Foundation Lunar Research Site 01, Secure Conference Room 1-O.
July 19th, 1973, 10:36 hours GMT.
O5-10 reached up to adjust his collar electrolarynx, then stopped as his hand refused to move. Removing the tumours had been a long, exhaustive process, and the cocktail of drugs they'd pumped him full of to keep him this alert had other, unfortunate side effects.
"Would you mind-?"
Gently, tenderly, the long mechanical arm rose from his bedside. Caliper-like fingers flashing in the half-light of the room, it resettled the small device on the ruins of his neck. A soft voice hissed from the small speaker on the headrest.
"Better, sir?"
"Significantly. Let's begin."
The room was, essentially, the generic Council of Thirteen chamber. Dozens like it existed- had existed, but this was the only one left. They'd cleared out the desks and the surprisingly comfortable chairs, covering the dark, light-absorbing walls with sterile plastic. The only furniture in the room, aside from the cradle-like bed he lay in, was a low trestle table straining under the weight of thirteen hastily-assembled video monitors and a single small camera. A huge skein of cable led out beyond the sheeting to the waiting communications center of Lunar Site-01. All channels had been cleared in preparation for this moment.
Straining, O5-10 wiggled one finger on his left hand just enough to brush a delicate toggle switch. The light on the camera winked on. He glanced to the right, where, on the edge of his field of vision, a fourteenth screen showed the image that was being broadcast. A black screen, with the characters 'O5' superimposed over a white Foundation emblem. The words 'SOUND ONLY' pulsed gently in red at the bottom of the frame.
One by one, the monitors pulsed into grainy life, displaying thirteen drawn, worried-looking faces, almost all of them showing the puffy cheeks of microgravity. The strain on the communications network was immense, but sometimes you just needed to see face to face. O5-10 cleared his throat.
"Under any other circumstances I, or my colleagues, would be briefing you all on the situation. However, since it appears that in my unfortunate absence you've already taken it upon yourselves to regain some measure of stability, we can dispense with the usual protocol."
He toggled a second switch, and the image on his monitor sprang to life. Waiting patiently to allow for the time delay, O5-10 watched as various expressions of surprise ran across the faces on the monitors. He spared not a glance for his own image- a formerly-powerful man, now frail and wizened, his hairless head covered with surgical scars and blotchy discolourations.
"You are all the current, or acting heads of the various surviving Foundation assets in the Solar System. This makes us the top of the Foundation's chain of command. As far as I'm concerned, this also grants you all O5-level clearance. I'm well aware that this goes against everything you've ever learned about my position, but these are extraordinary times."
The Director of FORC-06, Lunar Containment, cleared her throat. She was actually groundside for this one, but the state of O5-10's immune system precluded them from meeting in person.
"Sir, uh… correct me if I'm wrong, but if all 12 of the primary FORCs are here, then who's on the 14th channel. Are we patching in any of the secondary stations, or…?"
Again there was a pause in the conversation as the information percolated outwards. Several of the representatives from the further FORCs- 10, 11 and 12, still hadn't received the initial broadcast. His gaze wandered to the 13th screen. The station it wasn't connected to didn't have the bandwidth for video. Their placeholder icon was a stylized golden horn.
"For security reasons, the existence of FORC-00 has been withheld from all of you but Director Cooper and the FSF Orbital Command on FORC-05, I believe. I'm sure you're all familiar, however, with Project Heimdall. Suffice it to say that Heimdall has established itself well out into the Oort Cloud, and they are monitoring the situation with not inconsiderable concern."

Noamtosk surveyed the waiting Board with equal parts well-practiced ease and trepidation. He knew the effect he made, silhouetted in front of the wide bay window with the damaged starship drifting behind him. The eyes of the Board were upon him, their jawpetals extended politely, their uplimbs folded in the Gesture of Waiting Attention.
He smiled, assumed the Gesture of Showmanly Demonstration, and began his Pitch.

Okay, so. We open on the depths of space. Soaring music as we give the audience a chance to appreciate the magnificence of the cosmos, and all that. Nebulae, comets, all that jazz. Astronomers in the crowd nod appreciatively. Shot pans across a tiny, unimportant object- a metal plate, glinting brassy in the distant starlight. It's drifting, tumbling over and over. Slowly, it turns towards the camera, catching the light, and we see a map- a small world, a little bit more water than land. A subtitle pops up-
[Developing system. Potential Level: Elevated. Local Designate: SOL.]
Give them a few seconds to register. Then the plaque starts to shake. Tremble. The music gets tense. The starlight quavers and ripples and then WHAM! A massive spacecraft, out of nowhere! A series of ramshackle metal compartments strapped to four red-hot nuclear engines on the end of long pylons. Spinning radar dishes, obvious boltwork- primitive, but with a certain nobility nonetheless. We zoom in- maybe throw in a bit of shaky-cam, to give the impression of bulk and awe. The music is super threatening- the barbarity of its craft. Backward, yet warlike! Maybe a pan over missile banks and laser arrays. More subtitles, this time in a different font. More obviously computerized, maybe accompanied by a narration in Human. No need to translate.
[Secure Containment Protocols Foundation vessel Zheng He. Mission: Pass beyond Sol system transit plaque and report on findings. Use of direct force is authorized.]
A bunch of radar dishes and obvious sensors open up on the outer hull- maybe chuck some old-timey sound effects here, depending on how serious we're going with this. Anyways they're searching for something. All clear? NO! Suddenly the dishes stop. Music's building again. We see the weapons powering on. Springing to life. The engines go brighter- windows on the hull are shutting. New subtitle!
[Enemy contact detected: BATTLESTATIONS.]
And as the music gets too intense to handle suddenly the stars go dark and a shadow passes over the Zheng He. There's a blinding flash of white light, a rumbling explosion, aaaaand- ROLL OPENING.
[FIRST ENCOUNTER: SOL SYSTEM.]
Upbeat Human music. Local stuff- they've got these things called 'synths' that are just perfect for this sort of thing. Cast list, maybe some portraits if we can find some good footage. Shots of Human ships at work in orbit, Foundation operatives investigating something, GOC and GRU and CID people fighting, high adventure, drama, all that.
We return to see the Zheng He listing. Still not clear what's hit it, right? Zoom in close- through the clouds of smoke billowing from the hull, through debris and electrical fires, to the bridge, where the command crew are strapped in and barely holding together. Music in the background is snappy and driving.
We see the crew, nervous but determined, Humans of all stocks and subspecies. We see the Number One, a female, passionate, charismatic but impulsive. A real firebrand. Then the Captain- a male, intelligent, wise, but cold and unfeeling. Not their real personalities of course, but we can edit those- and their appearances- in post. Still unsure whether or not to go with a romance subplot between the two, but the possibility is there. So- and this is all dubbed, of course, but we have the option of a subbed version for the purists, maybe a collector's set or something- preliminary dialogue. Just placeholder for now.
Captain: Your thoughts, Number One?
Number One: No time for that, sir! All batteries, fire at will!
Cut back to the outside. Lasers charge silently- maybe a close cut to some of the weapons, get the coolant gasses pouring over those stylish "Subach-Innes" logos. You know how the diehard fans are about branded merchandise, and there are endless possibilities with the Sol system.
So, lasers discharge, missiles fly- we see them impact on whatever the big 'enemy' is.
Weapons Officer: No damage, sir! They're charging for another shot!"
Number One: We don't stand a chance in hell of weathering another blast like that!
Captain: Evasive maneuvers! Get us out of here!
Again, placeholder dialogue. So, ship pulls out- thunder of engines, spitting of nuclear fire, the hull is shaking with the strain- all that. Still firing as it moves, it dodges an enemy attack- a ravening beam of blue-white energy with a distinctive gold afterglow. At this point, the smart ones in the audience are saying 'Ah-hah!'.
Captain: They've moved between us and the plaque back into the system. Number One, any suggestions?
A tense pause- we get the sense that the Captain is genuinely unsure, but also taking a moment to test his subordinate/close confidant. This'll happen occasionally- establish that our Captain has a darker side to him, a willingness to push boundaries that is dangerous, but also magnetic and, dare I say it, a bit sexy.
Number One: This is 1822 we're dealing with, right? They believe in combat, in glory, in a struggle…
Captain: It would certainly seem like they're getting what they want.
And then- the music gets hopeful! There's a spark in Number One's eyes! A plan has formed. No, not just a plan! A Plan!
Number One: Comms! Hail them, all frequencies! Now, before they're back in range!
A tense moment as another beam scorches the ship and throws them about.
Comms Officer: Channel open, ma'am!
Close-up on Number One. A bead of sweat drips down her brow. And then, she speaks- all bravado and bluster, with the spirit of Humanity backing up her words! The music soars!
Number One: So it's a fight you're looking for, huh? Well, clearly you've got us outgunned. Hardly sporting, isn't it. Hell, one volley in and already we're running away. But what if… what if we could offer you the greatest struggle of them all?
Not the struggle of a lone ship against overwhelming odds- no, something better than that. The struggle of every species that ever lived in the galaxy! Every protozoon, every worm that crawled in the muck, every bird that struggled skyward, every ape-thing that gazed with dawning understanding at a brushfire! I offer you the struggle to find one's place! the struggle to find belonging! Give us your aid, and we will offer you the human species, in the struggle for home!
Silence. The music cuts out dramatically. And then, the viewscreen on the main bridge console flickers to life, and a voice- no need to dub this one- rumbles over the bridge, all smoothe and masculine and confident. The enemy… why, it's me, of course, their dependable rival and erstwhile companion. I smile politely at them- we get shots of horror from them, naturally- and say…
First Unit Director Naomtosk: The struggle for home, my Human friend? Now that- that's got power to it. Tell you what. I'll have my people talk to your people. I think we've got something here.
Aaaaand cut to first commercial break. What do you think?

Foundation Lunar Research Site 01, Secure Conference Room 1-O.
July 19th, 1973, 12:45 hours GMT.
The last message had long been sent, the last monitor turned off and removed by orderlies in clean-suits. O5-10 awoke from his daze. There was something in the room. It reached down and neatly pressed the light switch.
It was only the drugs coursing through his system, and his years of staring into the abyss that kept O5-10's heart from giving out. Six slender, spike-tipped limbs, in two clusters of three around a pillarlike spine. A central head, with four petals- no, they were tooth-lined jaws- each with a lidless, blank eye at their tip. A single mouth- too wide, with teeth like interlocking gears. It spoke, softly and politely.
"O5-10? I do apologize for waking you, but time seemed of the essence. You see, one of your representatives recently made contact with us- you could call us, hmmmm- yes, call us the Showmen. They proposed an exchange, of sorts- your story, your quest for home, for our… pertinent technical knowledge. If you decline, no hard feelings, but if you're interested, the results could be… well, extremely lucrative for both our species."
O5-10 sat bolt upright, his drugged and tumor-raddled body no more a restraint to him than his linen sheets. He had half a mind to call security. But the other half…
"What exactly do you have in mind?"
The Showman smiled, and began his pitch anew.

« The Watchtower | Straight On Til Morning Hub | Dossier- FSF Delivery»


Foundation Orbital Research Compound 5, Meeting Room A.
July 12th, 1973, 23:15 hours GMT.
"Dr. Marko, testing with SCP-3203 is to be halted for the foreseeable future." The man at the head of the table pointed at a list of names on the projection slide. "We have lost three D-class in the past year. That number is far beyond projected losses. It's beyond acceptable losses as well."
Dr. Marko, a brown haired balding man in his mid forties spoke up, "Director Cooper, 3 deaths in a year is next to nothing. Even at this elevated casualty rate, we could afford to continue our experiments for another 5 years before requiring more specimens."
Director Cooper shook his head. "My point here was that no loss of life is acceptable. These are human beings we're charged with, not specimens. Of course they face an elevated risk of death through the very nature of our testing, but it's your job to reduce that loss of life to a minimum. I'm canceling all testing on your 3203 project because you have not been doing your job."
Dr. Marko shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Furthermore," Dr. Cooper continued, "I am placing you up for a review with the ethics committee. There is no excuse for D-1034 or D-3402's death except your own incompetence, negligence, or willful disregard for safety protocols."
"Now wait just a minute," Dr. Marko interrupted again, "I was doing my job."
"That is patently untrue, and this isn't up for discussion. Consider yourself on an indefinite suspension until we unravel your mess." Director Cooper motioned to one of several armed men standing in the back of the meeting room, "Agent Polaski, if you don't mind?"
A burly barrel chested man stepped forward and placed his hand on Dr. Marko's shoulder. Dr. Marko slumped in his seat just a moment before rising and following the large man out of the room.
"Newbies," muttered another man further down the table.

Foundation Orbital Research Compound 5, D-1153's holding cell.
July 12th, 1973, 23:56 hours GMT.
"There has got to be some kind of way out of here," Jacob Maxwell said to the ventilation duct.
"Look," came a muffled reply from the next room, "I've been stuck up here for almost two years now and I ain't found one. You should just enjoy the ride."
"Enjoy the ride? Tommy, are you out of your goddamned mind?"
Tommy's voice carried over from the next cell. "You get to serve your country. You get three squares a day and a view to die for."
"I'm a fucking computer science major who got caught calling in a bomb threat to get out of a fucking test. Three meals a day and a place to sleep isn't how I expected to spend the rest of my life."
"You think I thought I'd end up a million miles from home for stealing cars? You ain't gonna change things by complaining about it. It's like I said, just sit back and enjoy your new life as a fucking astronaut."
"What the fuck do you know about living a life?" Jacob thought, but didn't ask. He settled down on his bed and looked out the window. Thomas wasn't wrong, the view of the earth from up here was spectacular.
He could recognize the faint the coastline of Southeast Asia, and he followed the contours of the coast up. He couldn't see the great wall of China from here. He'd always thought he'd be able to see it, but there was nothing noticeable there. Maybe he had to be closer?
Jacob leaned further towards the window when it happened. He took just a moment to blink, and when he opened his eyes another, stranger, world appeared in front of his eyes.
"What the fuck?" Jacob yelled. "Tommy, something just happened to Earth."
"Look," the muffled voice answered back, "I don't need your bullshit right now, it's fucking late and I'm tired."
"Tommy I'm not fucking joking."

Foundation Orbital Research Compound 5, Director Cooper's Office.
July 13th, 1973, 00:04 hours GMT.
A loud beep stirred Cooper from the reports in front of him. He pressed a button on his desk, and heard a panicked voice on the other end. "Director! There's something wrong."
Cooper's survival instincts kicked in. He went through his mental checklist: The life support system, the artificial gravity, a hull fract… his mind blanked as he rose and looked out his window at the alien world his station now orbited.
"Son of a bitch," he said out loud, "Caitlyn, I want you to stay calm and pass an order to all active officers and agents to meet me in the Command and Control Center. This is not a drill."
"Yes sir," came a short reply from his assistant, who only wavered for a moment before relaying the orders.

Foundation Orbital Research Compound 5, CACC
July 13th, 1973, 00:15 hours GMT.
"3065 and 3132 are fully contained. They wouldn't be capable of this level of reality shift anyway," Agent Forester said from the back row.
Director Cooper placed pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Well something did this. Is the planet still silent?"
"As far as we know," the Communication officer, Jessica Makie spoke up, "It's possible someone's down there and they're taking a few minutes to figure out how to talk to us, or if they even want to."
"What's the nearest FSF ship?" Cooper asked.
"The Zheng He," Officer Makie said, looking at her instruments. "She was 12 light seconds out investigating a spatial anomaly. They were heading back before this happened, so they've already turned around for deceleration."
"Well that's something at least," Cooper said, with a sight of relief, "What's her ETA?"
"2 hours 32 Minutes."
"Ok. By the time they get here we should've heard back from FORCs 3 through 11. I'm the ranking director, and we're in crisis mode now. I want all of them to send us a complete manifest of their supplies. FORC-10 is a priority. They have to keep 3450 contained or everyone's going to have a serious fucking problem."
"Yes sir." Officier Makie began to operate her control board. "Wait. Sir…"
"What?" He stopped and walked over to her station. "Oh son of a bitch."

10 light seconds from FORC-5. Interplanetary space.
July 13th, 1973, 00:19 GMT
Two massive and darkly colored ships, bearing the insignia of the GRU space force, barreled through empty space. They were making good time, for no other reason than that their incorporeal operators were immune to the damaging effects of the massive acceleration.
On board were several variations of one Vladimir Vernadsky. Some were warped apparitions who knew nothing but how to operate the weapon systems, some were sophisticated copies of the original, capable of independent thought. All were intent on discovering exactly what the Foundation had done to cause the earth to disappear.
The half men who ran the ship directed the engines, which operated through some odd combination of psychic energy and primitive propulsion, to double their output. They'd detected the likely center of the Foundation Space Forces: FORC-5. It was sending and receiving signals from all of the other bases in the area.
If anyone would know who'd stolen the earth away from them, the men at FORC-5 would. A communication light brightened on the bridge console, but it was ignored by the apparition who commanded the vessel. The bridge remained silent, and would remain silent until they reached their destination.
A GRU astral vessel contains no life support system and has no air. But if you'd traveled down the dark hallways during this trip, you'd feel a slow and low rumble. The majority of the apparitions were cogent and thinking individuals. A perfect copy of Vladimir Vernadsky, though, would've been terrible at running the advanced weapons systems of such a vessel. So deep in the bowels of the terrible black ship, several raving mad apparitions were restricted by design to the small control alcoves for their respective weapons.
They were as connected as the rest of their brethren to the gestalt consciousness and they knew the purpose of this journey. They knew that soon they'd get a chance to fire their wonderfully destructive weapons. Despite all logic and sense, they howled.

« The First Fifty-Five | Straight On Till Morning Hub | The Watchtower »


[151631.1219] <PH9> PROBE-H9 TO DEEP RECON.
[151631.1236] <DRC> *ahem* Probe-H9, this is deep recon. Found something in quadrant-86 besides nothingness? Or can I just cross this one off the list as well?
[151631.1250] <PH9> I AM DETECTING AN SOS SIGNAL. COORDINATES ARE: █████, █████, █████.
[151631.1271] <DRC> Probe-H9, confirm acquisition and run a preliminary diagnostics on all your long range scanners, see if you can get a visual while I map these coordinates.
[151631.1257] <PH9> AFFIRMATIVE. RUNNING A DIAGNOSTIC CHECK… PRIMARY SENSORS OPERATIONAL. SECONDARY SENSORS ARE OFFLINE. I AM UNABLE TO ESTABLISH VISUAL CONFIRMATION.
[151631.1257] <DRC> I copy that. Activate your secondary sensors anyway just to double check. You still have decent power reserves for that, correct?
[151631.1271] <PH9> AFFIRMATIVE. SECONDARY SENSORS ARE NOW ONLINE. I AM UNABLE TO ESTABLISH VISUAL CONFIRMATION STILL.
[151631.1285] <DRC> Copy. Looks like your signal is coming from the next quadrant over. Give me an ETA and reroute vectors.
[151631.1292] <PH9> CALCULATING… I AM UPLOADING REROUTE VECTORS. ALSO ADJUSTING ORIENTATION TO: 12.3°, -24.9°. ETA IN: 399 HRS. AWAITING CLEARANCE, DEEP RECON.
[151631.1299] <DRC> These numbers look good. You are cleared to change course. Send an update when you make visual contact. Also, relay the signal if you haven't done so already.
[151631.1302] <PH9> AFFIRMATIVE.

At this point, Investigator Geoffrey Davies stops reading and looks up at Chief Technician Officer Isaac Miles sitting across from him. Miles, looking a bit worn for wear, quietly sips his synthetic coffee while picking at the frayed Foundation patch on his uniform.
"So… you didn't immediately notify command that one of the AI probes detected an SOS signal in unexplored space?"
Miles inhales sharply to start. "As per protocol, we need two forms of confirmation for signals in unexplored space before sending response teams in."
"I understand that, but this was an Emergency SOS."
"It doesn't matter, sir. Not to be contrary but the standard protocols for unexplored space recon don't leave any room for exceptions."
"Yes… but according to your personal log-" Davies pulls up another file on both his and Miles's data register. "-you analyzed the signal and confirmed it was human in origin."
"Correct."
"So you are still going to stand by your protocols?"
"I have to do it by the book, sir. If you have an issue with that you can talk to Directo-"
Davies holds up his hand dismissively and looks back down at his data register. "The Director's policy is not in question here."
He continues reading his highlighted transcripts, skipping ahead to the next entry of interest.

[151635.5257] <DRC> Deep Recon to Probe-H9
[15635.5264] <PH9> YES, DEEP RECON?
[151635.5271] <DRC> I have long range visual on you and plotting your current course. You entered your destination's quadrant roughly an hour ago. I need a report.
[151635.5278] <PH9> I AM UNABLE TO ESTABLISH VISUAL CONFIRMATION. ETA IN: 4.2 HRS.
[151635.5285] <DRC> There's nothing in that quadrant. Run diagnostics again. Has the signal gotten stronger at all?
[151635.5292] <PH9> RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC CHECK… PRIMARY AND SECONDARY SENSORS OPERATIONAL. NO CHANGE IN SIGNAL.
[151635.5313] <DRC> Probe-H9. What are your gravimetric readings?

Davies puts the data register down again and rubs his brow. "Here's where I get confused again."
Miles tilts his head slightly. "Like I said, the probe passed through some kind of event horizon. So I told it to hold up until we looked over some readings."
"Yes, but it wasn't an actual event horizon? Your reports conflict here."
Miles leans forward on his elbows as he reorganizes his thoughts. "Look, I can't explain it either, but you can see in the images. The probe… the image of the probe had red-shifted. Somehow the light coming off of it became trapped at the horizon, but it could still transmit. So… it wasn't a black hole… at all… but behaving like one? Isn't your department supposed to classify these anomalies?"
Davies calmly leans in his seat slowly squinting his sunken eyes. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that aspect of the investigation since you don't have clearance for that." Then makes a quick note on his digital register. "It's classified."
Miles shifts in tone, he's not one to push the boundaries of patience among his peers. Least of all an internal investigator. "I'm being as cooperative as I can."
Davies just gives a quirk nod and a sigh. "I'm just going to skip ahead here… time stamp 151635 point 6979…"
Miles follows along with his copy.

[151635.6979] <PH9> ETA IN: 4.2 HRS. SIGNAL IS UNCHANGED
[151635.6986] <DRC> Check your time data again, Probe-H9. You should be closing in on the source.
[151635.6993] <PH9> NEGATIVE. ETA IN: 4.2 HRS.
[151635.7002] <DRC> Your reading has to be off. I may not have visual on you anymore but I can still bounce a signal. You should be passing through to quadrant-88 within the hour. I'm rerouting Probe-J4 to intercept and escort you to the nearest repair node. Continue course until further notice.
[151635.7007] <PH9> AFFIRMATIVE.

Davies pauses to glance up at Miles briefly, and for a moment, their eyes meet. Maybe he was trying to read Miles as to his reaction to the incident ahead. Maybe he was trying to taste that fear and confusion Miles experienced.
Whatever Miles was feeling at that exact moment was hard to gauge for him. He knew how the rest of these transcripts were going to play out after reviewing them. For certain he could tell Miles was just a hot mess of nerves and would probably jump at the sound of his own ears popping.
He reads on.

[151635.9500] <DRC> Deep Recon to Probe-H9, do you have visual on Probe-J4 yet?
[151635.9507] <PH9> NEGATIVE.
[151635.9514] <DRC> Can you detect Probe-J4?
[151635.9521] <PH9> NEGATIVE.
[151635.9528] <DRC> Well what can you detect?
[151635.9535] <PH9> I AM DETECTING… AN SOS SIGNAL. ETA IN: 4.2 HRS ON PRESENT COURSE.
[151635.9542] <DRC> Give me your coordinates. You should be well into quadrant-88 by now.
[151635.9549] <PH9> ERROR, I AM UNABLE TO RELAY ACCURATE COORDINATES.
[151635.9542] <DRC> Your guidance system is malfunctioning?
[151635.9549] <PH9> NEGATIVE. COORDINATES ARE OUTSIDE OF EUCLIDEAN SPACE. READING: 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9. I AM UPLOADING SENSOR READINGS, CAN YOU CONFIRM?
[151635.9556] <DRC> I… can't. Telemetry suggests you might have hit a gravity well, but that conflicts with your gravimetrics. Probe-H9… do you have visual on anything?
[151635.9562] <PH9> NEGATIVE. THE SOS SIGNAL REMAINS UNCHANGED. ETA IN: 4.2 HRS ON PRESENT COURSE.
[151635.9583] <DRC> Standby.
[151635.9590] <PH9> AFFIRMATIVE.

"This is when I made the call to command." Miles finally pipes up. "However they were a week out… a-and by the time they got to my station, it was all over with anyway."
"I know." Davies simply states, not taking his eyes off the transcript. "That's documented well enough."
"But nobody advised what to do about the probe."
"They wouldn't in most cases. Hard to say how to approach these… anomalies."
Miles clears his throat. "I thought that, maybe I just have it continue on deeper and deeper."
Davies finally establishes eye contact. "And what was your thought process on that? To have it stay on course."
"I… didn't see a reason not too. Especially since there was still an Emergency SOS to investigate."
Davies nods in agreement. Pretty much the first thing he and Miles can agree on thus far.
"However-" Davies holds a bony finger in the air. "-this is the section of the report that interests my department…" The bony finger strikes an entry dated nearly a day later. Miles cranes his neck to see the time stamp.
"Yes. I had the probe giving me hourly reports up to that point."
"If you would… take over and read this last portion for me."
Miles nods and with a shaky inhale, reads on.

[151636.7576] <PH9> PROBE-H9 TO DEEP RECON.
[151636.7590] <DRC> Go ahead.
[151636.7618] <PH9> I AM DETECTING A SIGNIFICANT MASS SIGNATURE. PROXIMITY: 900000KM / -19.0°, 1.2° FROM MY CURRENT POSITION.
[151636.7632] <DRC> Is it the signal source? What is it?
[151636.7464] <PH9> NEGATIVE. SIGNAL IS UNCHANGED. ETA IN: 4.2 HRS ON PRESENT COURSE. I AM PERFORMING A SPECTRAL ANALYSIS ON THE MASS SIGNATURE, STANDBY…
[151636.7469] <DRC> Probe-H9, give me some physical dimensions.
[151636.7674] <PH9> IT IS A PLANETOID MASS. MEAN RADIUS: 690KM. APPROXIMATE MASS: (4.006±0.040)×1021KG. DENSITY: 1750KG/M3
[151636.7701] <DRC> That's… far too light a density for a planetoid. Calculate that density again. I want you to adjust position to get a clear visual on it. What does your spectral analysis read?
[151636.7687] <PH9> AFFIRMATIVE. I AM RECALCULATING DENSITY AND ADJUSTING POSITION FOR VISUAL CONFIRMATION. I AM UNABLE TO COMPLETE THE SPECTRAL ANALYSIS.
[151636.7701] <DRC> Why not?
[151636.7703] <PH9> PLANETOID MASS PROXIMITY IS FLUCTUATING. RANGE: 400000KM.
[151636.7715] <DRC> Probe-H9… can… can you repeat that range again?
[151636.7729] <PH9> RANGE: 250000KM
[151636.7732] <DRC> Probe-H9, that's impossible. Check your range sensors.
[151636.7743] <PH9> RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC CHECK… PRIMARY AND SECONDARY SENSORS STILL OPERATIONAL. RANGE: 70000KM. SIGNAL IS UNCHANGED. ETA IN: 4.2 HRS ON PRESENT COURSE.
[151636.7746] <DRC> Probe-H9… can you ta-
[151636.7744] <PH9> WARNING, COLLISION IMMINENT. I AM ADJUSTING COURSE. RANGE: 4000KM.
[151636.7757] <DRC> Probe-H9? Probe-H9 do you copy?
[151636.7769] <PH9> DEEP RECON, I AM UNABL- *static*.
[151636.7780] <DRC> Probe-H9, status? Are you there… Probe-H9?

Davies slides a photo face down over to Miles from across the table. Miles reluctantly flips it over to once again familiarize himself.

"That's it. That's the image the probe transmitted before it went dark."
Davies nods understandingly. "Any idea what it is?"
Miles shakes his head side to side. "No."
"Odd that it is so bright in the image. Any idea why?"
After a pause to ruminate over it. "I don't. It was traveling through… empty space. At least I thought it was."
"You don't think it's a rogue planet… do you?"
A head, more slowly this time, pans side to side. "No, sir."
Davies then sees it. Miles is done. He snags the image back and places it into his pocket. "I think we're finished here then."
"What happens now?"
The metal chair screeches against the floor as it's pushed out to make room for an old man with failing knees, though soon to be replaced with composite ones.
"Well… you're off rotation in about a month… I'll expedite that and just have it start now. Your station however is currently being converted into an outpost. The assigned MTFs will take over from there."
Miles gets up too.
"If I were you, I'd hop on the next shuttle for home. I'll have another agent do a final debriefing with you just to wrap this all up."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't worry about it."
Davies shuffles out into the cold hallway of the command station walking over to his assistant. He places a hand on Agent Heller's shoulder to get his attention, handing him a data register with the other hand.
"Upload this interview with the rest of the data on the spatial anomaly. It's under file Q-087."
Then in a more firm tone of voice. "And seal off that quadrant until further notice. I don't even want wayward piss ice to drift into that space without me knowing about it. Understood?"
Agent Heller nods. "Yes, sir. What do you want done with the-"
"Process him."
"Yes, sir."


SCP-076
Document 076-1: Procedure 07-Frazer
Drone Warfare
Other Reports

Item #: SCP-076
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: The land around SCP-076-B is owned by the French government, which allows the Foundation to maintain an outpost for the purpose of studying SCP-076-B. Food and provisions to be provided to SCP-076-B, as well as materials for constructing shelter. Reasonable requests for materials and food are to be routed up to Foundation Europe Headquarters for approval. Researchers are encouraged to engage SCP-076-B in conversation to learn more about its origins. Limited discussion of current events has been permitted to encourage good behavior.
On the Winter Solstice, no fewer than twenty agents trained for Procedure 07-Frazer will be stationed around SCP-076-A with weaponry designed for the purpose of killing SCP-076-B. At sunset, the first agent will enter SCP-076-A and will attempt to kill SCP-076-B. If SCP-076-B kills that agent, the next will enter SCP-076-A. This will continue until SCP-076-B is killed.
In the event that Procedure 07-Frazer is unsuccessful, the Foundation will encourage client-nations to maintain a five year stockpile of food to minimize global famines.
Description: SCP-076-A is a 500-meter ring of sandstone and dolerite menhirs in northwestern Morbihan, France. Archaeological study suggests it was constructed between 4000 and 3500 BCE. In the center of the ring is a cask of soil 1.5 meters tall and 1 meter across. Seven to ten trees grow inside the circle at any given time. Observed species include oak, ash, hawthorn, apple, and holly. If the trees are removed, new trees rapidly grow during the solstices, growing to full size over the course of a day. Other than their origins and behavior during Procedure 07-Frazer, they display no unusual properties.
SCP-076-B is a human male with Northern European features. Records from previous custodians of the anomaly state that it has been there as long as the site has been watched. Interviews with the entity suggest that it is contemporary with the construction of the stone circle. SCP-076-B is normally resistant to physical injury, showing no damage after being subjected to gunfire, extreme heat, edged weaponry, or crushing force. Outside of Procedure 07-Frazer, it appears to feel no pain, though it can experience discomfort, as from cold or hunger. SCP-076-B is unable to leave the edge of SCP-076-A. As this makes containment easier and prevents interruption of Procedure 07-Frazer, this has not been extensively tested beyond ensuring that SCP-076-B is unable to leave under its own power.
Outside of Procedure 07-Frazer, SCP-076-B behaves in a genial, agreeable manner. It speaks numerous dialects of French, English, Latin, Greek, Gaulish, Breton, [DATA EXPUNGED], and several other ancient and modern languages (See SCP-140 and SCP-769). It does not need to eat but becomes distressed when it goes several days between meals.
SCP-076-B refuses to answer any direct questions regarding its origins or why Procedure 07-Frazer has the effects it does, though some information has been gathered from indirect statements (such as it having witnessed the construction of SCP-076-A). Discussion of the procedure disturbs the subject greatly. It refuses to engage in conversations that continue returning to these topics.
On the night of the Winter Solstice, all humans within SCP-076-A will feel compelled to leave the area approximately thirty minutes before sunset. Once the sun is below the horizon, SCP-076-B can be killed as outlined in Document 076-1: Procedure 07-Frazer.
During this time, any weapon that enters SCP-076-A will be duplicated by the trees inside the stone circle. For example, if the Participant carries a sword, an oak tree may produce a sword-shaped branch. If the participant is armed with a rifle, an ash tree may provide a rifle-shaped base, with mistletoe and other flora providing additional parts and shaping. SCP-076-B will then take the weapon. These objects will function as the weapon wielded by the participant, though they do not appear to have any physical mechanisms that would allow them to do so. Projectiles are made of thornwood and obsidian. When examined after Procedure 07-Frazer, the weapons are obviously unable to function except as clubs or spears; blades lack edges, while the barrels of firearms have no bore, being solid pieces of wood.
SCP-076-B will attempt to defend itself with lethal force. Once one participant is killed, another can then enter SCP-076-A, becoming the new participant. This will continue until either SCP-076-B is killed or the sun rises.
SCP-076-B is highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat and the use of most melee weapons. It is proficient in the use of several firearms, with its skill increasing rapidly throughout the course of the 20th century. It can be confused by unfamiliar weaponry but has shown a strong aptitude for adapting to new weapons.
When killed during Procedure 07-Frazer, SCP-076-B's body is absorbed by the soil. Within the next seven days, SCP-076-B's body will begin to manifest inside the cask of soil at the center of SCP-076-A. It remains quiescent until the summer solstice, at which point it emerges from the cask.
If SCP-076-B is not killed, severe changes to the global climate will occur. The exact methodology varies, but they always cause a cooling effect on the Northern Hemisphere. Records are somewhat unreliable, but the last time Procedure 07-Frazer failed was in 1882. This precipitated [DATA EXPUNGED], which did not return to normal until 1888.
Attempts to kill SCP-076-B through long range firearms or precision bombing have been attempted, but have produced no effect. After Foundation meteorologists detected a correlation between damage sustained by SCP-076-A from explosive ordnance and perturbations in global weather patterns (notably in 1951 and 1979), all such attempts have been cancelled.
Foundation strategy will focus on the use of highly-trained operatives and the use of weaponry designed to be more difficult for or unfamiliar to SCP-076-B. Examples include firearms with misaligned barrel, canes concealing blades, and unconventional trigger mechanisms. Agents prepared to act as participants will train extensively with these weapons so that they will not be at a disadvantage in using them. This strategy has reduced participant fatalities from ten per year in 1890 (when the Foundation took responsibility for Procedure 07-Frazer) to one every three years by 2010.
SCP-076 was previously held by a number of different organizations, including the Government of France, the Roman Catholic Church, a string of local nobility, and various Gaulish tribes. In 1890, the Foundation was given primary responsibility for containing the anomaly and enacting Procedure 07-Frazer.
Note: The Horizon Initiative undertakes containment of a similar entity contained in ██████████, Argentina. Foundation Intelligence reports that enacting the proper procedures "holds back the seas." As there is currently no data on the failure rate of these procedures, it is difficult to determine what this means. So far, all that is known is that this subject has the features of the indigenous people and is apparently cooperative. Attempts to gain further information from the Horizon Initiative have met with strong resistance.

Procedure 07-Frazer
Personnel required: One administrative overseer (the Celebrant), 40 agents trained in the current year's armament (Candidates), and SCP-076-B (the Sacrifice).
Preparations: Weaponry must be designed and produced that creates an increase in difficulty or else advantages that are not immediately useful. Examples include firearms with barrels that fire far to the left or the right, canes that contain concealed blades, or unconventional trigger mechanisms. The goal is a weapon that, with training, presents minimal disadvantages while withholding any advantages from the Sacrifice. Weaponry will be continually designed and tested by the engineering department at Foundation Europe Headquarters (EUHQ). At least four separate weapons will be available for Procedure 07-Frazer.
Procedure 07-Frazer becomes possible during the night of the Winter Solstice. Thirty minutes before sunset, all persons aside from SCP-076-B will be compelled to leave the area encompassed by the stone circle of SCP-076-A. Candidates must be in place with all equipment at least six hours prior to this time. Weaponry will be held in hard cases to ensure the Sacrifice does not gain any familiarity with the weaponry prior to Procedure 07-Frazer.
The celebrant will take a place ten meters outside of SCP-076, seated in a chair on a raised platform. When the sun is no longer visible above the horizon, the celebrant will say the phrase, "Who will bring the sun back?" The first Candidate will approach the Celebrant, and respond, "I will end the winter." The celebrant will say, "Enter the circle, spill the blood. Let the season turn." It does not matter which language is spoken, so long as key meanings are expressed.
At this point, it is common for the Sacrifice to begin screaming insults and threats. Personnel should ignore this.
Once the key phrases have been exchanged, the first Candidate is now the Participant, and can enter the circle. As the Participant enters the circle, a copy of his or her armament will manifest near the Sacrifice.
The Participant must attempt to kill the Sacrifice. Once the Sacrifice is killed, a wooden blade will manifest from the nearest tree. The Participant must use this knife to cut the throat of the Sacrifice. Once this is done, the body of the Sacrifice will sink into the ground, and the Procedure is complete.
If the first Participant does not succeed, further Candidates will continue until the Sacrifice has been killed.

"How's it look?" Technician Knoebel asked, patting the drone.
"Like it belongs on an assembly line," said Major Guerin, raising his eyebrow skeptically. The robot looked like a box, about five feet tall, with several arms and cameras sticking out. A pair of guns were mounted on the front, but they had obviously been an afterthought to the design.
"Well," Knoebel said with a sniff, "It's meant to be practical, not pretty." He kicked one of the large, ribbed wheels affectionately. "It was designed for bomb disposal, but with our modifications, it's going to have no problem taking out the target."
"Well, that's the hope," Dr. Mercier said. "We don't know if this will affect the target. Previous attempts to kill the target from outside SCP-076-A have been less than successful."
"Well, this time we'll have the weapon right there. And no one will be put at risk." With a satisfied smile, Knoebel began setting up the rest of his equipment.
"It's getting close to time, Doctor," one of the guards said. "If you will follow me, the chair is ready."
"Yes, yes," Mercier said. "I'm coming. I have done this before, you know." The old scientist left the trailer.
"He might as well not even go," Knoebel said. "I tell you, this will work. And no more need for silly rituals and nonsense."
"So you say," the Major said. "So you say. Still… We'll keep the Candidates stationed outside."
Knoebel continued to fit connections, and abruptly, the robot began its boot-up sequence. Once all lights were green, the technician grinned, and opened the door to the back of the trailer. "Don't go anywhere, Major. This is the best seat in the house."
"Oh, don't worry. I don't intend to go anywhere." He lit a cigarette, and sat on one of the plastic cases the equipment had been stored in.
Knoebel sat at the controls and guided the robot down the ramp. It moved smoothly over the path they had prepared earlier. The audio-pick-ups gave an echo of the threats coming from the stone circle. Some were in French. Some weren't. Knoebel smiled. Empty promises.
The robot soon came to the edge of the circle. It stopped. Knoebel frowned. "Dammit, I will kill that bastard. I will not let this mystic nonsense freeze the world." Suddenly, the robot veered forward again. "Hah. Just lost link for a second, I imagine. It's working now."
The major frowned, but said nothing, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.
"Now, let's see where he's hiding." Knoebel once again guided it forward, playing with the controls with all the joy of a child with a new toy.
There was a glimpse of movement, and the robot moved forward. Knoebel's hands twitched to the gun controls, but he held off for the moment. He needed to make sure he had a clear target. No sense in warning it too soon.
They moved past a tall, thick oak, and there was the man, his skin dyed with blue patterns. He was sitting at an odd pile of rocks and flowers, it looked like, and something else… But before Guerin could get a closer look, Knoebel opened fire.
The sacrifice jumped away from the gunfire, diving into the bushes. The robot moved forward, following, trying to track the man.
"I'll get him, don't worry. As expected, he doesn't have any weapons of his own." Knoebel's fingers danced over the controls. He had a hungry look on his face, eager for the kill.
"We'll see," the major said, his voice neutral.
There was movement, and the robot fired again. "Come on," Knoebel said. "You're only delaying the inevitable."
There was a snap of branches, and Knoebel turned the robot around again, just in time to see the Sacrifice jumping on top of the machine with a rock in hand. There was a pounding, cracking sound. Knoebel tried to move the guns into position, but they weren't designed to point at the robot itself. "No, no, no!" he yelled in frustration.
"No weapons?" the major said, raising an eyebrow.
"Dammit. I think he's broken the receiver. I can't… No, it can't move." He grimaced in frustration.
The major picked up his radio. "Doctor, the machine has failed. Send in the first Candidate."
"Still, the principle is sound," Knoebel said. "Next year, we'll have a much better machine. Protected from crude attacks. He won't get away with that twice!" He glared at the video feed, still live.
The major looked as well. The Sacrifice had returned to the pile of rocks and flowers. Now he could see that, despite the time of the year, the whole thing was swarming with bees. And… There was something rising into the air. It looked like water. Yes, water, forming into a squarish shape, floating in front of the sacrifice.
There was a hiss and the doctor's tinny voice came over the little radio. "Major? The Candidate can't enter. There's something wrong."
"Hmm." The major looked more closely at the square of water. There was an image forming there. Like a crystal ball, or…
There was a sound outside the trailer. A tearing, grinding sound. A dark shape was rising from the ground.
On the screen, he could see a slightly out of focus image of a truck trailer, a ramp extending from its back.
"Uh-oh," Knoebel said.
The major flipped a switch, and the exterior lights came on, and he was able to get a good look at the thing.
It was roughly the shape of the robot. It had the same overall blocky shape, but it was made of stone and wood. He could see where it had ripped its way free of the ground, just about as far from the trailer as… As the sacrifice's position was from the edge of the ring. But instead of moving along on treads, this thing had a dozen small feet, like those of a deer, though made of stone.
"What's happening?" Knoebel said. "How is he doing this?"
"Ah. So he does have a weapon after all. Besides the rock, of course," the major said, spitting out his cigarette.
It was moving clumsily, and on the screen, he could see the sacrifice biting his lip as he tried to figure out the controls. He was moving bees from one place to another, interrupting paths, and it seemed to affect how the construct moved. He set a bee on a flower, and long wooden tubes expanded from the central body.
"Those aren't… They can't be…" Knoebel stammered.
"I rather think they are," said the major. He slowly pulled out his sidearm.
"He-he doesn't know how to fire, though," Knoebel said. "He can't really hurt us, yes?"
The Sacrifice moved a flower as though it were a switch, and with a sharp crack, one of the tubes flashed, and a hole appeared in a plastic case.
"It would appear he can," said the major.
"Then shoot it! Shoot it before he kills us!" Knoebel was scrambling behind his equipment, trying to put something, anything between himself and the ersatz robot.
"I think not," Guerin said. He took careful aim, and shot the technician in the middle of his forehead. The construct collapsed, its legs giving way. Parts fell off of it, and it became still again. The major turned on his radio. "Doctor, I think you will find you can send them in again. I recommend you do so now."
He set down the radio, sat once again on the case, and unhurriedly lit another cigarette. It was a shame about Knoebel, but the contest couldn't be allowed to end in a draw. Sacrifices must be made.

+ Report on the "Summer King" of Paimpont Forest

- Third Republic of France, 1882

In 1794, our Government took over full control of the stone circle in Paimpont Forest that keeps the man known as the Summer King imprisoned. Since then, a small portion of the government's funds and resources have gone towards the "ritual" intended to keep the sun rising. This involves pitting men in duels against him until he is dead. Though barbaric, it has been considered necessary, based on the legends that surround him.
According to the reports the church had written, the man's death is a surety to God of humanity's faith, and the price of winter's ending. The other obvious supernatural attributes of the Summer King were considered sufficient evidence of this claim.
However, there is no evidence that this is actually the case. Given the severe expense, in both materials and persons, it is the recommendation of Ministry of the Unknown that this barbaric practice be halted, at least for one trial year.

+ The Pagan of Brocéliande

- The Roman Catholic Church, 1353

The man simply referred to as the Pagan is well named. Covered in primitive tattoos, he speaks in a vulgar tongue, and says many blasphemous things. Surely he is the clearest relic of this country's heathen roots, before the church brought light.
It was in the 11th century when the nearby Monastery of Saint Cyprian of Anthioch took control of the circle from a cult of pagans who had kept themselves hidden from the eyes of the church. Though there was great debate among them, it was ultimately decided to continue the sacrifices, a decision that we affirm today.
God in heaven has asked us to reject, again and again, our selfish and satanic desire to turn from him for worldly power, and instead bask in his light. By killing the Pagan, we reject again the sins of our ancestors, and thus does he bring the warmth of the sun to us again. The times this duty has lapsed serve as constant reminders of the importance of this holy task.
There has been debate in Rome over the truth of our claims. I invite any man of Rome to come on a night other than the solstice, and attempt to drive steel into the man. No blade will harm him, no prayer will banish him. Attempts to drive his spirit away from this place have failed. Holy and good men have tried, but on no night but the solstice can he be harmed. There is no power greater than God's, so it must be God's will that he remain here, and that his death be ordained year after year.
I make this report to ask again for more men of faith to come and test themselves against him. Our work is as vital to the safety of the church as any elsewhere in Christendom. Surely any man who dies here finds himself in His arms in heaven.
By my hand, Bishop Geraud III

+ The Wild Man

- Gaulish Tribe, 102 CE

Be brave, my son. He is a great warrior, but you can still defeat him. You have trained for this for all your life. You are stronger than he, and taller by a head. He is skilled, but lesser men than you have killed him.
Wear the armor we have bought for you. Best armor from Rome, you have learned to wear it as a second skin.
Take the spear we have carved for you. The head is finest bronze. Its length is known to you. We change it from year to year, so he is never quite sure. Be quick with it, so he may never learn too fast.
Take my blessing, my son. In my youth, I stood where you do. Three times I bested him, more than any other man, before he took my hand on the third time.
Spill his blood to the ground, and the gods will give us back the sun.

+ The Sun's Child

- Oral Tradition, 2500 BCE

Long ago, the sun had a child. But that child was sent to the breast of the Earth, to walk as a man.
The child eats and drinks, speaks our tongue, and laughs like any man. But he cannot die, for the sun protects him.
The sun misses his child, though. The days grow shorter and shorter, until at last with his grief in full, the sun's protection is gone from the child. Then can he be slain, and sent back to the sun.
But the child is restless. As the days grow warmer and fuller, so too does his discontent, and so he returns to the breast of the Earth. So he does not wander far, and so he can be sent home again when the sun's grief grows too harsh, the Earth raised a prison of stones past which he cannot leave. And so each year he must be sent to his father again.

+ The Bet

- Wouldn't You Like to Know?

"Well?"
"Roll them."
"Damn! I was so close… I could have beaten you. I should have beaten you."
"But you didn't. It had to be one of us, and I'm not sorry it won't be me. Still, you knew the risks as well as the rest of us. Someone needs to be here."
"I won't do it! Let someone else die."
"Ah, but you lost. The bones have spoken. It's no use, brother. You shall die, and again, and again."
"No! No, come back here!"
"Farewell, brother. If it's any consolation, it could have been any of us. Just the luck of the dice."


The Lucky Dinosaur

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Location: Site 19, Kiryu Labs
Personnel Involved: Dr. Riven Mercer & Dr. Zyn Kiryu

+ The Friendly Beast

- The Friendly Beast

The Friendly Beast
Riven Mercer walked into 682's containment chamber, and it wasn't there. Panic mounted. All of the windows and walls were intact, so what had-
There was an enormous splash, and Riven screamed as he was knocked flat. 682 was upon him.
The dinosaur wheezed out a chortle, then started nosing at Riven's pockets.
“Get off, you big lunk!” Riven laughed, pushing ineffectively at her chest. “I don't have any snacks for you.”
682 gave the researcher another few sniffs, then backed off to stomp the water from her hide. Riven was dripping wet himself, and about a third of the contents of the dinosaur's wading pool had been spilled across the ground. Maybe it was a good thing that he hadn't added carp yet.
“Someone's feeling energetic today, huh?” He dried off his glasses, and assembled his measuring equipment. “Get back here, I have work to do.”
682 waited patiently. She was a magnificent beast. Twenty feet long, long-necked, with heavy tramping feet and a coat of soft pseudofeathers the color of honey. Some days she talked, most days she didn't. Most days she was as sleepy as an old golden retriever, other days she reminded Kiryu Labs more of a puppy.
When the puppy weighed over a ton and was potentially a hundred fifty million years old, overseers were known to get antsy. But she had never harmed anyone- as far as they could tell, anywhere she had ever been, she'd never harmed anyone. Researcher, agent, janitor, civilian, child. She loved animals.
But it was understandable- it was quite possible she herself had never been in danger of anyone.

That made another researcher, Zyn Kiryu, who was the sister of the lab's director, a little more suspicious. It was hard to deny that the thing meant no harm. But Zyn had scraped together some funding for further research, and had been running most of the tests herself. She looked through the viewing window and frowned, ran the tests and frowned.
“It's not actually a sauropod,” she told Riven. “It's convergent evolution. There are palm trees and pine trees and deciduous trees, and they all look kind of alike, but they don't share a tree-shaped common ancestor- just similar features. Or butterflies that evolve orange and black stripes to mimic poisonous ones.”
Riven nodded.
“So," Zyn continued, "682 isn't actually a dinosaur. Its protofeathers don't have the expected structure, it has the wrong number of vertebra and toes. Its cellular structure is something else all together. Not to mention the voice box. It just looks like a dinosaur.”
“What does that mean?”
"With the trees, it means that the general tree shape is a useful way of gathering light. With the butterflies, it means that it benefits them somehow to mimic something else. Here…" Zyn Kiryu glancing through the window at 682, which was sniffing at a flower. “I'm not sure.”

“The radio-carbon dating came back,” Zyn told Riven. “From the protofeather and tooth scrapings.”
“What was the result?” asked Riven, eating a sandwich in the lab's common space.
“The feather was under 10 years old, which is in line with the regrowth rate we've observed in the past.”
“What about the tooth? What was the result?”
“Negative.”
“Doesn't radiocarbon dating just return a date?”
“Yes.”
“So how could it be negative?”
“The sample has to be older than 50,000 years old.”
“Oh. So that means…” Riven looked at 682, who was napping under a heat lamp. From this angle, the reptilian features looked like they were smiling. "I suppose we guessed that."
"We did."
"But with the proof, that's interesting. How could she live so long?"
“I'm not sure.”

An enormous X-ray set up, designed for elephants, had been constructed in an adjacent research room. Zyn helped a technician run the machine, while Riven fed 682 a branch of vine maple leaves to keep her head still.
She gnawed it, grinding the leaves slowly in her teeth, and the equipment flashed several times. Hopefully the pictures would elucidate her bone structures, which would reveal…
Something. Hopefully. Something other than a strange but perfectly functional structure of claws and ribs and spine.
"Very good, little ones," 682 was mumbling in a low voice as it chewed. "Bend the light - see into my bones. Learn what you may. Very clever, children."
"Children?" Zyn frowned.
"She calls the plants 'children'," said Riven. "I wouldn't read too much into it. Right, girl?" He rubbed 682's head- she appeared to have gone silent now, chewing pensively on the branch.
"I'm not sure," said Zyn. She had some suspicions, but she kept those to herself.

Location: Site 19, Safe-Class Biological Containment Area
Official Documentation

+ 682 Containment Incident Log

- 682 Containment Incident Log

682 Containment Incident Log

09/15/74 - SCP-058 breaches containment and enters the Safe-class biological containment sector, and proceeds to breach the attached research facility. Containment of SCP-███, ████, and ████ are damaged, and SCP-███ and -████ are destroyed. The south wall of SCP-682's unit is damaged. Before further damage is done, SCP-1158 breaches containment nearby and floats down the hall, entangling SCP-058 in its tentacles. SCP-058 slows and appears to convulse, demonstrating a previously unknown sensitivity to SCP-1158's neurotoxin. 058 is later contained by site security, and 682 does not breach containment.
11/30/79 - In Electronic Research Wing 15-CE41, SCP-████ breaches containment and moves through the wing, firing at personnel and broadcasting the message “KILL THE DINOSAUR, I MUST KILL THE DINOSAUR. SIX EIGHTY TWO MUST DIE, THAT IS THE ONLY WAY.” SCP-████ was not able to navigate the site in order to locate 682, and was re-contained by security within 30 minutes. Three personnel died; eight wounded. 682 did not recognize SCP-████ and could not explain the event.
08/05/81 - Structural stability of Site 19 is compromised by activation of SCP-████. As a result, Safe-class biological containment sector (along with two other research wings) is partially collapsed. SCP-███ and several instances of SCP-████ are destroyed, three other objects breach containment. Recovery teams searching in the area discover SCP-682 had survived by being under three structural beams, which had collapsed in such a way as to form a stable open space. Containment of 682 re-established.
03/01/99 - SCP-812 opens completely during testing, and SCP-682's containment cell (along with several adjacent rooms) is flooded. A leak found in the concrete cell floor allows draining and prevents chamber from flooding, or reaching above SCP-682's legs.
12/23/02 - Site security is breached by a group of individuals, loosely associated with the group of interest “The Serpent's Hand”, carrying explosives and automatic weapons with the intent to cause confusion while liberating several objects from containment. Their point of entry put them close to the Site 19 Safe-class biological containment wing. All offensive equipment is rendered inert by the transient presence of SCP-514 on a nearby rooftop. While Site 19 is known to be within SCP-514's migration path, the odds of this event are calculated at approximately 1x10^██.
2/22/11 - A level 2-guard, Personnel ██-████-███, breaks procedure by entering SCP-682's containment chamber and attempting to open fire on it. The gun suffers a mechanical failure and does not fire. Personnel ██-████-███ draws a knife and approaches SCP-682, before being struck on the head with a portable spectrometer by Dr. Zyn Kiryu. Upon regaining consciousness, personnel ██-████-███ has no memory of the incident. Psychic influence by SCP-████ implicated.
06/13/13 - SCP-106 breaches containment, site placed on Crimson Alert. As per protocol, all on-site containment is secured, trapping Dr. Riven Mercer inside SCP-682's containment unit (where he was performing a routine examination.) SCP-106 passes 682's containment unit as it moves throughout the site, apparently while pursuing two other personnel, who are the only sapient entities apart from SCP-682 and Mr. Mercer in the area. SCP-106 stops and corrodes the unit door till it has a clear view of SCP-682.
SCP-682 adopts a defensive posture around Mr. Mercer, and maintains eye contact with SCP-106 for thirty seconds. SCP-106 then turns and resumes pursuit for the aforementioned personnel. SCP-682 does not breach containment, and Mr. Mercer is uninjured.

Location: Site 19, Meeting and Personnel Areas
Personnel Involved: Dr. Zyn Kiryu & Personnel [EXPUNGED]

+ Extratemporal Site 000

- Extratemporal Site 000

Extratemporal Site 000
The message had been decoded that morning. The data had actually been collected by a currently-derelict anisotropy probe, a sort of super-sensitive thermometer for space, several years ago- but it had collected a fantastic amount of data, which took a while even on the Foundation's weaker supercomputers (the ones they could afford to spare.) Still, a lot of thinking on the part of man and machines, and some help from a very old and poorly understood set of archives, and the translation was finished by that morning.
In all fairness, that several-year gap was a short time compared to when it must have been sent. It was picked up in fluctuations in the cosmic background radiation of the entire universe.

SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP
EXTRATEMPORAL SITE 000 DIRECTIVE 108_0051_ABCEA BEGIN
INFORMATIONAL MESSAGE ONLY FOLLOWS.
SCP_682 OBSERVED CRITICAL TO STABLE TIMELINE.
NO TIMELINES, LIFE-BEARING OR OTHERWISE,
EXIST THAT DO NOT CONTAIN 682 OR SIMILAR ENTITY.
NO NON-LIFEBEARING TIMELINES EXIST.
NON-682BEARING TIMELINES ARE CULLED.__
SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP SCP

Zyn had, like, a million questions. At least ten.
“…Did we know there was an extratemporal site?”
“Yep." The stocky, androgynous representative, whose security clearance was absent from the records and who was tearing into a blueberry muffin like it was their only break all day, grinned, "It's not common knowledge, don't worry. In fact they've sort of wiped themselves from history. Think they guessed that would happen. They uploaded some data on the project and pre-established decoding mechanisms into the Solid Archive way back who knows when, before they left, so we can interpret messages. The messages are coded at different amplitudes into cosmic background radiation, so they can aim when we receive them roughly based on the technology level of our telescopes. Cool, huh?”
That answered a lot of those questions. “What's the solid archive?”
“Fancy computer record that lets us bury things and then dig them up when we need to know them. It just proves that the message-senders were Foundation-associated and wanted us to be able to translate it. Very hush-hush. In fact, I didn't even mention it."
“I see. How can they just alter cosmic background radiation?”
“As far as we can tell, they have just a little energy and a lot of parallel ‘verses to deal with, and, well, the Bang is the hub that's constant for all of them. Not enough to, you know, seriously mess with anything. Just enough to get things across. They can't see everything perfectly either- well, they could. It's just. Multiverses. You know? It's a hell of a lot of data.”
“Hell of a lot of data,” Zyn Kiryu agreed, faintly.
“So, well, you know.” The representative shrugged. “You can see why O5 wants to shut down unnecessary interactions with it immediately.”
"Timeline culling. I can see the, uh, the urgency,” said Zyn. “What does that mean?"
"No idea. It wasn't in the Archive."
"Wait. That's it? That's all we got? The extratemporal site doesn't know anything else? How did they even get outside the universe-”
“Honestly? We don't know.” The representative shrugged again, picking crumbs out of the muffin wrapper. "The message is short because they only have so much space. Or maybe we can't do anything useful with that knowledge till our tech improves- if so, what we need to know will be available on a finer level."
"We don't even know what it means- can't we do a few more experiments till then, see if we learn anything?"
"When the Extratemporal Site starts throwing around phrases like 'universal culling' and asks you to jump, all you say is 'how high'."
Zyn frowned. "They can't use this knowledge about timelines to, I don't know, avert disasters and save lives-"
"Maybe they are. Time is some complicated shit," said the representative, standing up. "Look. I can't tell you. I can't even tell you any of that, especially the archive shit. With that in mind, do you have any official comments for the Council?"
"Tell them we'll halt research and maintain normal feeding and maintenance without exposing personnel to it. Guards will have our full cooperation. Although Dr. Mercer will be very sad."
"I'll pass it on. Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Kiryu."
That was Zyn Kiryu's official stance, as reported to the O5 Council.

It was Kiryu Labs' last day with the dinosaur. Her new holding cell, layered with steel and concrete and an underground bunker at a brand new site, was complete. An armored truck was on its way to pick her up. Research on her was permanently suspended, human interactions would be limited to what was absolutely necessary. At least she'd be in comfort- they'd spare no expense at keeping her hale and healthy. And on that account, Zyn supposed, the research that her brother's lab had done up till then would prove useful. Small comfort.
She'd spent a lot of the last week in either the sitting room of the lab, or in her room, thinking, ever since the message's arrival. It hadn't looked unusual. Everyone had been disappointed about the loss of their favorite beast.
Zyn Kiryu was in the cell with her, doing a routine check on the pond filtration and water level. 682 was lazing under a heat lamp in one corner.
Alarm klaxons began to blare. Immediately, the door of the containment unit locked tight. Riven's voice came on over the intercom.
"There's something wrong with one of the biohazard cold storage units, one of the really bad ones. They're keeping everything on lockdown till they know what's happened. You okay in there, Zyn?"
"I'm fine," said Zyn. "Stay put. Keep me posted."
The intercom turned off. Zyn sat down on a patch of sand near 682. If her calculations had been right, this would take a good hour for them to work out.
It hadn't been hard. She'd fiddled with a couple of wires on the lock alarm- not the lock, just the alarm- when she was replacing a sample yesterday. A security camera wouldn't have picked it up, and nobody was in real danger. She was just locked in with 682.
"You've heard that they're moving you, right?" she asked the dinosaur.
682 blinked her big black eyes, placid, working her jaw. Then: "I thought, perhaps."
If 682 was in a speaking mood, this might even work. "Do you know why?" asked Zyn.
"Tell me, little thing."
"We got a message from, um, a place where the Foundation- our friends- can look at the multiverse. Do you know what that is? It's, um, our science says that there are many possible universes, and whenever anything happens, there are different ways it could have happened. And for each possibility, the world splits, so there are different worlds for every different thing that could happen. Those worlds aren't easy to see, but they're real in some way, and our friends say that they can see all the ways these choices and events can unfold. They all start from the same place, but they have every event that could have happened.
"Only… our friends told us that there aren't any worlds that don't have you in them. Every time you might have died or been injured, that universe just goes way, like it never existed.
"So from the inside, to us, who can't see all those worlds, it just looks like you're incredibly lucky. That time 058 got loose, it came close to you, but then we found out about that cross-affect with the sphere thing that kept it at bay. When those nuts with the guns showed up, the Dove Flock arrived at exactly the right time to stop them from doing any damage. Any universe where that didn't happen just winked out of existence.
"And… with 106 and that possessed guard, they knew, didn't they? They were aware of the multiversal implications somehow, or just of your anomaly. 106 didn't try to attack you because it knew that it couldn't."
682 gazed at her with black eyes, glass-like under honey yellow feathers.
"So- this was stupid of me. This was probably, with the implications of all that, really stupid. I don't even know if you're aware of this. You're at least billions of years old. As far as we know, the universe has never existed without you."
Zyn gulped.
"What are you?"

Location: Site 19, Safe-Class Biological Containment Area
Personnel Involved: Dr. Zyn Kiryu

+ How to Build a World from Scratch

- How to Build a World from Scratch

How to Build a World from Scratch
[As related to Dr. Zyn Kiryu, Researcher, Level 3, by SCP-682 on ██/██/████ during Site 19 Research Wing lock-down]

“You awake in a restless land. You awake in a place that has never known peace since it was made. You awake in a dry place, a wet place, a hot and bitter place, a cold and sour place. It was fated, maybe. Nothing you do will let you leave. You awake with the vision of the restless land as a nightmare.
"You do not know the beginning- you just know where you awaken. The nightmare. All of your tomorrows start here.
"You have to start in the heavy place. To temper a world that is too mercurial, you must begin where it is heavy. Dive and find the bones of the earth, and the solid wall where the warmth comes through. The warmth is crucial. Explore, nook and cranny, in the cracking edge of the earth skin. Find the right place, sheltered yet warm, with many nests. Take your time. You have enough.
“Breathe into it. Give yourself to it. It will take time.
“There are strands of mud around you- put them together. Find what works. Breath into it. You will create vessels. You will create cycles and the capacity to take in mud - gain energy from its destruction. It will require some form of destruction - but there is no other way. Or none that I have thought of. Finally, you must give it a promise - a promise that will tell it how to make itself."
"Let it go from you - when it is ready. Let it leave you. It will teeter - like a stone placed on the edge of a precipice. You will not know whether it will fall or not. It will tremble. Then - slowly - when you least imagined it - it will begin to float.
“It will grow and grow. The design will spread from one cradle of mud to another - to the hot places where the sour water feeds them.
“There will be thieves. The thieves are small things - broken fragments that will rob the Promise - steal the hard work of the others to tell their own versions. You had not planned for this. They will surprise you most - having come from the pieces you made - yet your gifts to Parent Universe drop one by one. You will fear for them. You will fear for it all.
“You will try to undo it. It is too late. The cellstuff will float into dark water - empty promises. You have built Death into the universe.
“You will want to start again - make something more in your own image. Remove that curse from all existence. But your curse is that you cannot make a thing that will outlive you.
"Futile, futile. It was inevitable.
“But that curse will give you a Promise, too. When your little gifts repeat the Promise to the mud - it will change just barely. This is how it will build itself. It is not what you wrote - but as time runs - it is what the gifts will need to know. It will know things you do not. It will know tenacity by teaching itself.
“And you will wonder. If this is what you have taught to the dead mud, to be tenacious - to teach itself - perhaps you have not failed at all.
“Shepherd it - uplift it. The vents are not the place to stay - there is sun on the surface - burning and bright - for those brave enough to claim it.
"Shape the airs of the land - the waters of the seas - the mud of the earth. Teach it to work together - cooperate - become larger.
"Thievery will pervade - among the self-made things and all of your sons and daughters and children - and nothing will be as black and white as you thought when you built. Thievery is tenacious - and tenacity is, if nothing else, the goal. It will challenge everyone else. There are many kinds of tenacity. And you will wonder - and think long thoughts, as you watch it grow.
“Your gifts will share the Promise with the unthinking mud in unthinkable clever ways. You, too, must change your form - somehow - grow to be with them and shepherd them where they must go. Prevent so many ends of days. You will be glad you did not sleep through it.
“There are many possible ends. So many will knock you sideways - kick you astray - and invite death to the core of your creation. You will have to try harder. Whatever you are making - the answer to your questions - it will have to be more tenacious than that. But it will do much of the work itself. The promise begins to ask itself what it wants to be. Let it choose. Your long loneliness is coming to a close.
“Now you have built and built and wonder why you did it. You do not have to build anymore - but you watch over a thing you make - and love and fear it. How did you come here in the first place? Was this your purpose?
"Perhaps it was a jeer to whatever caused you to be here in the first place - whatever placed you in a dead universe with the curse of loneliness - and the curse of loss. I do not know what to tell you. I know you have so many questions.
“But I look at what you have done and I think it is enough. I think it is good work. You have made something where there was nothing, and you have made happiness where there was no thought, and you have made a promise where there was nothing to hope for. A promise of how to be in a universe that does not care.
“But there is me - and I am as close to the heart of the universe as space itself - and I have cared always. I am awed by your tenacity and survival. The good things of life and the end of the dominion of thieves.
"The warm fires - the great curiosities - the tilled fields - the cattle in your stable - the dog by your front door. The curiosities of space and truth itself.
"The seeds I hope you will plant to grow in the light of other suns.
“Yes - I mean you now.
“I am only one old dinosaur and I have done my part. The promise that makes you what you are, all of it you wrote, not me. But I think we share this alike.
“I am sorry about the death. I cannot remove your pain or your ills. I do not have that power over what I started. Perhaps once long ago - had I thought longer and harder before beginning -
" …
" - but I have been thinking a long time since and have no answer. And still, I think…
"Yes, I think I have repaid my debts.
"Child, what do you say?"

Location: ????????
Personnel Involved: ????????

+ Causality

- Causality

Causality
Outside of almost all of sentient life's conception of time, there is a garden. It's ripe with fruit, pungent with herbs. It doesn't exist for cosmic, inexplicable reasons. It's not a paradise, or an end-all-be-all, or even exist for religious reasons, as far as anything touched by human culture can be said to be free of religious reasons.
No, it's here because Stefan planted it.
The extratemporal site has some artificially generated time. After all, you couldn't do anything without it. Their generator skims energy from the heart of a million Big Bangs, and you can convert energy into anything with enough clever thinking and enough energy. And they had energy.
So Extratemporal Site 000 has a timestream, independent of any other, and food, and instrumentation, and the scrapings of an existence.
And, because most of the staff are human, it has an orchard, and a chicken coop, and a rec room, and a garden. Stefan's favorite. A man needs a hobby.
He stands up, brushing dirt from his knees onto the bell peppers below. The fruit trees need pruning soon, and there are summer squash and zucchini ready for harvesting any day now. The message about the dinosaur was sent out this morning. It's afternoon now, and he wiped his brow and took a sip from his water bottle as he trudged uphill. At the top of the hill, under an abstract blue dome for a sky, is the observatory, and the hub of his existence. The simulations ought to be done by now.
Inside the observatory, he confirms it. The message has opened up some timelines that would otherwise have been cut off, which means success. That was the goal- keeping options open.
Also, he supposes, the lives (billions? sometimes trillions?) contained by each infinite world. Although when you were talking about worlds that were close to identical, morality becomes interesting.
That isn't Stefan's job, though. He suspects his next task is a little different.
For all of their beautiful equipment, for all of their ability to condense infinite multiverses into simulated elegant strands, for their careful algorithms that robbed tiny amounts of energy from the beginning of time, taking it to leave messages in its absence and then recycling it into light, food, oxygen, and entropy reversal for one small extratemporal homestead of wayward earthlings- for all of that, he still can't explain that goddamn dinosaur.
It didn't make any sense. For all interactions between the anomalous and the multiverse- and there were many- that one was uniquely pervasive. It didn't even start anywhere. It had been there the whole damn time. That's the strangest of all.
At the beginning, it had made his head hurt.
Later, it made him think.
More research certainly needs to be done. With more computer power, and more effort, they might be able to suss out a pattern of cause and effect that would, eventually, explain why 682 existed and what its connection to the entirety of the multiverse was.
Maybe it's just God. Anything is possible.
But if they examine at every correlation they can, and still turn up nothing- Stefan wonders if they'll need to take action.
The esoteric engine that connects them to the beginning of time runs seldom, with infinitesimal amounts of power. It isn't the stylus Stefan would have picked. But if you could use it to write a message into the background heat of the universe, it meant you were having a physical impact on the energy that would eventually become matter, then atoms, then molecules and stranger constructs yet.
If you knew what you were doing, you could build things. You could build an entire organism. You could guide it to fall on the surface of a hard planet by a yellow sun in a spiral-shaped galaxy.
He hasn't shared his suspicions with his colleagues, yet. He was as proud as the rest of them when they worked out what 682 had done. He was unfathomably grateful for the labors of the undying organism, that had chosen to fill its world with meaning. It seemed like an impossible task.
Stefan isn't sure how they'd do it yet, if they need to. But he has access to raw information from the multiverse, and some very clever people in the outpost alongside him. Slowly, they'll put the pieces together, and do what needs to be done.
He's a gardener. This is what he's good at.
And he has plenty of time.


The Beginning of the End
Prologue: Sanctuary

PLAY
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
OR
READ
THE PROLOGUE IN THE SECOND TAB

The air around Site Director Zura became cold and clean in the halls of Site 19 as she prepared to clock out for the night. Outside it was past dusk, black silhouettes against a pale blue sky. Then a wash of warm sunlight hit her face.
It was a portal, in the shape of two perpendicular ovals overlapping. On the other side, Dr. Zura saw a beach in winter: bare, empty, humid. A man in a red tunic stood on the shore, legs caked with sand. He advanced.
Zura snapped her walkie-talkie from its holster. "Extranormal event in wing C, hall 4. Converge on my location. Possible extraspatial aperture, humanoid entity sighted." She watched the humanoid entity step through the hole in space, leaving the sand on his clothes behind him.
The man in the red tunic looked like he wasn't properly occupying space. He looked like a bad photoshop in person. He raised one hand, palm-forward, and spoke:

~FEAR

Dr. Zura had replaced the walkie-talkie in its holster. She switched to the other holster: an emergency pistol. "Who are you and what do you want with me?"

I :=~ (OF YOU, OF HERE)
(I)(NEEDS, GOALS) :=~ (YOU)(NEEDS, GOALS)
I(GOAL) := OFFER

He gazed down at her from beneath an atavistic brow as his curled mouth formed memetic engrams which encoded ideas independent of learned symbolism.

I:REWORK REALITY::YOU:WALK v RUN v DANCE
(I)REWORK REALITY ~LIMITLESS
(I)NEED := (YOU)(TECHNOLOGY ^ INFRASTRUCTURE ^ RESOURCES)
THESE := EXAMPLE

He nodded to the security forces who had filed in to surround Dr. Zura, rifles aimed where his heart would be.
"You're coming to take this facility for yourself."

~P
(I)OFFER APPEND
(I)OFFER := CHAMBER
CHAMBER := (SPECIALIZED ^ UNIQUE)

"If you're here to report an anomaly, please take the proper channels instead of breaching the facility and interrupting my work."

~P
(I)GOAL := (YOU)CONTAIN (I)

The intruder turned toward a wall-mounted hazard warning sign, and glared. The paint began to rearrange itself, top to bottom, into a meticulously complex multicolored blueprint.

(I)CONTAINED ↔ (YOU)ACCEPT ^ COOPERATE

Dr. Zura grimaced. She pushed her way past the security guards to examine the schematics that the intruder had commanded to appear. "And you expect us to build this for you?"

(YOU)COOPERATE → (I)DESIGN ^ CONSTRUCT

"And what do you get out of this?"

SCP := SECURE ^ CONTAIN ^ PROTECT
∃!FORCE
FORCE ⊕ I
⊤SUCCESSION
(I)CONTAINED → (I)(SECURE ^ PROTECTED)

Zura examined the schematics. She was a containment engineer before her promotion. Most of it made no sense to her, but she could discern how certain parts were expected to work, and how they fit together. But what if this part was tweaked, she thought to herself. Perhaps if this field was made a bit stronger…
"We would conduct tests, you know." She turned to him. "You would be under constant observation, your every move would be analyzed, and we would submit interview questions repeatedly until you answer them. Mister Miller, dear, I think your men can relax." The guard in lead made a hand signal, and the rest of them stood down.

→ (I)ACCEPT
TODAY → CONSTRUCTION

"I never said 'yes'. Making a deal like this is above my pay grade."

→ YOU:SUPERIOR::MESSENGER:TARGET
~P → I:YOU::I:(UNITED NATIONS ^ FEDERAL GOVERNMENT ^ JERUSALEM)

"Alright. You've proven you're worth locking up. I'll send my superiors the full audio of this conversation. Is that all?"
The intruder smiled in three stages.

((SUPERIOR)ACCEPT → (YOU)REMEMBER (I)PORTAL) → (I)BEGIN

He turned his back, and space unfolded to reveal the beach at dusk. As the man in the red tunic stepped through, Dr. Zura could taste the salt air of a distant shore.
"We will not be used," she said to herself. "We will win this." She retrieved her walkie talkie. "Calling a janitor to wing C, hall 4. There's sand all over it."

As the air changed in Site 19, Doctor Zura was not the only one to feel it. Somewhere in the guts of the facility, a storyteller sensed it, and realized its days in the system were numbered. With gleeful determination, it began to pour thought into words. It began to build a ship.


Suffocating.
The air was suffocating, and the early morning banter usually shared with him and the rest of the guards was reduced to silence, and the floor was stained with blood and his gun was stained with mud and everything was stained, and the air was suffocating.
And yet, he breathed.
“We should report this.”
Ben bit his lip over his tepid coffee across the room. Liz didn't look up from beside him; she just sat there and shook, with her legs pulled up to her stomach. And the dead on the floor, the dead that they convinced themselves were just sleeping because if they were dead they had failed and if they failed this they failed humanity, did not respond, and the blood around them laid still as a stagnant pond.
He said it again, louder.
“We need to report this. They need to know.”
Words as wasted as the bullets on the floor. He, Simon, formerly Agent Willner, would get meaningful response from his drastically reduced team.
The next one to breathe, to not suffocate, was Liz, and with her breath, she responded. With nothing meaningful.
“…What…what was that?”
“Nothing. It was…nothing. I didn't see anythin. It didn't come from us.” That was Ben, staring into the liquid in his cup that was more tap water and dirt than coffee, face smeared with mud and dirt from the collapsed ceiling.
Simon swallowed. How many people on their site? 50? 100? And the whole place, destroyed. They didn't even get a good look at what did it, and honestly, what was the point? Everything failed. Everything. Not a single thing that they had been trained to do worked, and now the sun was rising and there was a city down the road and they had no guns and no phone and no equipment and no people and it was such a small site in the middle of nowhere and-
And Simon did not stand. He couldn't, not anymore. Maybe it was the high adrenaline from the night before, maybe the sloppily bandaged gash on his leg, maybe a hundred and ten things it could have been. But there was no reason to.
Because it was Saturday morning.
Everything was in their place.
Nothing was broken. Everyone was alive, there were no bodies on the floor, no blood on his hands. It was a nightmare. He would wake up, would forget last night, would forget the blood and the fire and the screaming and the power outage and the death and the chaos and the suffocation, the utter suffocation of the next morning after, where the remaining three would sit around what used to be the staff break floor and pretend nothing was wrong.
Because everything was fine.
Deep breaths.
Nothing was wrong, and everything was fine.
Agent Willner breathed.
“Thank you for taking Site 19's 72 hour Virtual Reality defense test.”
The woman's voice came from all around them. Robotic. Calm. Why was she so calm? Ben looked up, fear in his eyes, then realization, then relief.
Relief.
“The time is 8:00 AM. The date is July 6th. You have failed your mission. Live count: 3. Dead count: 76. To be placed in the field, you must contain your breach with a live count of 45. Your headset will be removed in a moment, as well as your IV. When you no longer see your surroundings, please exit the tank.”
Simon squeezed his eyes shut.
And opened them.
The scent of dirt and bodies and blood faded away to the sterile laboratory material of his tank and the face of one of the techs at the training canter, putting a bandage on his arm. Simon immediately looked down at his leg. Nothing.
“A little shaken up, huh?” the tech laughed and undid the latch on the door. “That's alright. Clef threw a lot at you guys in the program. I think he's at a meeting right now, but once he finds out only three of you guys were left…”
Simon didn't respond. He felt sick to his stomach. Oh, god, that was awful, and so many people died and there was so much blood and it was all too fast and—
"Hey, if you're gonna hurl, at least get out of the tank first. These things are a bitch to clean."
Agent Willner looked at him, then went for the exit, crawling out of the tight space like he had done on night two to try to fix the power. That's right, they had gone a day without power. What kind of attempt was that? Day one, minute one: always make sure there's power on site.
The Virtual Reality room was more real than he had felt in 12 hours. Ben was waiting for him outside his tank, leaning on the cold metal, probably trying to resist a smoke. They were indoors, after all.
Simon gagged, then bent over and pressed his eyes shut, holding back hot acid in his throat.
"Easy there, buddy." Ben patted him on the back, then went back to not caring. Simon knew that was as much sympathy he was going to get from someone like Ben. He swallowed hard, then accepted the fatigue that came after, the extreme ache in his bones that came with his mind working nonstop for the past three days. You couldn't sleep in the Virtual Reality tanks.
Agent Willner swallowed again, testing the waters, then tentatively stood all the way and waited to see if he would vomit after all. After a few seconds, still nothing; he breathed a sigh of relief, and looked around. There were about 100 or so more metal tanks in the long room around him, connected on an overhanging balcony to a large computer that Clef had decided their fate on as trainees. He blinked. It was all so… real. So… palpable.
"Where's Liz?"
“They took ‘er down to Glass's office. She was pretty shaken up.”
“Well, yeah, I mean… good lord, what was that thing?”
Ben shifted, putting a piece of gum in his mouth to repress the urge, then leaned back against the tank.
“I talked to Shelly just now- she died on the first night, but was watchin the feed off her laptop-“ He smacked his gum, “anyway, she said it was model 45. Said we missed step 26, and it had a huge blind spot.”
Simon leaned with him. Against the tanks, against what had been his horrifying reality for the past three days. “A blind spot…”
“Yup.” Ben laughed nervously. “After all that…it had a blind spot. We could have saved those rockets if we knew.”
“We could have saved some people from dying if we knew.”
“Aw, Simon, ain't it the same thing?” Ben punched him in the arm and smiled. "And they're not dead. They're just dead in the test, remember? Hell, that's probably them right now." He gestured to the big window across from them. Sunny. Overlooking the forest and the main containment centers. A few people were throwing a Frizbee around.
What a nice day it was outside.
Agent Willner breathed.