From high up in trees on a branch I have watched humans. I'm often told not to but I do. I have been fascinated with them for a long time. They are odd things. I grew up with stories of them slaying or imprisoning the mightiest of heroes, and that no one was their equal. I was told that they, the Children of the Sun, hated all that was different and hidden in the dark. Odd because tonight it does not seem so.
Once every year, they alter themselves to resemble what they feared in exchange of tiny bags. They cover their homes with webs and bones, which does not taste good. My large amber eyes have seen that and much more. They seem to embrace it all.
As I stared on at the human civilization, a voice from down below called for me.
"Hey, Roth, get down from there!" I looked down and saw it was Tobi. His skin was like that of the Moon, and he stood as tall as a bear. His red eyes glowed in the darkness below.
I spread my wings and glided from the branch to the bottom. Tobi spoke once again.
"So when are we going to see the humans up close? Our elders won't stay resting forever." He said.
"We need to wait for Feb and Lucy. They want to come too." I replied.
"Who cares about those gremlins? I still don't know them well, Roth. Besides, I don't trust those of The Factory." Tobi said as he turned to face the full Moon, which hovered beautifully so high up in the starry night.
"Not all gremlins are employed at The Factory. You need a little more time with them."
Tobi silently observed the Moon and turned his attention at the direction of the humans. Suddenly, nearby bushes rustled, which made me and Tobi turn to it. Out of the bushes came Feb and Lucy. Their large golden eyes stared up at me as they walked toward us. Feb had something hidden behind him.
"Hey, how's it going?" Feb said as he waved a free hand with a huge toothy grin on his face. Lucy chuckled beside him. Before I was able to respond, Tobi spoke.
"Alright, now we go see the humans. These… little savages have arrived." Tobi said in an agitated tone.
"Aw, don't be like that, grumpy. Would a savage be inconsiderate?" Said Lucy as Feb pulled out a dead raccoon that he had hidden behind him the whole time. He raised it up to Tobi, who ignored the offer.
"Well, more for us." Both Feb and Lucy declared simultaneously as they devoured the carcass.
"Well," I finally said. "I guess we can go now. We need to stay together, and if things go awry we retreat."
"Cool." Feb said while Lucy chewed on a bone.
"Also, don't eat anything in a bag when we are there. The little bags I see humans hand out are too sweet, and I don't think hyperactive gremlins will make us feel welcome."
"Can't we have just one?" Feb said in a sad voice as he and Lucy pouted their lips.
"No." I replied.
"Aww." Both said in disappointment.
"May we go now?" Tobi asked me.
"Yeah, sorry. Lets go."
We moved onward to the human population, and could hear the distant cheerful chatter of man. I was eager to see humans up close.

Lucas stared at the screen, vigilantly watching the radar for any entities. He was seated in the back of the van with three other operatives while I sat at the driver's seat. They checked devices and the radar for any abnormal readings in the "Aetheric Energy Fields" of the surrounding populace to identify any non-human anomalies. I never understood how it worked, but it did and it worked for the Coalition.
We were tasked to be on lookout. At this time of year, things that kept themselves hidden from civilization go out into the open, blending with the crowd. It was reportedly convenient for their appearance are not out of the ordinary when everyone is wearing costumes. I once saw an entity who had the resemblance of a generic ghost costume. You know, with the bedsheets.
Lucas then called out to me as I stared through the window, watching a group of kids.
"John, see anything out there?"
"No. Just kids. Why are you asking? That shit you're using should tell you."
"Just asking." He said. I watched him with the rearview mirror, his eyes still glued to the screen. Suddenly, the devices in the back began to go off. Lucas and the other operatives checked and confirmed the coming presence of four entities coming from the north.
"Four entities. Alright, John, move the van to their direction. We need to assess the threat." Lucas said as he moved to the passenger seat. I started the van and Lucas sat down. He opened the glove compartment to pull out a pistol and two full magazines. Behind me I could hear the others contact nearby strike teams for assistance followed by the cocking of guns.
I briefly noticed Lucas placing two silver bullets into a magazine.
"Hey, what's that for? Werewolves are extinct last time I checked." I said to him.
"Silver could work on other things. You never know. Besides, it is no use to leave them collecting dust in my locker."
"Why not trade them for cash? You know what, nevermind. We got a job to do."
Lucas loaded his gun as we moved down the street and took a turn.

We arrived at the place. We watched from behind hedges at passing humans. Feb and Lucy whispered about their appearances and snickered to themselves. One wore a cape and made their skin grey. Two red dots were also on their neck. Another had fuzzy horns and was red while holding an odd stick with three points. Some also wore white sheets also. We traveled on and saw some stop at random dwellings briefly to receive "trick or treats", which were the small bags. I was fascinated. We then moved to the side of a building and looked around the corner. There were some flashing lights in the distance at a dwelling where multiple humans gathered. Some shambled and struggled to walk, laughing as they drank from cups.
"Are they mimicking the reanimated?" Tobi asked.
"Perhaps. Humans are said to have a fascination with the dead rising." I informed him.
While Tobi and I observed a group of tall humans throw paper at a tree, Feb and Lucy tucked at my wing and pointed to some small humans behind us. There were five of them, and their faces looked up in awe at me and Tobi. It was briefly silent before one of them spoke.
"Cool costumes!" said a human that wore a funny hat . Feb and Lucy stared at one who had long and pointy ears, just like the ones they had. The small humans started to ask us various questions.
"Where do you come from?"
"Do you like chocolate?"
"How did you make your costumes?"
"Are you supposed to be Mothman?"
I was perplexed and turned to Tobi, who shrugged. He too couldn't understand their words. Although, they weren't afraid of us and that was interesting. As they talked and surrounded Feb and Lucy, someone called out, which caused the small humans to turn. I looked and saw another human who was tall. They immediately became still when they saw us.
"Kids, come over here." The tall one muttered in a worried voice while slightly trembling at my gaze. The little ones reluctantly complied, and said goodbye to us. Then we suddenly heard the familiar sound of a gun.

Lucas muttered profanity as he and I watched the four entities interacting with some kids down the street. All of the entities are humanoid, and two appeared to be of the same species. They were short and green-ish. The other two were tall. One looked like a corpse with grey skin, while the other was a cross between a crustacean and a darkly colored insect. The latter had wings which were tucked behind it.
"Alright, we might not need to 'conceal' for kids have overactive imaginations and-" Lucas rambled just before a woman came around a corner.
"Shit." I said. As we observed, an agent in the back informed us that a strike team was inbound and due to arrive in four minutes.
We did not know if the entities were hostile, but we could not risk further exposure. Lucas rolled down the window and ordered the other agents in the back to engage. I immediately protested against his order.
"Wait! We don't know what those things are capable of!" I shouted.
"According to the tech, they could be Fiji-classed, but we must uphold the second and third mission." Lucas said as he and the others exited from the van and aimed at the creatures. One of the agents opened fire, which missed and hit a jack-o-lantern.
The insect creature immediately spread its wings and quickly flew up in the star-filled sky. The two small creatures clung onto the legs of the other entity as it ran very quickly across the street into an alleyway. The woman and kids ran off while three shots were fired. We retreated back into the van and Lucas gave me an order.
"Follow them!" He spat.
"Of course!" I replied as I drove the van. In the back, an agent stated that the strike team was only seconds away.

I flew high above in the sky, watching the human vehicle and Tobi, whom Feb and Lucy clung to. They moved among the maze like streets, and I flew down to them.
I landed in front of them where Tobi pulled at Feb and Lucy.
"Get off me!" He exclaimed. The two complied while they snickered.
"That was a rush." Feb said to Lucy, who nodded in agreement.
"Come on, we need to-" I said before hearing the sound of the human vehicle.
"Hide!" I managed to say before flying again. I hid on top of a roof and peered down to observe.

"Stop the van! We are going on foot. The team is here and have eyes in the sky for the thing. Also, civilians are being sent back into their homes." Lucas said as he got additional magazines and an SMG with a flashlight attached from the back. I loaded my sawed-off and got out of the van with everyone. We moved to the side of an empty convenience store that lead to an alleyway. We cautiously moved around the area until we heard a clang inside a trashcan ahead.
Lucas pointed at an agent to approach it, which they reluctantly complied. Lucas then gestured to open it while we aimed our weapons. Before opening the trashcan lid, out burst the short creatures. They crawled all over the agent as they tried to take them off.
The agent fell to his back, which gave me a clear shot at one of the creatures. I fired and they got kicked back by the blast. The other stopped and looked at its comrade. The one I shot started to laugh as it looked up into the sky. We then shot the other while it was distracted. It too just laughed as it laid on the ground. They tried to crawl away and the agent who was down got up to aim.
Suddenly, from the darkness deeper in the alleyway, a hand grabbed the head of the agent and twisted it, killing him instantly. It was the tall creature. We opened fire at it and it seemed unhurt.
"Fall back!" I yelled. We exited back into the street where we saw members of the other strike team approaching on the sidewalk. Then I heard a scream and turned to see an agent being grabbed and had his arm torn off by the entity. It then clawed at him, and as it did we desperately fired at it to no avail. Suddenly Lucas pulled out his pistol and fired.
Lucas had hit the creature's right shoulder, which showed a clear visible wound. It started to quickly blister before swelling and bursting, severing its arm. The creature's eyes widened and looked at its arm on the ground in a pool of blood. It quickly charged at Lucas, but he fired a second shot, which hit it in the head. It crashed into Lucas right before its head exploded.
"Told you the silver bullets were going to be useful." Lucas said as he pushed the body off him and stood up.
"Yeah, whatever. We just lost two guys!" I said to Lucas before looking at the members of the other strike teams. I told them of the other two entities, and they went after them with cages. Back at headquarters we have ways to destroy durable threats.
As Lucas wiped off some brain matter, the winged creature swooped down and took him high into the air. It dropped Lucas to his death and he landed onto a car. We fired blindly into the sky briefly.
I returned to the van and sat down. We were going to need a team to handle cover-up. While I was thinking, guns shots and a helicopter could be heard in the distance.

I soared high in the sky and flew into the direction of the woods. I was able to see Feb and Lucy. They were locked in cages after being gunned down. I wanted to fly to them, but a bright light flashed on me. The light came from another human vehicle, which then fired at me. I evaded and managed to make it into the forest. I was shielded by the trees, and I eventually stopped to rest.
I briefly thought about Tobi, and his death. I did not understand how he perished. Nothing could hurt him. My thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of a spinning blade, and being illuminated. Instinctively, I spread my wings and flew among the trees. I heard a brief click, and found myself to be suddenly entangled in black webs. I tried to chew through them, but it was no use. A group of humans then surrounded me. One came up with a long stick that made me fall asleep.
When I awoke, I found myself in a white room. It was brightly lit, and there was a window where I was able to see two silhouettes. They were talking to each other. I made out several parts of their conversation such as "SCP" and "retrieved at around 11:59, sir."
At first, I was confused and I started to wonder if they were The Jailers. I heard tales of them keeping others in similar rooms, but no one knew all the details. Nonetheless, I simply sat, unblinking, waiting to see what would occur next.


The Chaos Insurgency was having a very good day.
Marcus Austerion walked the halls as a hero. Their old, ragtag base had been replaced with a shiny new Foundation site, loaded with the latest technology and a vast array of… information to peruse.
And all I had to do was seduce some geezer and kill some fogies to get it.
There was a certain joy in being the boss. No longer was he at the beck and call of an old woman, having to spend the Insurgency's notably low budget on fancy gifts to please her. The respect is a nice touch too. For a time, he had been referred to as "Granny-lover Marcus," a decidedly uncreative nickname, but one that still stung nonetheless.
"Marcus, you're needed in the command center."
A wiry man, who had been acting as Marcus's assistant for the past few days notified him.
"Thank you, John." Marcus responded, "I'll be right there."
The former council room, now the command center, had been cleaned of blood and bodies only a few hours ago. The cleaning solution gave the room a nice lavender scent to mask the stench of death and gunshots. Two men sat, lightly bickering at the table. The man on the left, Dale O'Connor, was their unofficial treasurer. The man on the right, Kenneth Posely, preferred to speak on diplomatic affairs. Marcus himself acted as a de facto tactician, and if the situation called for it, general leader.
"What's the situation now?" Marcus asked, "We still have several days before the Universal Council reconvenes. Are we really having this much trouble securing key Sites in this backwater swamp planet?"
"To be frank, yes." Kenneth retorted, "They've noticed that all of their communication lines to us and to each other have been severed. At some point, they'll find a way out of lockdown before we can take control of the Sites. We don't have the manpower-"
"Or the resources," interrupted Dale.
"Yes, or the resources, to fend off the entire Foundation, especially if they reach out to other planets."
"So, I'm assuming this means we haven't made any progress with 13, is that correct?" Marcus inquired.
"Ah, yes, I have been completely unable to coerce him to give the 'all-clear' order." Kenneth sheepishly responded, "All attempts at torture have completely failed. We don't know what to do."
"I can't say I didn't expect this. Now, if there's nothing else, I would like to go deal with him myself."
"Uh, no, that's it. If we can get the all-clear order out we could just amnestize them all enough to believe that we are the rightful leaders of this planet's Foundation quite easily."
"Of course we could. Now, without further ado, I must be off. I have some information to claim."

"Hello, my little sole survivor, how are you doing today?"
O5-13 stares contemptuously at Marcus, as Marcus sits on a chair across the bars from him.
"I already told you, I'm never giving that order," O5-13 mutters before the question is even asked.
"Well, who said that's what I wanted you to do? I just want to become really good friends with you. After all, you owe me your life! It's the least you could do to be a little nicer with me."
"Not killing me does not count as saving my life."
"Does it not? No matter, because I think I'm going to really charm you right now. Now, tell me what the bad men did to you to try to get you to talk."
O5-13's eyes shift away from Marcus, to stare at some particularly interesting part of the wall.
"The silent treatment? That's cold. From this report… it seems like the only thing they've done so far is knock you around a little and not give you food. How harsh. Would you like some food?"
"Only if you eat it with me."
"What is it?"
"Bag of dicks."
Marcus broke into a light chuckle, which grew into uproarious laughter, before finally settling down again.
"Old man has jokes, doesn't he? I'm impressed you can keep your cool down here. Maybe you O5's have some fire in you after all. Now, because you were just so rude to me, mind telling me the all-clear code?"
"I already told your goons, I don't have it. Only O5-1 had that. And you killed him. So much for your plan."
"Wow, you really must think I'm stupid. Don't you remember who I am? 4's former assistant? She had some… loose lips. I know just about everything there is to know about all of you. Why do you think we left you alive?"
"I thought it was just this handsome mug I'm rocking."
"Good one. But I know you know the code. I even know the distress code, so if you were hoping to trick us into letting you send the might of the Foundation down on us, you are sorely mistaken. One of your coworkers, I believe it was 12, left it on a sticky note in his desk. How lucky for us. You're out of options, so how about you just make this all easy for yourself?"
"Suck a dick."
"Wow, the absolute mouth on you! Can't believe they let you in the Foundation, let alone the O5 council."
"Why do you think you can convince me if starving me half to death has not, and will not work? Your charming personality? Maybe you think I'll accidentally say it during a sentence because I'm just that senile? What is it?"
"I don't need you to say it. You need you to say it."
"That was the dumbest statement I've ever heard. I have no past, no connections, nothing other than a want for the good of the Foundation, and you think I fear death?"
"I don't. But I do know what will terrify you."
Marcus activated his earpiece microphone.
"Bring in The Surgeon."
Immediately after his request, a set of guards stepped in. They stood on either side of a man with peculiar eyes and robotic hands. A third man entered alongside them, carrying surgical tools.
"This is my good friend, the Surgeon. He's a guy we picked up in a back alley, a bit down on his luck, but he had been running a bootleg neuro clinic in some… unsavory turf. Poor guy missed his protection fees by a few bucks and said unsavory clients made sure he could never work again. Show us your hands, Surgeon."
On command, the Surgeon removed the prosthetics to reveal the stumps where his real hands should have been.
"The man is an anomaly unto himself, no past, no future, just eyes that can see the finest details, and a brain that can store incredible amounts of knowledge. Too bad they cut his tongue off, I assume he was beautifully verbose. You should also recognize those hands. We recognized the worth of such a fantastic savant on our sides and needed an even anomalously good pair of hands. Prosthetics have come far, but you can't get beauties like these without a little bit of random cosmic magic. We just had to steal them from you, you understand. They would've been wasted on any other chump."
Marcus opens the cell door, and enters, along with The Surgeon and the guards. Marcus goes up close to O5-13 and whispers, out of the earshot of The Surgeon.
"We can't call him by his real name of course, because that would humanize him. But you understand that concept, don't you?”
"Eat shit and die."
"Ooh, getting a little quiet there buddy? Has your situation finally dawned on you? We found a fate much, much worse than death, especially for such a smart boy as you. See, our buddy here knows the exact part of the brain he needs to manipulate to remove your free will forever. We don't need you to give us the code willingly, after a little snip snip, we can just ask you and you'll do whatever anybody wants. I would make a PowerPoint explaining the exact sciences behind free will removal, but I don't think either of us wants to spend time on that. I'll just trust that you get it."
O5-13 remained silent. The only sound that could be heard in his containment area were the sounds of The Surgeon sharpening his equipment.
"Not even a witty retort this time? Shame, I was really a huge fan of those. Such vulgarities for an O5. Now, last chance, will you give the all-clear? I swear I won't have Mr. Bad Surgeon Man here touch your big ol' noggin if you do."
"…"
"Well?"
"I'll do it."
"What was that? Could barely hear you."
"I said I'll give the all-clear, okay?"
"That's a good boy. I'm sure you're thinking something heroic about how you're more useful to the Foundation with free will. Bring him to the terminal."
The Surgeon got himself and his tools out of the way to let the guard, who hefted O5-13 over his shoulder, and Marcus through. The trio walked up to the terminal, and some of the more belligerent Chaos Insurgency members clapped for the fallen O5. The guard sat O5-13 at the terminal. Marcus held a stun rod to 13's back.
"Try anything funny and you get knocked out. Then we'll try again the next day. Remember, I know your distress codes, and if the computer receives any signal that would achieve that effect, we have it rigged to let us know. You have no way out, other than giving the all-clear. Hey Dale! Are the guards ready? We have a personalized all-clear message ready to go out telling them to accept amnestization."
Dale, who was hunched over at another terminal, shot a thumbs up in the direction of Marcus.
"Now," Marcus said, right over the shoulder of 13, "Send the code."
A message prompt appeared on the screen.

Does the Black Moon howl?
Input: Only on the shoulders of the Stars.

A minute passes, before a sharp shout of joy can be heard from Dale.
"Receiving confirmation that our men are being let in." Dale yelled, "The geezer did his job!"
"I'm almost surprised. That whole distress signal thing was bullshit, all we did was send this all-clear to the most easily takeable Site. You actually sent the right code. Now, for your reward."
Marcus took a handgun out of its holster and dug it into the forehead of O5-13.
"Put that gun away, we had a deal." O5-13 said, letting the panic creep into his voice.
"I don't think we ever made a deal. Simply put, that's all we needed you for."
Marcus cocked his gun. The shot echoed through the control room.

< The Spectre On Pike | A Legend of Low Birth>


"Hello, doctor."
"Good morning, administrator."
"Doctor, I am aware that I was supposed to be indisposed today, but, as you can see, I managed to overcome the minor problems I had and I can talk to you."
"Of course, administrator. I am at your service."
"I'm glad to hear it. Doctor, I invited you into my office - and I don't do that very often - to talk about a phenomenon that has been worrying the Foundation for some time now. I think you know what I mean."
"Conspirational objects."
"Exactly. Now, excuse my ignorance, but as you may know, we administrators and council don't get involved in the affairs of a single sector, Site or terrain only. Our actions usually have a more global impact and given the fact that we can't focus equally on everything we sometimes need information from people as experienced as you, doctor. So please tell me, what are these conspirational objects?"
"Most of all, a grave danger. With the utmost respect of your opinion, administrator, and of the unwritten rules regarding the importance of maintaining one's temper, I think that in their case self-control and phlegmatism, or even good acting don't mean that the Foundation will surely succeed. I see the flash in your eye, administrator, and yes, I have to confess that, since the time when over twenty years ago I was entrusted with the general supervision over the conspirational objects, I am not calm. To be honest, I am afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Lack of stability. People working in the Foundation are used to the fact that even Keters will sooner or later get caught, locked in their containment rooms, and then, in favorable circumstances, be that is our foundation, what allows us — and others, like ordinary civilians — to sleep peacefully. Conspirational objects destroy that orderly chaos. They don't allow themselves to be classified, they slip away from any standards, any procedures. They don't care about the effort we put to contain them. They are omnipresent and influential, and yet we can't do anything about them. We don't know if someone or something is controlling them, as we don't know what their origin is or what they would do if they were to achieve their goal — defeating the Foundation. Actually, the things we do know about them are so few that we don't even use the name "subjects", because we contained too little. And that's what I'm afraid of, administrator: the unavoidable probability, the fact that I could bump into a conspirational object while going back home from work, look into its eyes and not even realize that I'm passing in front of a deadly danger. And believe me, I would know it in any other case."
"You're absolutely right, doctor. You know that administrators don't speak too much about their feelings, but in this case, I'll admit, but only between the two of us — I feel exactly the same since the time I was introduced to their first mentions."
"I've seen many anomalies in my life, administrator. I am aware of what Site I'm in and what its goals are. I'm also responsible, I try to eliminate every doubt and overcome every obstacle as fast as I can. And that's the problem. Because when I think about the conspirational objects, I lack ideas. For anything. They are cleaning the eighty-six all the time for a hundred years. It's still generating new reports. Still, no one came back from the attic. We are stuck in a dead spot. Additionally, I feel like I'm being outplayed every step forward I make. "I" as a member of scientific-explorative personnel."
"Outplayed?"
"Conspirational objects achieved surprising proficiency in tricking the Foundation, but they seem to not know about the particular organization. They don't know what is our organization, what are our IDs, how do we communicate, where do we privately live, how many Class D personnel or council members we have. They are aware, maybe intelligent, but even though it's like someone programmed them to just destroy us, just because, without a reason. "
"You sound very pessimistic, doctor…"
"I can't think differently. Of course, I can't hold back my emotions only in this case, but after I was assigned to the team which examines conspirational objects, problems concerning other, non-conspirational, just ceased to exist. There are just them left…"
"And that's also the thing I wanted to talk about. In general, you're achieving great results. I looked into your documents lately. Besides that, contrary to what you think, since you've been working on conspirational objects significant progress has been made."
"It's nothing, administrator."
"That's what you think, doctor? The council thinks otherwise."
"Really?"
"Indeed. Go ahead, don't hold back that smile."
"It's… good to hear it, administrator, but I won't be satisfied until the conspirational object caught by my team is assigned a Safe classification or, which I would prefer, Neutralized."
"Actually, we considered your retirement."
"What?"
"There are younger people, fresher, with more enthusiasm…"
"Point out at least one."
"I don't think that such an aggressive defensive attitude is necessary."
"First of all, I just don't accept your… your ideas."
"You don't have to. But you know the procedures."
"You will invite me to drink some wine, where I will be escorted by a group of guards, you will raise your chalice for a toast, touching the glass with your lips, but only I will drink, just to wake up the following day next to my wife in a freshly renovated house and drive with a smile on my face to the bakery I became owner of a week earlier? I know the procedures perfectly, I know the types of amnesiacs and their usage, I know how you organize everything. And I know that you shouldn't remind me of such things."
"You need an assistant, doctor. You aren't young anymore."
"I refuse. Tell me, administrator, have you mentioned the topic of conspirational objects and my great achievements just to inform me that you are planning the end of my career? I have the exclusive control over the gathered documentation, and if you are right, only I came so close to the solution of that mystery."
"Your own ambitions exceeded you."
"Nonsense."
"Nonsense is that pile of papers that you call documentation, and after reading some, I almost bursted into laughter."
"How dare you, administrator!"
"Keep calm, please."
"How many guards do you have behind that door? Never mind, I will check it myself!"
"Please, sit down."
"You locked the door?! Now you want to kill me?! I demand an immediate explanation!"
"We haven't finished yet, doctor."
"Even an administrator doesn't have the permission… how did you acquire access to the documentation?"
"It's on the main Foundation server."
"The files are there, but documentation regarding conspirational objects…"
"You are overburdened with work, doctor."
"How did you acquire access? You said that conspirational objects aren't something you have to worry about, and… I didn't send the documentation to the main server. I have the original files in my office…"
"I repeat my request to take a seat."
"You are an O5 Administrator. What's your ID?"
"Please, take a seat."
"You are obligated to answer. You forgot about the access card."
"Please sit down and don't order an administrator around."
"Your ID…"
"I'm glad you decided to sit down."
"What's your ID?"
"Oh-five fifteen, doctor."
"The council has thirteen members…"
"Fine, I just forgot to check."
"…"
"Stop pretending you're that scared now, you surely felt something. Damn it, I almost did it without a… how do you call it? Oh, exposure. See, thanks to you I ex-po-sed-my-self."
"…"
"Can we get back to a more official tone?"
"…"
"Does the silence mean "yes"? Good."
"…"
"So… please, remind me — what are conspirational objects?"
"…"
"What am I?"


"Alright everyone, one last bit of business before we go. Since Johansson is retiring, we're getting a new member." MTF Commander Damian Creed scanned around the briefing table. By this point in the meeting, several eyes had glazed over. "This is Agent Beatrice Ross. She's an ICSUT trained thaumatologist specializing in evocation, so hopefully we'll get a little more done when we're called in to take care of something coming out of Three Portlands."
"Good to be here," Agent Ross said. She stepped forward and gave a confident nod to her new colleagues.
"Alright, so for those of us who didn't play Dungeons and Dragons as kids, what does that mean?" a voice called from the far side of the table.
"It means she's good at blowing shit up, Dwyer," Creed replied. "Magic Missile, and all that jazz. Boom."
Expectant eyes turned back to Ross. She shrugged and chuckled.
"I mean, the technical term is actually Disembodied Force Projectile, and I generally prefer electric based evocations, but yeah." She grinned at Creed. "Boom."

"Boom…" Ross mumbled. Her breath was visible as she shivered, half unconscious, on the floor of Gabe Merlo's office.
Gabe stood a few feet away. The head accountant of Site-64 turned away from Ross to look at the gangly young man with thick glasses that stood behind him. The young man was dressed in a maintenance personnel's jumpsuit; he pointed a shotgun directly at Gabe.
"I won't ask you again, Mr. Merlo. Step away from Agent Ross."
Gabe turned to face him. "I've already called for help. You don't have the time to kill us and escape this facility."
"Try me." The young man grinned.
"And the other option?"
"Step aside. I do the deed, spray you with some Class A amnestics, and that will be that."
Gabe paused. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, nodded, and stepped to the side. The young man's grin turned to an ear to ear smile.
"Much obliged," he said and took a step forward. His aim switched to the incapacitated agent.
A mug of coffee shattered against the side of his head. Hot liquid scalded his face; Gabe slammed him into the wall, knocking the shotgun out of his hands. Gabe got in two more punches before the young man dropped him with a head-butt.
"Bold move, Mr. Merlo." The young man scooped his shotgun back up and took aim. "Bold fucking move."
The weapon flew from his hands, smashing into the far wall with enough force to set it off. The young man soon followed. He let out a brief, terrified shriek; it was promptly interrupted by the sound of snapping bones. He spat up a wad of blood, then slumped to the ground in a heap.
Gabe's mouth hung open in horror. He turned to look at Ross, who was sitting up, a gloved hand extended outward as she watched the young man's corpse for signs of movement.
"Could you help me up, please?" she croaked. Gabe scrambled to his feet, and assisted Ross in getting back on hers.
"I contacted Sasha," Gabe explained. "They're on their way. If we wait here we should be safe-"
"I'm ending this now." Ross pulled away from Gabe's support and hobbled to the door. "I think it's time I paid Dr. Morgan a visit."
"Agent Ross, with all due respect, you're in no condi-"
"I'm ending this now!" Ross snapped. "I won't let her escape. There's been too many fucking deaths, Gabe. Too many dead ends. I'm ending this now, even if it kills me! If you try to stop me, I'll fuse you to your goddamn office chair, do you understand?"
"Crystal clear," he replied. Ross gave a satisfied nod at his answer.
She gestured to the shotgun. "Do you know how to use that?"
Gabe nodded picked the weapon up.
"Stay here and keep the door locked," Ross ordered as she drew her pistol and began to move into the hallway. "Tell Assistant Director Merlo and Director Holman what happened and where I went. I'd like to see Dr. Morgan cover her tracks this time."

Dr. Lindsey Morgan, Ethics Committee

"I've got you now," Ross muttered under her breath as she hobbled towards the office door. She shivered, teeth clattering as she moved to grab the doorknob, only to find it locked. "Of fucking course."
With a sigh, Ross held a finger on the knob. The metal frosted at the touch and vibrated in place before making a small mechanical click. She then clumsily pulled her hand away, noting that she no longer could feel below her elbow.
She tested the knob once more, and as the door opened a smile came to her face. A bullet then ricocheted above her head, causing the sentiment to evaporate. She didn't bother to see who was firing at her, hobbling past the threshold and slamming the door shut behind her. She once again touched the knob, the metal grinding and twisting as she jammed the mechanisms inside.
Agent Ross sneezed, and then looked around the room, finding it unoccupied save for an empty chair, and a dusty desk.
"Of fucking course," she muttered to herself once more and approached the desk, taking a seat on top of it as she continued to look around the room. A loud banging came from outside the door as her assailants attempted entry. "I just can't seem to get to the bottom of this."
"I would appreciate it if you didn't sit there, Agent Ross," the voice of an elderly woman whispered in her ear. "I don't come to your office and sit on your desk."
Ross froze and turned her head. Standing by her side was a short woman with silver hair pulled back in a bun. She was dressed in a reddish-brown suit and gave a stern frown as she stepped from the shadows into the emergency lighting.
"I should blow your head off right now, Dr. Morgan." Ross scowled, aiming her weapon at the old woman.
"By all means, you're welcome to try," Dr. Morgan smirked. "I think you'll find that quite impossible though."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Ross shouted. "Are Ethics Committee members bulletproof?"
"Hardly. But I know you're not going to shoot me. I suggest you take your leave, my dear. You've been through quite a lot."

BANG

Smoke rose from the barrel of the pistol. The banging on the door outside stopped, then returned with all the more fury. Ross's eyes widened as Dr. Morgan vanished the second the bullet touched her.
"As I said before, my dear," Dr. Morgan whispered in Ross's ear. "Quite impossible."
Dr. Morgan placed a hand on Ross's shoulder, then vanished once more, a sheath of cold enveloping the agent.
"All that Seance Dust was for you." Ross waited for her target to reappear. "The whole room's filled with it, isn't it?"
"Had a good friend create a special set of aerosolizes a mixture of it, and my remains," Dr. Morgan's voice called from behind Ross. "You only need molecules of each to get the desired effect. I'm a permanent fixture of this room now. A permanent part of Site-64."
"Serve the Foundation ad infinitum," Ross commented. "A poor man's immortality. But why?"
"The Foundation can do many things. But not even they can cure small cell carcinoma."
Dr. Morgan then appeared before Ross, stepping into the emergency lighting from the shadows once more. A melancholy smile dominated her face.
"I've been on Site-64's Ethics Committee since the days of Director White," she went on. "I helped mold this place. I sacrificed so much to make sure this place didn't destroy itself. Things are far too precarious still."
"You tried to have Agent Creed and me assassinated, Dr. Morgan," Ross replied. "There are stacks of bodies that have been left in your wake. Why is preventing your death more valuable than all those lives?"
"Better a handful of sacrifices here than an all-out war with Three Portlands. That is what will happen without a skilled hand at the helm. Without a benevolence pulling the strings. It happened with the Library, and it will happen here as well, mark my words."
The banging on the door stopped and was replaced by the sound of gunfire and shouting. Ross shook her head.
"Everyone dies, Dr. Morgan. Even you."
Ross held out her hand. A violet and pink orb of light appeared and began to slowly grow as the agent placed atop the desk with care. Arcs of electricity shot from its expanding surface outward before diving back in. She slowly moved herself to a back corner of the room, grimacing as a thick layer of frost began to pile upon.
"What is this?" Dr. Morgan asked. Her eyes widened as the orb grew to the size of a basketball.
"Thaumatological plasma," Ross grunted, her palm still outstretched towards the radiating orb. "Vaporize everything in this room."
"You're grasping at straws, dear," Dr. Morgan chuckled. "That kind of spell will kill you in the shape you're in."
"M-maybe, though I'm p-pretty sure I can s-shield m-myself," Ross said through chattering teeth, "b-but if n-not, it'll certainly destroy every last m-molecule of you too."
The orb lurched outward, engulfing the desk. Dr. Morgan's mouth hung open.
"Stop it," she called, rushing to Ross's side.
Dr. Morgan clawed at the thaumatologist, only to vanish and appear on the far side of the room. Ross winced as the sheath of cold once again struck her body. Wave after wave of Dr. Morgan's phantom crashed into Ross, bringing her to her knees. The latter let out a weak smile, let her hand fall, as her body crashed to the floor. There was a bright flash and gust of wind. The orb exploded outward, from wall to wall, then was gone. The furniture in the room had been reduced to smoking dust, leaving a charred Ross chuckling as she struggled for breath in a heap on the floor.
"Always wanted… to try that spell…" Ross said, looking up to see Dr. Morgan fading away.
The door to the office then burst open, agents of Tau-51 pouring in to find their acting commander drifting out of consciousness in the wake of her spellcasting.
"Hey, guys," Agent Ross whispered. "Glad you could make it."

The sound of medical equipment made for a poor alarm clock, the constant pinging and dripping of various gadgets and gizmos a guarantee of waking up in a bad mood. As she opened her eyes, Agent Beatrice Ross frowned and looked around the room. Sitting at the foot of the bed, reading a small paperback, was a slender man with short blond hair and a trimmed beard.
"Hey Creed," she mumbled. "You finally showed up. Thought you'd miss the whole party."
Creed turned to her and smiled.
"Funny thing about getting shot a whole bunch," he replied. "They tend to not let you leave the hospital right away. How are you feeling? You had me scared for a bit there. I was thinking we'd need to go and grab Annabelle."
"Like absolute shit," she said with a small grin. "I can't feel my feet or hands. And it's hard to breathe."
"The frostbite from your casting finally got you, Bea," he replied with a frown. "They had to amputate your right leg below the knee and your left arm below the elbow. They managed to save your right arm and left leg, but those aren't going to work the same for a while."
Ross closed her eyes and sighed. Creed placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Bea, I'm so, so sorry," he said softly. "I should have been there. This shouldn't have happened. There's a lot they can do with prosthetics these days, we'll get you good as new. An uphill battle, sure, but that's never stopped you-"
Ross reached up with a heavily bandaged hand and held his, shaking her head as she gave a sad smile, tears welling in her eyes.
"Not like I didn't know what I was doing," she said. "I just finally lost control. Not your fault, Damian."
Creed's eyes filled with tears as well as he returned the smile, then gave a short chuckle.
"What the hell are we going to do with you?" he asked. "I can't turn my back on you for a moment can I."
She shook her head.
"Hey man, I cracked the case," she replied.
"But at what cost?"
"An arm and a leg."
Ross's smile then melted away as she closed her eyes. She tightened her hold on Creed's hand and leaned into it with her cheek.
"I'm so proud of you," he whispered, lightly squeezing her hand in return.
"You better be. I'm holding this over you forever."

Assistant Director Merlo and Director Holman sat in silence in the latter's office, recovering after a hearing with Internal Affairs. Fingers had been pointed. Names dragged through the mud. But in the end, it seemed that both of them were off the hook. For now, at least. More hearings and investigations were planned for the near future.
"It could have been a lot worse, Ed," Merlo spoke. "We're lucky Ross managed to get to the root of the problem when she did."
"We melted the visible part of the iceberg and now have no idea where the rest of the ice went, Sasha," Holman sighed. "Dr. Morgan needed a massive amount of support to have gotten as far as she did unnoticed, and so far, no one's turned up. I don't like the idea of those kinds of loose ends being left free to metastasize."
"I don't like it either," Merlo replied, "but there is nothing else we can do now save keep vigilant. They can't cover their tracks forever, and now they are scattered and leaderless. At some point, one of them will slip up again. Hopefully, we're more prepared to zap them when that happens."
Holman nodded in agreement.
"Since when are you such an optimist?" he asked.
"Since when are you such a downer?" she replied with a grin. She then sighed and stood, grabbing a stack of paperwork as she headed towards the door. "Do you think that if they knew how much work they created on our end, the MTFs would be a little more careful?"
"Did that ever give you pause when you headed Gamma-13?" Holman replied with a grin of his own.
"Touché." Merlo chuckled. "Guess karma has finally found me."

« Breakthrough | Portland Vice


ERROR: Field Cannot Be Lloyd
「Red Sun」

Image Sources:

1) red sun by Thomas Hirsch, CC-BY-SA 2.0

Acknowledgements:

NewyRose, for the Halloween CSS.
Pilzening does not match any existing user name, for critique.
MrPines, for the hover transision CSS on the final image.

▸ More by this Author ◂

{$comments2}

F.A.Q.

{$doesthisfixthebug}

You're roused from dreamless sleep. Transient wisps of candy apples, pumpkin spice, candyfloss and other sugar-sweet scents waft their way into your padded cell. The muffled echoes of distant music carried on vodka-infused air seep through the thin cracks in the bunker's concrete, staining the air.
Your joints throb and ache from being motionless for so long. Your mind feels as atrophied as your muscles, wasted away from being tied to the concrete-set chair. The restraints aren't tight, but the scars still itch from where you desperately struggled against the leather, burning it into your skin. It's a reminder that you're a different person now.
"Man, Samuel really knows how to throw a party"
Despite the cruel headgear designed to bind your ears closed and blind your eyes, some noise worms its way through. Voices.
"Hell yeah Lloyd! Did you see Sammy chug down like, seven pints? Ah, hold on, I'll get the door."
So long without sound has left your ears trained to hear a pin fall, so the scraping sound of rusted metal on metal is torture. You feel a warm light fall on the cloth before your eyes and instinctively begin to pull against your restraints like a dog seeing his master.
"Is someone there?" you speak with trepidation, knowing that hearing voices isn't a good sign. Nobody has spoken to you in months, why would they be starting now?
"Oh, damn, look at him. Must be a pretty nasty Foundation to keep him in this state."
"Yeah man. I know one of us that got concrete'd up to the waist just to stop him from running."
"You made that up. Come on, let's get him outta that chair."
With the clicks of locks and the loosening of his restraints, you feel a weight from your shoulders removed. Your eyes are overwhelmed by the sudden plunge from pleasant and familiar darkness and into the light. Sound meets your ears in its full cacophonous beauty for the first time. The blurriness of unused eyes takes a second to focus on the two silhouettes.
You rub your eyes in disbelief, but no matter how hard you try reality doesn't change. Two identical versions of yourself stand before you. One dons an astronaut costume, holding the helmet under his arm, while the other wears cardboard sheets wrapped in tin foil in vague resemblance of a robot.
"Hey, you look somewhat familiar and good" said the robot version of yourself before being cut off by a quick strike to the head by the Astronaut.
"Cut it out. You do that bit every time. It was funny exactly once." Astro Lloyd turns to you: "We brought something more comfortable for you to slip into".
Robo Lloyd presents a few costume sets; there're crumpled, slightly torn and dusty, yet somehow they make you feel nostalgic. In a time not so long ago, you'd be outside in the cold October air knocking on doors, begging for candy.
"Dude you need to think about what you're gonna say before you say it."
You stare at the two ridiculous versions of yourself. So many competing questions race to your lips, but you stamp them down and ask the most pressing one: "Why are you here?"
"We're here to get you out of this crummy cell. Man, put up a poster or something. This place is the most miserable one yet." said Robo Lloyd.
"You've done this before?" you ask.
"If you mean breaking a Lloyd outta prison, sure. We haven't done exactly this before, so you can count yourself special."
"We're like wanderers", said Astro Lloyd.
"Yeah," confirmed Robo Lloyd, "and now it's your turn to join the club."
"No, I'm not leaving." You assert. "You know what happens when we die, right? It's best for everyone if I just stay here."
"Right, so we've got Mike Myers, IT, or a skeleton for you."
"Are you guys, are you even listening to me? I'm not leaving."
"Ah, I remember when I was your age." began Astro Lloyd with a condescending tone, placing a hand on your shoulder. "You're gonna die sometime, Lloyd, but you should have some good times before you go. C'mon, pop on a costume. You never know, you might have fun."
You look at the costumes presented. Maybe it was the smell of dusty fabric or the faint smell of candy from the nearby party, but a melancholy tugs at your heart. They remind you of a simpler time full of high spirits and juvenile happiness. You push down that feeling and glide your fingers over your scars. It's for the best you stay here, for everyone's sake.
"Lloyd, you only live once. You should live every day like it's your last, right?" said Robo Lloyd.
Your copies are risking everyone on the planet just by being here. But the way they carry themselves, the energy behind their eyes, their slight smiles; you thought it wasn't possible to see yourself smiling with the burden you bear. Yet the man you want to be stands before you, offering his hand.
Maybe they know something you don't.
"Fine. I'll leave here just for tonight, but then you take me back here. And I want the Mike Myers costume."
As you and your companions make your way through the belly of the beast, you notice small token decorations littering the walls: bats, ghosts, cobwebs. The distant melodies grow louder with each passing step. Outside of the noises of distant partying, your footsteps echo out through dead hallways. Documents litter the floor, computers remain mid-session.

Urgent News (Just Now)
Dangerous solar event occurring. Origin unknown. Countries exposed to sunlight offline. Seek shelter.

Global News (Yesterday)
Researchers report extreme floral growth.
> Read More

"Where's everyone gone to?" you ask.
"They're outside," replied Astro Lloyd bluntly.
"Why?"
Astro Lloyd looked to Robo Lloyd with a concerned expression. Robo Lloyd shook his head, "He'll see for himself later."
You change the topic, "So why are you here again?"
"You used to work at the Foundation Lloyd. You know how sometimes the world just… ends? Well, we got a message that we should all come here."
"So you can stop the end-of-the-world scenario, right?"
"Something like that."
The Robot and the Astronaut escort you the rest of the way in silence. The music grows louder and louder before you're met with loud cheering. You see multiple figures, all exceptionally similar to yourself, celebrating your arrival. They push alcohol into your hands and chant slurred words that you barely understand. You receive pats on the back, people laugh at you. You find yourself laughing back.
The next few hours were a blur. You're sat, back against the wall, fueled with cheap vodka and rambling to another version of yourself.
"I just feel that, like, I just wanna disappear? I don't wanna hurt anyone by dying, but I don't wanna suffer anymore. Does that makes sense?"
"We feel you, dude. We all do. C'mon, I think it's time you went outside with us. Everyone hear that? It's time to head out, guys!"
You walk alongside dozens of iterations of yourself. They push you to the forefront of your group like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. They lead you out of the home you've known for many years now, moved past grayscale landscapes bespeckled with flowers. You pass people sleeping outdoors; children in costumes and adults in suits alike. It's like all the people on Earth had decided to camp outdoors in the strangely warm and electrified air. Those awake talk with a blissful and ethereal tone. They speak of rapture, contentedness, and the beauty of the world.
One of the denizens shouts, almost screams at you "It's all going to be over soon!"
You're guided to a football stadium blindingly illuminated by intense floodlights. The grounds are littered, no, infested with versions of yourself. Some lie on the grass, staring at the black void above the stadium, some huddle fetally and cry, some commit acts of violence on each other. You wade through the empty bottles, cigarettes and needles that are strewn throughout the grounds.
You're overwhelmed by the sheer panic and anarchy. You know that this is not normal behaviour for yourself, in fact, you'd never begin to imagine yourself anywhere near this state. "What's going on?" you ask the nearest Lloyd.
"You said it yourself. We want to disappear without dying. We want to be happy. The Foundation told us this is our chance— We're going to do it. Look," responds Lloyd, pointing to the skies shimmering with regal red and golden rays, "it's about to happen."
You push past your clones, running from the crazed versions of yourself and back to what is familiar. You sprint away from the stadium, the gray landscapes and the rapturous freaks. You take shelter in your cell and comfort in the darkness. With the sound of rusted metal-on-metal, the door locks behind you, shielding your unwilling self from discovering the horrors that your clones and the denizens of the world knew would come.

On Hallow's Eve the Moon did set
Returned back to the void

The Sun's rise brought a brand new day
And none remained but Lloyd


It was just a little after midday, not that anyone would know it. The smoke from The Factory Funtime Facility was already so thick it obscured the sun. Though the jagged smokestacks were monstrously high, enough of the fumes still wafted low enough to make breathing uncomfortable. Both Fuller and Veronica held neckerchiefs to their mouths, though Manny refrained from doing so as to avoid drawing attention to the fact that his mouth was on the wrong end of his face.
“I can't believe this used to be the Crossroads Nexus,” Veronica lamented as she gazed upon the sprawling grid of rusted iron before her.
“Yes, The Factory is extremely efficient at converting things we don't need, like trees and open spaces, into things we do, like cubicles and phone books,” the ticket booth attendee said, her mouth frozen in a smile that she was too terrified to drop.
“Any discounts for senior citizens, even ones that don't look it and can't actually prove it because they burned all their legitimate ID when they went off the grid?” Fuller asked, only for Manny to elbow him in the ribs immediately after.
“Admission is one copper shilling per guest, no exceptions,” the woman replied.
“A shilling is one 66th of a troy pound, correct?” Manny asked as he set three copper coins on the counter. The attendant swept them behind the counter where they landed with a clink, suggesting there was already quite a pile of coins.
“Thank you. You may now enjoy The Factory Funtime Facility,” she said as she handed them three ‘admit one' tickets printed on heavily yellowed cardstock. “Please be sure to follow the directions of The Factory Funtime Facility's Funtime Facilitators to ensure your experience is optimally fun.” She gestured to the poster next to her, depicting a humanoid wearing a rusty happy face mask and a leather duster coat with a hood and mantle. The being had a belt which held a number of crude and oddly orthodontic looking metal tools and carried a stick with a winged hour-glass topper in its three-clawed hand. “Next please!”
“Copper's not even worth a dollar fifty a pound,” Herman remarked as the trio moved towards the tarnished gate. “They're barely charging two cents a head.”
“Well, they're spread out across the multiverse. Maybe they sell it somewhere it's really rare,” Veronica suggested.
“Or admission fees aren't actually how this place plans on making a profit,” Manny said. “Don't let your guards down.”
With the sun blocked out so completely, the only real sources of light were naked gas flames burning out of 10-foot tall street polls. Through the dim haze, only the largest of the Funtime Facility's attractions were immediately apparent. There was, of course, a roller coaster; a rickety, rusted thing that sagged and groaned as the carts rolled along it. What Veronica had mistaken for a Ferris Wheel on the outside turned out to be an enormous penal treadwheel, with patrons hanging by their arms from bars as they endlessly pushed the steps downwards. It appeared to be the only attraction with electrical lights, and judging by how they flickered it seemed that they were powered by the patrons themselves.
Just next to the Sisyphean Wheel was Mount Tetanus, an enormous pile of sharp, rusty machine parts that patrons were invited to climb.
“Okay, that thing's clearly just the garbage that was here before they turned this into a theme park,” Veronica remarked. She took out her camera and discreetly took a few photos of each of the dangerously dilapidated attractions. “The Factory trying to change their image from Dickens to Disney is more disquieting than anything we've got back home.”
“This place isn't disquieting, it's just downright dismal!” Fuller remarked confidently. “You can't just outright torture your workers and swindle your customers and expect to get away with it; you've got a put a bit of spit shine on it first! Where are the brightly coloured stalls? The lulling music? The saccharine sweets, the dazzling lights, the honey-voiced barkers more tempting than a whore on the Sabbath?”
“Look at that, they're even serving gruel,” Manny said with a nod to a nearby stall. The sign above it advertised ‘Sweet, Nourishing Gruel – Funtime Formula (one teaspoon of raw sugar per pot)! The rotten teeth are worth the ephemeral moment of pleasure!'
The being manning the stall was a slender, faceless thing dressed in a bowtie, apron and paper hat, stirring the large pot with one hand.
“Isn't that one of those things Emcee D uses as lawyers?” Veronica asked.
“Eidolonic Collectives, yeah,” Manny nodded. “The Factory uses one Collective for security, and another one for kitchen work.”
“Kitchen work?”
“You can't trust humans around food, they'd sneak some,” Manny shrugged.
A costumed mascot, which appeared to be a cartoon hot dog painted black to more closely resemble a smokestack, wearily danced in front of them. It shuffled back and forth without any real enthusiasm, began to stumble, and then collapsed on the ground.
“Bleedin' 'ell, not another one!” a Funtime Facilitator cursed as it ran to the mascot and undid the back zipper, pulling out a severely dehydrated man with a face covered in vomit. “These lazy sods think just because they're off the assembly line it means they can slack off. If you can work sixteen hours in the boiler room, then you can work sixteen hours in a mascot costume! Number 416, you're up!”
Another half-starved looking man ran up and crawled into the smokestack suit. As soon as he was zipped up, he started dancing for the crowds.
“Did you get a picture of that?” Manny whispered to Veronica, who nodded in the affirmative.
“I'm surprised at how many people there are here. Why would anyone stick around such a smog saturated death trap?” she asked.
“It's a big Multiverse Veronica. Somewhere out there there's a peaceful, pristine Arcadia of a world that consider pollution and industrial working hazards exotic and will pay to see them!” Fuller claimed. “Trust me, when you're a Wanderer you can always find a demographic for whatever you're selling.”
Squinting through the haze, Fuller spotted what looked like an administrative building on the far side of the park. Standing in an office window on the top floor was a silhouetted figure that Fuller couldn't help but find eerily familiar.
“I think we should split up for a bit. You two keep looking around, I'm going to see if I can find someone I might be able to milk some info out of,” he said.
“Boss, are you sure that's a good idea?” Manny asked. “Asking questions is likely to get us noticed by someone.”
“Don't worry your pretty little upside-down head about it. If anything goes squirrely, I always got an ace up my sleeve,” Fuller replied as he marched confidently into the smog.
“Lead Balloons! Complimentary Lead Balloons! Air not included!” a Facilitator hollered as it threw limp bags of lead foil at Veronica and Manny. “Stop standing around! Standing isn't fun! Go on a ride or something, I don't know.”
“Um… which one would you recommend?” Veronica asked.
“Oh, bloody hell. How about you tag along with me as I do my rounds and I'll point them out to you?” the Facilitator offered.
“That's very kind of you,” Veronica curtseyed. “I'm Vanessa by the way, and this is Barnabus. What's your name?”
“Dr. Hasselflax,” the Facilitator replied.
“You're a doctor?”
“As long as you count the degrees The Factory gives out. This way.” It turned to walk down the midway, hurling balloons at passersby. “Lead Balloons! Sweet as sugar, so they're great for kids! Use them in wine, cosmetics, plumbing, paint, gasoline; anything your kids are going to be licking!”
“You know, one of these days you just might accidentally guess my real name and unleash all kinds of hell,” the Man with the Upside-Down Face whispered to Veronica. “Also, Vanessa?”
“I've been mistakenly called Vanessa before, so I at least look like a Vanessa,” Veronica whispered back.
“Alright, here's a ride for you; the Iron Labyrinth, the only three-dimensional maze in, ah, I don't actually know, but they're not common!” Hasselflax said. They stood before what looked to be a vaguely MC Escher array of industrial staircases welded together at odd angles, with panicked patrons running along them with little regard to gravity.
“Please, let us out! It's been hours, we can't find the exit!” a patron on the inside pleaded.
“I can't let you out, it's a maze you idiot!” Hasselflax retorted, banging the stairs with one of the surgical implements from its belt. “It's no fun if you don't solve it yourself, so have fun! Fun, fun, fun!
“Okay, looks like I can't let you in here, otherwise these cheaters might get out. You could try climbing the Corporate Ladder. That's similar.”
The ride it pointed at was just a series of ladders, but the rungs all appeared to be booby-trapped. Some were red hot, others frozen. Some were covered in rusty razor wire while others were electrified. A few rungs appeared normal, and it was those ones that the climbers trusted the least.
“It has a glass ceiling,” Veronica remarked.
“That's right, even if you break through you'll be impaled by countless shards. It's highly realistic,” Hasseflax replied. “If that's a little too intense for you there's also the Chimney Sweep. We take you up to the top of the smokestack and let you bungee jump down inside it. We don't pull you back up though until you got the whole thing sparkling. You can also jump from the top of the smokestack into the Suicide Nets, which are just the nets we use to catch jumpers at The Factory. Standard practice really.”
“Okay, now you're just getting cartoonishly villainous,” Manny remarked. “What do you got that keeps our feet on the ground?”
“There are paddle boats, out on Lake Refuse,” Hasselflax said, pointing to a pond of rust-red water with copious amounts of garbage floating about. Several steel swan boats were drifting upon the pond, but all their passengers appeared to have passed out from the fumes. “Then of course HR is a madhouse all on its own, you know what I'm talking about?”
Before Veronica or Manny could respond, Hasselflax's walkie-talkie crackled to life.
“This is a memo to all Factory Funtime Facility Funtime Facilitators: The Factory Farm exhibit is closed until further notice. Several guests, apparently considering the livestock's living conditions to be inhumane, attempted to free them. The loss of potential return customers is regrettable, however, the accountants have calculated that this is, in fact, a net gain, as the pigs will not require a feeding this week. That is all.”
“Well did the accountants calculate the net cost of using these damn walkies instead of earpieces?” Hasselflax muttered with a shake of its head. “Look folks, I'll level with you. The safest ride is the Assembly Line. You just sit on a conveyor belt and watch the show.”
“Thank you,” Veronica curtseyed again, grabbing Manny by the hand and leading him towards the indicated ride. “Manny, can you see Inside these Facilitator guys? What are they?”
“I'm not sure. I can tell they're not a hivemind, so they're not Eidolonics. They're definitely not human, but they're not fey either. Honestly, the closest I've ever felt to them are the natives of Alagadda, but that's all I can say for sure.”
The two of them were quickly admitted into the Assembly Line. It seemed ordinary enough at first: just a series of carts moved around by a conveyor belt. Once their harnesses were in place, they were rolled inside the derelict building.
The interior looked like it had been a packaging warehouse of some kind in the past, and the mechatronic robots that once lined the conveyor belt had been crudely and cheaply modified into grotesque animatronics. They were elongated and mangled and randomly jolted to and fro, each movement causing a fiery display of sparks that cast monstrous shadows upon the walls. They flailed to the tune of a rhythmic beat that was almost music, while a pre-recorded monotone recited the same seven words over and over again:
“A Hard Worker Is A Happy Worker.”
“The happiest extradimensional place on all iterations of Earth,” Veronica smirked. “Hey, isn't Disney on the Council of 108? How do you think they're taking this?”
“It just, it doesn't make any sense,” Manny said, half to Veronica and half to himself. “The Factory never lets anyone in to keep their trade secrets and working conditions under wraps. They're like an evil version of Willy Wonka. Why would they open an amusement park to the public, especially one that's so cheap it's basically free? What are they getting out of this?”
“Yeah, it could be some evil eldritch plot, or it could just be a bad business venture on their part. They're both equally common,” Veronica said nonchalantly, snapping a photo of one of the flailing robots. To her surprise, the flash was met by an inhuman but also very unrobotic screeching, and multiple pairs of shining amber eyes began pouring out of the shadows.
“Gremlins; they do the Factory's mechatronics work,” Manny said.
"Okay, I'm really starting to wonder why you know so much about The Factory," Veronica replied. One of the impish creatures scuttled up to the cart and grabbed at her camera. “Let go of that you gross little Flibbertigibbet!” she shouted as she kicked it with her high heeled boot. The gremlin still wouldn't let go, so Manny socked it in the face.
This did knock it off the cart, but had the unfortunate side effect of enraging all the other gremlins. Shrieking and howling, they stormed the cart all at once. Veronica pocketed her camera and pulled out her trick cards. The black-backed cards levitated in a purple aura, and she tossed them one at a time at each of their half-sized assailants, knocking them back with anomalous force. One of them quickly got around behind her and put her in a chokehold. Manny struggled to get close enough to help her, but several of them had swarmed him and were keeping him pinned down. He managed to get a fist free and began punching them mercilessly. In his fury, his hat was knocked off his head, and all the gremlins suddenly relented, gasping in shock.
“It's him! It's the Man with the Upside-Down Face! But that means…” the gremlin grabbed Veronica by her coat and pulled her towards him. “Where's the Ringmaster? Where's Fuller?”

The receptionist at the Funtime Facility's administration offices looked up as a man in a red velvet frock coat, top hat, and diamond-topped mahogany cane sauntered into the waiting room.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, I'd like to have a word with the man in charge around here.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“A man of my standing doesn't require an appointment.”
“And you are?”
“Herman P. Fuller, of Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting, delighted to make your acquaintance!” Fuller said reflexively. “Shoot, I was supposed to be incognito.”
“Of course, Mr. Fuller, my apologies. You're right, you don't require an appointment. That elevator right there will take you straight to Management's Office. Just press the top button.”
“Much obliged, mon cher,” Herman nodded. He waltzed into the waiting elevator and pushed the top button with his cane. As the elevator rose with an unexpected ease, Fuller's eyes drifted towards the name beside the glowing button he had just pressed.
FACILITY MANAGER – ALOYSIUS FULLER
“Oh, crap on a corndog.”

« Act I | Hub | Act III »


A militaristic Foundation transport vehicle pulled in to Site-01. Several armor-clad and heavily-armed guards poured out, their black uniforms cut by the shimmering rose-gold colored dress of their escortee. She was tall, taller than most of the guards, and she easily looked like she belonged on a runway rather than the back of a shady organization's truck. Despite her incredible looks, however, her face was twisted into an ugly grimace, filled with fury.
She stomped towards the front door, dismissively pushing aside her convoy in order to meet with the woman she despised more than anyone. She flung open the door and scanned the lobby, not caring about the scene she was making.
"Where the fuck is Mesmur?!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.
As her guards came back in to restrain her, the elevator door at the opposite wall dinged open, revealing a tall, heavy-set woman with dark skin and curled hair lovingly tied back into a bun. To her left was a shorter girl no older than 20 holding a few files, with hair like straw and very European features. She felt like the antithesis of the woman in power next to her, yet she seemed comfortable around her.
The supermodel pointed a sharply manicured finger accusingly at the dark-skinned woman. "We need to talk right fucking now!"
Dr. Mesmur sighed and stepped out of the elevator. The shorter girl followed suit, making sure to keep a tight grip onto the papers in her arms. The girl stood on her toes and whispered something to Dr. Mesmur, to which she nodded in reply. The girl's expression changed from neutral dutifulness to one of subtle fear.
"I know. You did shout at me saying you wanted to talk. That's why I arranged your transport here." Dr. Mesmur said flatly. "Before we continue, what are your preferred name and pronouns this time?"
The supermodel's face was stretched with a wild grin, followed by a short, bewildered laugh. "Take a wild fucking guess."
Dr. Mesmur raised an eyebrow, "I can't say I know your name, though."
"Desirée, but call me DiDi," the supermodel said.
Dr. Mesmur's face remained stony. "Lovely. Glad you're still treating the existential crisis I had in my twenties as your fun little hobby."
DiDi let out a short laugh that might as well have been a cough.
Dr. Mesmur motioned to the guards with her hand, "Guards, I'll take her from here. You're dismissed."
The entourage of guards surrounding DiDi lowered their guard and stepped to the side. DiDi huffed and straightened her dress before striding towards Dr. Mesmur, her heels clacking against the linoleum tile.
"Who's the girl?" DiDi asked.
"My assistant." Dr. Mesmur replied.
DiDi looked down to the girl, "You got a name?"
Before the girl could reply, Dr. Mesmur interrupted, "She does, but you don't need to know it. I expect this meeting to be short."
DiDi glared at Dr. Mesmur then back down at the girl. The girl shrunk away from DiDi, almost trying to hide behind her boss. DiDi felt like she knew the girl from somewhere… maybe she'd slept with her in a past body or something. DiDi didn't want to put the effort into remembering anything anymore, so she gave up. A chat in Dr. Mesmur's office was far more important than the name of a nobody.

The assistant came into the room last to carefully close the door behind the three of them. Dr. Mesmur took a seat on the comfortable spinning office chair she's used for the last century or so while DiDi begrudgingly sat down on the cheap metal chair in front of the desk. Dr. Mesmur's assistant hurriedly made her way next to her boss, setting the files down on her desk before standing behind her. The assistant flicked a glance at DiDi. DiDi sneered back at her.
"You called about the Buteo Suits?" Dr. Mesmur said, placing her hands on her desk.
"I called because you didn't give me what I fucking gave you money for!" DiDi said. "You and Pyongyang—"
"Could you not, please? Miss Soo-Yun has been more than helpful by convincing Marshall, Carter and Dark to chip in funds." Dr. Mesmur requested.
"I'll be whatever the fuck I want, because you lied to me!"
The assistant winced. An observant person could see Dr. Mesmur's hand twitch.
"I had one request, I said the only reason I would be signing on is if it feels like the real thing!" DiDi laments.
"Your priorities weren't seen as essential compared to—"
"YOU HAD ONE JOB!"
DiDi huffed and puffed, knuckles threatening to snap as her grip against the desk grew tighter and tighter. Her eyes glaring hatefully at Dr. Mesmur's icy, unfeeling gaze. If DiDi had veins, they would be bulging.
Dr. Mesmur cleared her throat, "Well, if I were to quote your words exactly, you just wanted to handle the aesthetic side of the Buteo Suits. You did. They feel exactly like a real person, and the sensation dial and ability to change appearance at will are nice touches. Well done."
DiDi continued to glare.
"What I don't understand is, if you got what you wanted, why do you insist that I lied to you?"
DiDi balled her hand into a fist and slammed down hard onto the desk, her voice rising to a throaty roar. "WHY CAN'T I FUCK?!"
Dr. Mesmur finally let on a sign of emotion as the corners of her lips curled into a tiny smile. "You can do that, you just need your doctor's permission. Don't want to overload your dopamine limiter."
"Why the fuck is there a dopamine limiter in the first place? What the fuck is the point of it?"
"Well, when you combine so many technological advancements and magical anomalies into one product, something has to give. Customizable appearance, durability, comfortably housing a brain, all of that… a little happiness feels like a worthy sacrifice for a higher quality of life for humanity." Dr. Mesmur explained.
"Bull-fucking-shit," DiDi said, "I know why you did it. Ever since the Royale you've had it out for me, you've hated me. You went behind my back, got it good with Anderson and MCD, our rivals, and added it in."
Dr. Mesmur covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hide the fact that she was enjoying seeing DiDi rage in front of her. She knew it wasn't good to indulge in happiness like this, but she felt it was a little worth it.
"I should have known better than to trust you. 'Doctor Violet Mesmur'… sounds like some kind of shitty spy movie villain." DiDi said.
"And I assume you're the heroic spy. You think highly of yourself, DiDi." Dr. Mesmur said, lowering her hand, her smile still visible, "You're not a hero. You get off to scooping brains out of people and having sex with their corpses."
DiDi flashed a wild smile, "Don't forget that you had one of those corpses too. I can just as easily find where she's from like I did for Young, if you want me to pull up her file."
Dr. Mesmur's smile dropped, "I already found her. The moment that I got my Buteo Suit, I looked up my previous purchase from Prometheus and sent people to try to find where you dumped her brain. I was going to give her a suit too, but… her brain was too rotted. It wasn't going to be compatible."
"You're a body-snatcher, just like me. It's because you placed the order for a body that she's now a rotting pile of gray matter, so don't think that you're the hero either," DiDi told Dr. Mesmur, "And now you're ruining more lives by forcing them into bodies that can't be happy. All because you're fucking petty."
Dr. Mesmur leaned forward, seriousness in her eyes, "I didn't do it because I was petty DiDi. I did it for two reasons. First, because people needed a replacement as soon as possible, even if it wasn't perfect."
"And what's the second?"
Dr. Mesmur's eyebrows furrowed in anger, "Because people who use your business have already taken enough happiness away from other people. You harvest innocent men, women and children just so you can have a new experience in bed."
DiDi leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes, "So you are petty about me, but you wanted to make it sound righteous. I wonder how many decisions on the Ethics Committee were justified like that."
"I'm not petty, you're just trying to find a reason why your business is starting to flop. People want the Buteo Suits more than your brain transplants. The suits are convenient, you don't rot, you can do more. You're being run out of the immortality market," Dr. Mesmur told DiDi.
DiDi and Dr. Mesmur sat in silence for a few moments. The assistant stood silently as well, too nervous to interject. Between DiDi and Dr. Mesmur, it was hard to figure out who was more tired. The silence was broken as DiDi stood up from her chair.
"Well… this was a waste of my time. You refuse to change the suits and that's all I really care about, so… I'm just gonna take a fuckton of depressants and see if I can't get a doctor's note forged so I can go to an orgy I was invited to a few days ago." DiDi said.
"Have a good day, DiDi." Dr. Mesmur said.
"Fuck off." DiDi said, opening the door to leave.
As DiDi was about to leave, she turned around briefly, locking eyes with the assistant.
"I swear you look familiar," DiDi said, "Have I seen you somewhere?"
The assistant shook her head no. DiDi sighed, shrugged and left. The moment the door was closed, Dr. Mesmur hurriedly reached into her back pocket and retrieved a few depressant pills, popped them into her mouth and swallowed. She exhaled and sat back in her chair.
"I swear if that went on any longer I was going to overdose," Dr. Mesmur said, "I'm sorry for having an outburst like that, Mira."
The assistant smiled tiredly and replied, "It's alright. They deserved every word you said."
Dr. Mesmur picked up the files on her desk and finally flipped through them. It was a list of people, men, women, children, all of which were abducted by Prometheus for the use of body-snatching. This list contained all of the 28 people that Greene had used for their perverted means, and Mesmur needed to track them down. At least, the other 27 of them, since she already hired one of them.
Greene was done, they just didn't know it yet. Even though she knew it was slowly killing her, that thought made her happy.

Your New Buteo Series Mechanical Exoskeleton!

End of Death

SCP-4725


An Ending

The end began with the supervolcano.
The Eastern Isles were a tropical paradise and a thriving nation before the eruption. Then, after a few weeks of tremors, the largest volcanic eruption in over two million years launched thousands of cubic kilometers of molten earth, ash and dust into the atmosphere, and rained hellfire upon a terrified population. Within days, the former paradise was an ash-ridden wasteland. Within weeks, hundreds of millions would choke or starve to death.
The Organisation ignored this. While the event had been catastrophic, they dealt solely in unnatural matters. And while millions had died, billions needed to be threatened before they would lift a finger. But they did watch the superpowers. The Eastern Isles had been a superpower, and a nuclear one at that. There were also others. Avalon. The Tundra States. The Western Republic. Atlantis. Each of whom offered support, while secretly expressing relief as their stricken rival slowly collapsed and died.
The ash cloud spread over weeks, bringing with it an unnatural winter. What crippled one nation would cripple the rest. It became clear very quickly that agriculture was a pointless affair in these conditions, and that food reserves were going to run thin.
The Organisation ignored this. Truth be told, the superpowers were an inconvenience that they had to negotiate with over too many petty details. They had their own methods of resource acquisition, and besides, this was not an unnatural matter.
International tensions ran high. Border skirmishes occurred, first against allied states, and then against the superpowers themselves. Soldiers clashed as each state scrambled to acquire the resources it needed to protect its population. People died in agony while seeking to acquire the most basic of necessities.
The Organisation ignored this. At least, officially.

While the Organisation as a whole had formally distanced themselves from the rest of humanity's plight, individual researchers and staff were concerned. Their families had been provided for, but their safety was still in question. More than one high ranking researcher had made a proposal to the Council requesting intervention.
Silver Rain de Atlanti, Chief Archivist of the Archive Eternal had made her arguments clear.

From where I stand, the impact upon humanity has never been clearer. It is not something that I can see with my own eyes, nor touch with my hands, but something I can hear as clear as day. The very rhythm of humanity has been changed.
I am used to the sound of new lives entering the Archives. A steady rhythmic drumming of sorts, a thrumming thump resulting from the echoes and geometry of the archives. The sound of new books dropping onto shelves, as sure as a heartbeat. I am sure that the Archive itself smiles to hear the steady sound, and to personally manage the flow that a smooth tune is maintained.
I now hear the arrhythmia of humanity. What was once a steady heartbeat is now a sputtering and uneven sequence of thuds. It sounds sick. It sounds ill.
Such a drop in birthrate is a sign that humanity needs our intervention, now more than ever. We exist to protect humanity from the supernatural, from the arcane, and from the unreal. But our duties are not set in stone, and our failure to respond to this threat, a threat from the system itself, will doom us all.
Chief Archivist de Atlanti, Watcher of the Archive Eternal

She was not pleased by the lack of response.

She was awakened a few days later by the blaring of a klaxon. Down in the Archives, a regular day-night cycle was seldom adhered to, since the permanent twilight and reclusive tendency of the archivists meant that people tended to keep to a schedule that favoured them personally. She rolled over from her bed, slipped on a robe, and stepped from her small quarters into the hub that was Home Base. As Chief Archivist (and Watcher), she had managed to convince the Organisation to construct a small living quarters for her within the Archives. Not that modesty was needed; she was the only personnel down here, and well past the point of caring. Most people were by the time they reached their second century.
The klaxon blared from a humanoid figure made of plastic and titanium- one of the Organisation's AI constructs, given a physical form so that it could assist the archivists more directly. Silver Rain walked up to it and smacked a button on it for attention.
"Scouter, cease the alarm. What's happening?'
[An XK-class event is imminent, Chief Archivist. All sites are entering lockdown. Personnel are advised to seek shelter.]
"XK? How? What breached containment?"
[All containment is currently secure. However, the scanners have detected a large amount of high-altitude low-orbit activity. It appears that the automated response systems have been triggered.]
"Automated response systems? In response to what?"
[Nuclear launches.]
Silver Rain paled. "Scouter, how many HALO objects have been detected?"
[Nine thousand, two hundred and twelve at last count.]
Silver Rain forced the panic to subside. She could freak out later. "Where are the other archivists?"
[Currently in the bunker on the surface.]
"Tell them to come down here."
[That will not achieve anything, Chief Archivist. All sites are in lockdown, including this one. The way is shut. The Archives cannot be accessed.]
She ran for the stairs, feet pounding up them two at a time. She wasn't exactly sprightly anymore, and she felt a lot older than she looked, but she could still manage a quick pace. Knees aching, she hammered on the locked steel door, mashed the buttons, and shouted for her people.
A knock came back, and a muffled voice. Logic kicked in, and she ran back down the stairs to the Hub.
"Scouter, patch me through. Now."
The AI opened a video channel. On the viewscreen, she could see the faces of her archivists. Falling Star, with his pale hair and wrinkled skin. Northern Wind with her pale skin and straight hair. Dawn Dew, with her dark complexion and patient eyes. They looked as worried and scared as she knew she did. She forced herself to be calm.
"Falling Star, situation report."
His voice came through clearly, and she could hear it breaking.
"We're stuck here with the lockdown. The bombs are falling. The Western Capital is gone, as is the bulk of the Republic. The Southern Monarchy has been wiped out." He paused. "Atlantis is gone. We saw the blast over the sea from the window."
Silver Rain forced herself not to cry.
"From what we can tell, the satellite system is going to fail soon. Too much interference."
"Have the Council sent orders for a response?"
"The Council is gone."
"What? How?"
"Spite, we think. One of the superpowers included us in their targeting. They're hitting our sites. Most have gone dark."
"Is the contingency secure?"
Falling Star looked stricken. Dawn Dew stepped into the centre of the camera. "It got hit by one of the bombs. It's gone too."
Silver Rain felt another stab of panic in her chest. "Look, just stay under cover out there. We'll wait this out. Once the lockdown finishes, we can find a way to fix this."
In the background, another alarm blared.
"Scouter, what is that?"
[The proximity alert for an airborne threat.]
Her archivists looked through at her. Falling Star was close to tears, and Northern Wind had already succumbed. Dawn Dew forced a smile.
"Don't worry Chief. You've got the Archives. You'll find an answer." She leaned in close. "Remember Chief, we all l-"
The sky split, the ground rumbled, and the solid steel door buckled.
Silver Rain paused for a moment in shock. Numb, she sank to her knees.
Behind, she heard a single thump of the last new book, and then utter silence.
She filled the silence with her sobs.

She read the new book. It was painfully short. As were the rest.
She trawled deeper into the archives, picking out books at random, desperately searching for a book which continued to update. Searching in vain for a book which didn't end abruptly and pointlessly.

Vaporised instantly by atomic blast.

Died agonisingly from radiation poisoning.

Vaporised abruptly by atomic blast.

Shattered pointlessly by atomic shockwave.

Crushed painfully beneath collapsing fallout bunker.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
She made a decision. "Scouter, collect my book."
The AI paused to access its internal map, then broke off at an inhuman sprint between the shelves. It returned half an hour later, cradling the book in its arms. It passed it to her.
[I do hope you are not considering anything rash, Chief Archivist.]
"No. Not yet, Scouter. I'm just going to need this."

She knew that her basic idea was probably crazy. It was based solely upon rumours based from Watcher to Watcher. She instructed Scouter to wait well away from her, and wandered into a dark part of the Archives.
She remembered the first lessons she had received during her initiation here, almost a century ago, fresh out of the academy. They were very similar to the last lesson she had received from the previous Watcher almost forty years ago, before his retirement. The Archives were alive. That much was clear. There was a vast consciousness in there somewhere, and it had a moral compass of sorts. As such, each archivist was taught to respect and care for the Archive Eternal, and it wasn't uncommon for archivists to speak openly to the shelves and books.
What they didn't teach you on your first day was that sometimes the shelves spoke back. If you went into the darkness, and waited and listened, then you could hear whispers. Whispers so faint as to be incomprehensible to the ear, but there were other ways of deciphering their meaning.
She sat down to meditate. Her glasses could enable her to read the texts even in the lowest of light if necessary, and it was never cold, so she felt almost comfortable for the first time in days. She spoke into the darkness. Her voice was hesitant; almost a whisper.
"I don't know what to do."
She felt a wave of emotions hit her. It was a painful thing to admit.
"Am I… the last one left? Am I alone?"
There was silence for a long time. She sat patiently, fighting the urge to fidget, knowing that there was no other option ahead for her.
She was almost dozing off to sleep when she heard the sound of wind. On the wind, the hints of a voice. It was slow, and soothing, and motherly. She could hear what almost sounded like words, but either too soft for her ears, or in no language she could decipher.
She opened her book and turned to the last page. The last few lines painted a stark picture of her current mental state. She ignored it, and focussed on the line that mattered.

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'You are the last. You are almost alone.'

"What do I do? How can I fix this?"
Another whisper on the wind.

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'It can not be fixed. It can not be repaired.'

"Can't I find the person who started this all and try to undo it?"
There was a long wait. Minutes, then hours.

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'The weight of history is heavy. It is too late. Too many consequences have fallen. The dead have gone to death.'

"Can I create more people?"

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'You are a woman.'

A yes, then. But…
"Can life recover from this?"

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'Not to its former grandeur. Besides, those you have kept caged are no longer so.'

She felt despair fall. It was over. They'd done it. The world had ended on their watch, and it wasn't even a monster or a curse or an angry god, just the monstrosity of humanity. And done so in a way which couldn't be fixed. No amount of science or magic could repair the devasting amount of radiation which now permeated the atmosphere, and the ground. Nor could a ragtag bunch of survivors possibly manage to recontain the evils that now wandered the ravaged globe.
It couldn't be repaired…
"Could it be undone?"
There was only silence, and it did not answer.

She returned to her room the next day and slept. And woke, and read, and slept. Over and over.
Her rations began to dwindle. She would have lost track of time if not for Scouter. He tended to her needs as best he could, but the subtleties of human despair were lost on him.
And then, after seven days, a whisper. Silver Rain quickly opened her book.

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'Yes. There is a way to undo history.'

"How? What have you thought of?"
The voice on the wind was but a sigh.

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'The unthinkable.'

She understood. Barely. It went against everything she had ever learned, and everything she had ever valued. It was heresy, pure and simple. But the object of her devotion was telling her this…
"I would have to… break history? How large a retrocausal event would we need?"

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'The only way to save the world from the failures of your species is to extinguish all trace of them.'

She went to say 'I can't', but the words caught in her throat. There was no choice here. She could, and she would.
"What will you do without us?"

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'Start anew. Write a brighter future.'

That would do. She could trust the Archive Eternal to know the answer, even if she didn't.
"Scouter."
[Yes, Chief Archivist?]
"Bring me the fuel from the generator. All of it."
[Chief Archivist, what do you plan to do?]
"What is necessary, Scouter. Security override. Shut down all Ethics and Personality Protocols. Authorisation Camper-Actor-Stand-Richter-9091."
Scouter stood up a little straighter, and the usual cadences of his voice were muted into a monotone.
[As you instruct, Chief Archivist.] He walked away, and began to gather the fuel reserves.
"I'm sorry Scouter. But you won't like this."

She poured the gasoline across the shelves, and ran lines of it up through the corridors. She thoroughly doused the first and oldest shelf. Most books here were nameless. A few bore titles, evidence of an exemplary individual. She stroked her hands fondly along the ancient shelves.
She took a piece of wood from her bed, splintered it, and dipped it in gasoline. She ordered Scouter to dismantle his arm, and use it to generate a spark. Holding the burning torch in one hand, and her open book in the other, she stepped into the shelves.
"I wish there was a better way than this. I wish we had done better."
A whisper, almost familiar this time.

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'I know. But you know better than to wish.'

"Will it hurt?"

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'Briefly. It will not take long.'

"I meant for you."
There was a brief but noticeable pause.

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'Yes. Yes it will.'

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'Thank you, Watcher, for your care, and your devotion, and your concern. I will require but one last service of you.'

Tears filled her eyes. She had to be strong now. "We… will you remember us?"
There was a pause, then the last whisper could be heard on the wind. It was barely audible, and it was naught but loving.

In the darkness, she heard a voice speak: 'No. But I will remember you.'

She placed her book upon the gasoline soaked shelves, and touched the flame to it. There was a burst of heat and light, and then a burst of pain, and then… nothing.
The end of Homo nobilis took both mere seconds and many long millenia, and when history stopped screaming in pain, they had never existed.

A Beginning

There was smoke on the horizon. A lot of smoke.
Smoke meant fire. Fire meant warmth, and safety.
The female carefully climbed to the top of the hill, gathering scraps of reeds and grasses as she went. Short and stocky, she was nonetheless an excellent scout. Besides, most of the males had died on a recent hunting trip after a clash with another tribe, and their tribe had been forced to move to survive, leaving behind many of their tools, and their campfire.
She wound the thick clump of grasses around a thick branch, and tied them on with reeds. While crude, the torch would serve for her to bring the fire back to the rest of the tribe, where it could be nurtured and kept.
Crouching from her viewpoint, she could see the waters of the sea far beneath her, and the source of the smoke. It seemed to originate from a cave, high above the sea. The previously thick clouds were dying down to a small trickle of smoke. She considered her options. They needed fire, and she might need to move quickly to get it, but if it was another tribe she could be in serious danger.
The need to provide for her family overrode her other instincts. She couldn't see any signs of another tribe down there, nor anywhere else. She gathered her spear in one hand, makeshift torch in the other, and set off down the hill.
The cave was deeper than she had first thought. She had half expected a pile of burning wood to be sitting in the mouth of the cave. Instead, the smoke curled up from deep within. She pushed deeper in, ducking low to avoid breathing the smoke. She passed carefully and silently through a narrow passage, and stepped into a large chamber.
It was vast, so vast she could not see the far walls, and it felt wrong. Nothing in particular stood out, but she felt uneasy. If she could articulate so, she would describe it as a room filled with pain. She only could see smoke all around her. The whole place seemed to be smouldering, and a thick layer of ash coated the floor. Here and there, she could see thin fragments of a white material, with black marks on it. It seemed to burn well, so she quickly used it to light her torch. The flame took a little coaxing and care, but soon sputtered to life.
There was a rumble near her. A stone pillar rose from the floor, brushing aside layers of ash. She instinctively recoiled in fear, and brandished her spear. The pillar stopped rising once it was a little taller than her, and the room was silent again. The feelings of pain seemed to have subsided, replaced with… care? Comfort?
She approached it carefully. There were markings all over the pillar.
She leaned in closer to see more clearly, and held up the torch. A thought arose. Not markings. Pictures. She could see the outlines of her kind, standing upright. She could see images of them gathered around, doing different things. She saw images of a baby near the bottom of a pillar, and those of an adult as she studied it up from the floor. She somehow had the understanding that many of these images were of the same figure.
There was a flicker of movement in the corner of her vision. A new image had appeared near the top of the pillar.
An image of a figure holding a torch before a stone pillar, crouched in caution and curiosity. Next to it, there was the outline of a handprint. She raised her hand to place hers within the space and found it a perfect fit.
Language was not something she had experienced, nor much in the way of cognitive thought, but an idea as clear as the blue sky entered her head. This is me.
A spark of inspiration struck her. She reached down to the ash, coating her finger in it, and began to draw. Crudely, with indistinguishable stick figures in a childish manner. But the meaning behind it was clear. She drew figures in a circle, and food around them, and other figures fleeing from them.
Satisfied that her work was done, the Firebringer left the cave, and stepped into a brighter future.