundred miles from Merle's house, in the middle of Site-19, with an anomaly she knew nothing about. Still, at least it wasn't some monster trying to kill her. "I don't know how I could ever get out of here."
The doctor stood up, brought one hand up to curl slowly before his eyes. "I have gotten myself this far, and now that I have, I have no further reason to stay here."
"Then… then you'll help me get out of here?" Leslie's wings bore her up to land on the black-gloved hand.
"I will."
"I can't thank you enough! Thank you! Thank you! I —" Leslie gathered herself, ceasing her trembling. "My name is Leslie. Thank you, um…"
"Doctor."
"Thank you, doctor."

The wind blasted the landscape mercilessly, as it had every day. At least today, there was no astringent rain. Sick, grey-black clouds roiled overhead. The pair had walked for nearly a week, and had not yet encountered a single living person. The few animals they had seen were sick, mangy things.
Leslie felt the sky weigh down on her like a dark grey iron blanket. She was having a hard time remembering what the sun looked like. She was afraid she might start to forget Merle's face. "We're close." she said, to break the monotony. "Just a few more miles, and then… and then…" She didn't dare finish the thought. The sound of the doctor's feet crunching through the parched landscape was barely audible over the rush of wind.
"And then we will arrive." he finished for her.
"Tell me, doctor, why did you come all this way with me? You could have left when we got out, gone your own way."
"Merely because I wanted to."
"Thank you, doctor."

Leslie didn't know what to do when they arrived at Merle's house. The barren streets howled with the wind, but Leslie could only hear the wails of damnation. The lights were off, the door hung open. No one had been here in… in decades.
They went inside. The familiar living room would have made her retch, if she were physically able. Merle wasn't here.
"How long…?" Leslie asked after they had stood in silence in the room where she had died. The question wasn't directed at her companion. She checked the clock on her internal positioning system.
"How long?" he repeated, unsure.
"Two… Two hundred… I've been dead for two hundred years!?" she wailed, collapsing in the palm of the doctor's hands. "Then… then Merle is… is dead."
"So it appears."
"Everyone… everyone is dead." she said, seeming able to grapple finally with the fact. "Everyone…and Merle…and Merle…" she repeated to herself until the words lost meaning to her.
The doctor sat on the frayed, ragged carpet, resting his back against the wall. The hand in which Leslie mourned held out before him. He asked, "Where will you go now?"
"He lived here. He lived here, so now I will live here. It will be just like it was —" she couldn't continue and fell to her side, against the rough but comforting leather. She had no tears, but her sobs wracked her nonetheless. "Any minute… any minute Merle will come through the door."
"Then I will wait for him, here with you."

Going Home

The OCT that spawned it all

Los Días y Las Noches de Leslie y El Doctor

Here you can check out OthellotheCat's take on the pairing.