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Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts
Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.
Explicit depiction of sexual acts.
Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Depiction of severe mistreatment of children
Depiction of self-harm
Depiction of suicide
Depiction of torture
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This tale includes sex. Very unchristian, avert your eyes if you're under 18.
If you JUST want the juicy lore tidbits and want to skip the whole sex-scene that builds up character development, then I suggest reading SCP-2746, SCP-1913, SCP-1619, SCP-2999, and AT THE VERY LEAST The Old Ice beforehand. Then, read everything outside the gym scene.

Image Credit
Artwork by SunnyClockwork

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Small Kitten Loves His Rabbit Girlfriend Who is Four Times His Size

You are currently viewing "Better Days". This story is highly sexual in nature, and you should not read it unless you are 18 or older.

It's been a lifetime. Site-45-C held an icy chill within its dusty halls; one that would have been lost on the undead feline, if not for the icicles hanging from the ceiling. He knew she was here, there was no good reason for it to be this cold otherwise. He just… didn't know where she was. His searching brought him to the old gym they used to frequent, the last good memory he had in life.
He walked in, his two paws clicking against the cold faux wood floor of the running track, and into the women's locker room. He looked around the corner, and to the lockers. Some were ajar, some rusted shut. Only one stood out to him.
Scratched into the door, next to the Dent, were the words:

#43

RIP

Sarah Crowely
1960
Forever loved.

Stuart Hayward
1998
Finally reunited.

It was the closest they'd get to a tombstone, at any rate. She wasn't there, but Something was calling him to stay. He'd been searching the site for days, why not rest?
He let his weary bones settle right underneath the Dent, the cold floor surprisingly comfortable. Being here filled him with memories. Warm ones, fuzzier than any blanket, and so, so inviting…
Maybe, if he just closed his eyes…

Stuart and Sarah had a habit of going to Site-45-C's gym after hours. Given Sarah's position as Guard Captain and the simple fact that she could technically go wherever she pleased within Site-45, the wide-open space was a perfect place for the restless to get away.
Ever since they discovered Jackie, the two couldn't go outside Site-45, which wasn't too bad; Site-45 is a city in its own right. When their faces sloughed and they donned a permanent mask, Halloween had become their only time on the outside… And the two weren't exactly ready to call their once-yearly vacation over yet.
"What's the plan today?" Stuart asked, dressed up in a tanktop and a pair of tight running shorts. He started his stretch routine, raising his blackened arms over his head, clenching and releasing his clawed hands as he did.
Sarah joined him, her strong arms rippling with muscle from each grip. "Well, lessee… I think I'm doing deadlifts and bench presses, and you're on leg day again."
"Isn't leg day every day for me?" Stuart tilts his head, smirking.
"Yep. Uh, I think you're doing squats and cardio specifically, though."
"What, so you can stare at my ass? I think we both know what's going on, here."
"Down, Kitty" Sarah chuckles. "As much as I'd love to put you in your place, we got a few things ta do first."
"Oh? 'Put me in my place?' That sounds like a challenge."
"I am almost four times your size and packing enough muscle to lift a car, Kitten. It ain't a challenge."
"Hmph, whatever you say, Love. Let's get to it, then." Stuart teased, stepping up to the barbell rack. He slid on 250 pounds and got into position, his shorts not having left much to the imagination as he got low to the ground.
Meanwhile, Sarah goes straight for the bench press, careful to align the bench so she doesn't miss the view of Stuart's firm, shapely ass dropping low to the floor. The Gym's weights never satisfied her, so she had to bring extra plates of her own. Putting a couple of tons on the bar, she lied down and got to work.
They say having a girl sit on your lap while you work out increases your workout potential. If that's the case, then Stuart must have had the rear end of a goddess, since he wasn't even sitting. Seeing him in those tight shorts motivated Sarah to heights she never reached outside of their group workouts. Her arms pulsed and her pecs quivered with every lift of the barbell.
One of the secrets to sticking to a workout routine is to be a bit of a masochist; cherishing the feeling of your muscles aching against the pressure, craving the release as you go to a resting position, just to do it again.
As Sarah moved on to the deadlifts, Stuart wandered off to the track. The way his ass looked in motion was distracting, but two thoughts motivated her to keep at it. First: getting even stronger was a prospect that was beaten into her when she was young. There was a rumor that the Amazonian bunny was never even human, and that she was secretly a skip herself, or that she was taking some kind of strength-enhancing drugs from the Foundation. But if either of those were the case, she was completely unaware of it.
Second: The anticipation was too sweet. Counting down the reps, keeping tabs of Stuart's progress around the track like she was a stalking predator, waiting to pounce on her next meal… by the time she reached zero, she was ready to pounce him.
Which, after putting the barbell away, she did.
Stuart knew that outrunning Sarah was like trying to outrun a bear: unlikely and probably going to end with a broken neck from the ensuing tackle. Instead, he put himself up against the wall and allowed her to pin him down. She towered over Stuart, her chest easily able to smother him while he was standing up.
"W-well hello there" He chuckled.
"You did this on purpose, don't lie." She growls, her hot breath on his face. "I can practically see through your shorts, you kinky fucker."
Well, he did do this on purpose. But being called out on it always triggered embarrassment. "I-I… maybe I did…"
"Mhmm… you only got laps left, right? How about we try a different cardio routine?" She cooed, holding him by the head. Her grasp engulfed most of his scalp as she tilted his head upward, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "If you're all right with that?"
"I-I… yes." Stuart moaned, his shorts getting tighter from the mere suggestion. His arms draped over her wide, well-defined back. Stuart could do nothing but squirm, gasping with discomfort as he prodded Sarah's chest. A short walk around a few corners, and he was flung over on his back and onto the changing bench.
"I got just the thing for such a cute kitten," Sarah growled as she pulled off Stuart's shorts. With the man thoroughly exposed, Sarah backed up and reached into her locker, pulling out something that was almost definitely contraband anywhere outside of one's personal quarters. Stuart thought she was joking when he saw the length. He prayed Sarah was joking when she fitted the belt around it. He started looking for the people who would pop out and say 'gotcha!' when she pulled out the lubricant.
"You can't be serious!" Stuart laughed in disbelief, a nervous twitch running through his body.
"I'll go slow," Sarah promised. "At first." She threw a towel on his face. "In case you need to bite on something."
"Why bother with the bitch-breaker, then? Why not just stick a dumbbell up there at this point?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Sarah asked, picking up his legs and looking up at the man. "…Okay, the safeword is 'white'. Say that and I'll stop. Got it?"
Stuart nodded, screwing up his face in fear and anticipation. He shivered as he felt Sarah enter him, an uncommon feeling of cold, offset by the warmth of Sarah's hand joining around his own. "Ah-a-aowhhh…"
"You good?" She asked, pausing her movement.
"Did I say t-to stop?" He grinned, brow coated with sweat. He felt like he was going to launch off and hit the locker at this rate.
Tears streamed down Stuart's mask as he bit into the towel, and his nails dug into the back of Sarah's hand. The sounds that came out of him slowly morphed from exclamations of pain to moans that a passerby might mistake for a loose cat in the locker room.
"Good kitty," Sarah panted, leaning in and pulling the towel aside enough to get in a kiss. "That's it, let me hear you purr…"
"C-can't do…" He gasped, his voice hitching in his throat as Sarah pulled herself closer, before something that resembled a gurgling growl escaped. "Holy fuck!"
Stuart regretted several things in his life; not among them was the sensation of Sarah picking him up and pinning him against the lockers. He didn't regret the Dent put into them, though his shoulder (and maintenance) would never forgive him. What he did regret, after a few minutes, was the state of his clothing.
"Goddammit all," he panted as Sarah put him down, looking at his stained top. "D-do you know how hard it is to wash this out?"
"How do you know?" Sarah smirked, patting his stomach softly.
"Y-you think there's much else to do after I'm done working?" Stuart panted, sitting up and stripping out of his top. "Gods above, Sarah, we could get in so much trouble for this."
"What fun is this without a little risk?" That much being said, Sarah laid back on the bench, discarding both the implement and her own shorts. "C'mon then, kitten. I want to feel your claws in me."
Stuart swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as he loomed over the woman, hands on her shoulders. He wasn't sure what to do next; a kiss seemed appropriate, so he tried that.
Sarah returned it with a tenderness that had been absent for the last several minutes, before they were pulled together by her rebar-strong arms, Stuart forced into her.
He let out a gasp, followed by a moan, followed by silence. He plunged in, holding himself tight to Sarah, lost in a nebula of bliss. He forgot the bench beneath them, he forgot the pain in his shoulder, the Dent, almost everything except Sarah and himself.
"F-fuck, Stu. For such a shortie, you're… fuuck!" Sarah gasped, her knuckles white as she clenched the bench's leg for support. The metal groaned under her grip.
"Bunny, I'm n-not short, you're massive. I don't think I've seen anyone taller." Stuart breathed, his face pressed into her chest as he attended to her every need.
"I-it's both, trust me." She huffs, going up and down to match with his movements. "Kitten, fuck, just… I love you. So fucking much." Sarah's grip tightened. She didn't even mean to, but her hold on the bench was causing it to crumple and fold like tinfoil. Perhaps inevitably, the bench collapsed, causing her to lay on a decline.
"O-oh fuck, Sarah, are you okay? Do you need help up?"
"N-no, j-just… keep going. Please." She said, her desperation apparent as her claws dug into Stuart's sides, both of her arms now on him.
Stuart winced as he felt her nails sink in, shivers racing through his whole body. It was only fair that he returned the favor, raking across her deltoids and biceps. They were no longer two people. He. She. They were one and the same. Reaching the peak wasn't even a thought to them. The chills raising from toe to head, being so close to one another, the blissful disregard of anything except each other; that was rewarding enough.
"Close." Stuart gave a gentle, throaty reminder. Not that Sarah needed it, she could read his body language through touch and sense his expression behind the mask. She simply shook her head "yes" and held him tighter, allowing just enough room for him to move inside.
They tensed, the ichor having gone straight to both of their heads. Having lost focus, they slid down the bench, their sweat stifling any friction that would have stopped them from reaching the floor. They were silent. No words, just hugs, and fingers running through hair. Stuart was the first to break the silence.
"You okay, love?" He purred, head resting on her chest.
"Mhm… Thirsty…" She murmured, running her claws through Stuart's hair, petting him like a cat.
"Same… We should probably shower too… we kinda stink." He chuckled, passing her her water bottle. "We uh… have a lot to answer for, huh?"
"Mhm. Play dumb, we'll be fine. Let me worry about it, let's just… focus on each other. I'm still lightheaded, kitten."
"Want to just… lay here for a bit?" Stuart smiled. A real smile, not the one their mask made them have.
"Mm… no, it's a little too dirty for me. Let's… move this to the shower, hm? Some cold water would be great right now." She kissed him sweetly on the forehead before she rose, scooping him up as she did.
The water from the shower felt perfect on their skin as it relieved them of the heat from both their literal and intimate workouts. As they showered, they only occasionally opened their eyes, just to see where they were. The cool water, the sharing of soap as they huddled together, it felt like a deep, loving kiss. Shutting out the rest of the world was natural to them.
"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Kitten." Sarah broke the silence. "I'd sooner tear this world apart, bit by bit. I… don't think I have the words. I just want you to be happy. More than anything… Just… Thank you."
Stuart looked up at her. Neither of them could tell if she was crying or not, but Stuart felt the same. Between mythological, literary, and religious studies, he has read almost every poem, love letter, confession, speech; every way to express one's love. But none of them matched the churning he was feeling in his stomach.
Stuart simply guided her head lower towards his and kissed her again. This time, deeper. Longer. When he finally released, he opened his eyes. "Thank you, too."
'The Dent' they left in the locker was destined to be there longer than the Foundation was. They were able to cover up the episode the next day, but deep down, everyone knew why the bench needed to be replaced. The hazing the two were in for would have been legendary.
But duty called.

Stuart felt a gentle caress across his skull, bringing him back to the land of the living. "Kitten? Is… is that you?"
Stuart leaped up to his feet, startled at first. But, after realizing who was standing in front of him, he tackled her. "S-SARAH!"
She squeezed him right back, laughing all the way. "Oh god, Stuart! I almost didn't recognize you! You grew!… And have lungs. Also, what are those… wires? Plates?"
"Y-yeah, I uh… apparently wasn't done growing. And uh… had cravings for speakers? Don't worry about that, it's not important or scary at all, I'm so happy to see you!" The cat mewled, his arms wrapped tight around the ghost. "You were looking pretty scrawny last we spoke. These are the arms I remember."
"PFFt! I was in a coma, you little bitch!" Sarah laughed, rubbing Stuart's ears "… Seriously though, you're okay? They didn't let me see you in… at least a decade."
"I am. Or at least, I am now… Funny meeting you here. I was just thinking about the better days."
"Yeah, I uh… thought you might wander over here eventually. Turns out I was right… Better days?" Sarah asked, offering to pick him up.
Stuart accepted. "You know, when we were just… People. When we were alive and together."
"Oh, I see…" Sarah trailed off, her gaze languidly floating onto Stuart's face. It was him, just as she remembered.

Sara looked at the wide array of gold rings and gemstones in the display case, each one giving off its own distracting shine. In all honesty, this was all… above her.
She had no mother to teach her how to be a girl. Nor a father to protect her. She did the protecting herself. She gave up looking at rocks. She was impatient, and at this point, finding someone who knew all about these pretty rocks was better than wasting time trying to pick one herself.
She walked up to the nearest person with a nametag and looked her directly in the eye. "Hello… Amy?" She read out loud. "I am looking for a set of wedding rings. I know nothing about them, what he'd want, or… what makes a good wedding ring. I'd appreciate it if you told me what's the best one."
Amy looked at Sarah like she was a clown. "I… see. Isn't the man supposed to do the ring shopping? Or are you trying to drop a hint?"
"No." Sarah shook her head. "I am doing the proposal… Why? Is that weird?"
"A-… No, no. You're fine! Trendsetting, even." It was very clear that it was not worth it to Amy. She had already checked out on getting to know the weirdo who does their wedding shopping in a costume. Fine by Sarah. "How about I take you to our special collection?"
"Now that's more like it. Show me the goods!" The smile on her face was now genuine. "I want it to match… me and him, I guess."
"Of course, dear. Now, why don't you tell me about him?" Amy asked, not listening to Sarah as she ushered her in.
"Well, he's kind, loving, sexy as hell… Ooh, and a wonderful singer. His voice makes me melt. We work together in the uh… military.
"Oh, you're a nurse?"
"… Sure! And he has a more office-y job. But we work together a lot. He's a cat person, has an adorable little accent… A bit scatterbrained, but that's why I love him."
"Office romance hm? How does your boss feel about that?"
Sarah simply shrugged. "They don't seem to care. I suppose since it hasn't caused problems, they decided it's not their concern."
"Oooh how nice! Now, how do you feel about this?" Amy smirked, showing her one of the most exquisite rings she had in store. Pure gold band, with not just one diamond, but one big diamond amongst an array of smaller ones, elaborately placed amongst one another by an experienced jeweler. Even looking at it made one feel like royalty.
"… No, I don't think that fits us. Plus, it feels like that diamond could fall off at any time. One punch and I'll lose it in someone's forehead."
"…What?"
"It's also just… not my style? I don't know. Gold never fit me. Or him, for that matter."
"O-okay, that's fine. Were you thinking maybe a silver, or-"
"How about these?" Sarah asks, looking up over to a set of stainless steel rings.
"T-the class rings? No, you c-"
"OOOH, THIS ONE, WITH THE MUSICAL NOTES ON IT! AND THE LIGHT BLUE GEM! IT'S PERFECT!" The giant woman hopped in place, giddy. "It looks like ice! I love it!"
"… Very well." Amy sighed.
"He'll love it, I know he will. Plus, we can have matching gems!"
"I'm… sure he will." Amy obviously didn't think so, likely thinking that this was not her circus, monkey, or problem.
Sarah exhales "Sorry, sorry. I'm not usually like this. It's just… him. He's just… do you believe in soulmates? I feel like I was made for him, and vice versa… He's all I think about. Guess I'm a bit obsessed!"
"I s-"
"I have never once liked anyone like I like him. When we met for the first time, I had him pegged as… well, a square, I suppose. But he's the only person who makes me feel… anything real."
"That's n-"
"That probably has to do with the job. This is the one time of year I can vacation, and here I am… buying a ring so we can be together forever."
"I don't r-"
"Like, if it weren't for work, our lives would be perfect! I'd just hold him tight and he'd hold me back. We'd travel the world, maybe tour in dive bars for fun… Ooh, maybe even start a band. I can play a mean piano."
"I really j-"
"And then that'd be our lives. Drinking, playing, traveling. We'd do nothing but enjoy ourselves in this awful world… I hate Vegas. It's hot, and lonely… dirty in every place there's no casino… Hot. But, this is where I was assigned."
"… Assigned?"
"Military stuff, do you care?"
"I-"
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Anyway, if it wasn't for him… I don't think I could live like this. It's just… so much stress. I want to protect him… Show him I care, and we'll be together for as long as we live… He's everything to me… I want to spend the rest of our future together." Sarah exhaled looking off.
"… That'll be 59.98."
"O-oh, right, sorry. Here." She chuckled, pulling out her bag. "Can you take a check?"

Sarah snapped back to the present with a chuckle and a headshake. "Hey, um… Stuart. The lockers were never replaced, right?"
"That's right."
Sarah smiled internally. "Hopefully that means it's here…" She trailed off, setting Stuart down and going off to her old locker. She got low and lifted the entire row of lockers from their spot. They were designed to be attached to the floor, but nothing was sacred in the face of her strength. "Do you see anything?" Sarah asked, holding the row of rusty lockers up.
"Uh, some pennies and… a box?"
"Yes! Could you grab it? I only have so many hands."
Stuart nodded and slid underneath her, nabbing the small box with his clawed hands, which allowed Sarah to unceremoniously drop the locker row with a 'clang.'
"I planned on doing this that night, but we kind of got carried away, didn't we?" She chuckled, picking up the box as Stuart handed it to her. "Before I do something that'll derail this entire reunion… Do you remember anything else? Before those days, I mean."
"… You mean like… Before the Foundation?" Stuart tilted his head.
"No, way before that."
"… Childhood?"
"Before that."
"N-no. Why?"
"Well, how do I put this…" Sarah rubbed the back of her head. "I kind of realized something… I wouldn't call our time at the Foundation 'better.' Really, I don't think we could've been happy at all back then if we didn't have each other. And now I'm realizing we had actual better days before then."
"… So I guess you figured out what we are, huh? You remembered?"
"Yes, I did. I'm surprised you didn't remember it after your death as I did."
"I… pieced together we weren't normal. Fuck, Sarah, you got your job from pulling a fully-loaded cargo van out of a mudhole. It wasn't even in Neutral, you left it in Park. I had my neck snapped a dozen times, and my bones were shattered and healed in a million places. We did this!" He says, motioning to the Dent. "How did anyone miss that?"
"We didn't want to know… We willfully blinded ourselves to it, Kitten." She sighed.
"But why? Why would we ever…"
"For a simple life. Which's hilarious, because look how that turned out." Sarah chuckled; there wasn't much in the way of mirth behind it. "I don't know about you, but running away from our problems only hurt us more… But that's okay, Kitten. We got the future ahead of us. We can face it, and handle things our way." Sarah held the box in her hand, now getting on one knee. "… Together."
Stuart looked up at her, the signals flying over his head. "What's our relationship to them? The Furies?"

"I-Well… You probably at least figured it out by now, didn't you? We're the same thing as them."
"I… can't believe we're in the same category as a bunch of omnicidal demons. I just… Can't."
Sarah inhaled, the words were thick in her throat. "They… aren't what the documents say they are."
"What? Sarah, they attacked us! Freddie had my heart ripped out of my chest!"
"Stuart, you don't understand, Freddie and Ag-"
"No," Stuart screamed, clawing his way out of his lover's arms. "Gods, you're fake too, aren't you?! You're just one of them! No, shut up, shut the fuck up!" His voice raised to painful levels.
"A- Stuart, wait, just li-" Sarah was cut off, her ears ringing from the sheer volume.
"No, fuck off! God, I was so stupid to believe anything! Sarah died in 1960, and that's where she always will be! Get away from me!" Stuart demanded, his voice cracking and popping like a broken speaker. The whole site could have heard him, let alone Sarah. The ice and glass around them shattered, all the millions of pieces falling to the ground, scattered across the floor. "I'm not one of you! I-I'm not! Just…" The abomination's lips curled into something neither of them recognized. "Just! Go! Away!"
Sarah couldn't even hear him over the sound of his own voice. She clutched her head, blood streaming from her ears. She looked up just in time to find him running away.
"S-Stuart, wait!" Her voice was inaudible to her. All she knew was that she couldn't let him go. Not after this long. She couldn't just let him run away over something like this. She ran as fast as she could, but he was faster.
Out of breath, having lost track of him, and ears ringing, she fell to her knees. She looked to the ring box in her hands, crushed from holding onto it so tightly. "Please… don't leave me…"

The cold's left Site-45. Stuart crept around the corner to the locker room, careful of his claws clinking against the floor.
Sarah, or Sarah, must have gone to a different floor or left the site entirely. "Good." He thought. He was better alone, with his memories. He paced over to the locker, with their Dent… It looked more inviting than ever… but Stuart didn't want anyone finding him. Much less Sarah.
He tried opening it; it still worked, even after all these years. Its cold, steel interior looked… snug. Warm and comforting, like how a corpse would find a coffin. Surely resting inside would be safe. He raked his claws against some of the marks on the locker, and carefully fit his feline body inside, closing the door, and embracing sleep.

#43

RIP

Sarah Crowely
1960
Forever loved.

Stuart Hayward
1998
Finally reunited.


International Center for the Study of Unified Thaumatology: Three Portlands Campus
May 23rd, 2014

Despite Dr. Hans Vogel's preaching about safety and the danger of Applied Evocation, there was no escaping a singular, unavoidable fact: it was an applied school of magic. As such, the capstone for the course was a simulated duel — a student versus a specially designed golem within the Evocation Hall's main containment ring. The winner was the first to three points, as determined by a panel of Evocation specialists observing from the audience. Ultimately, it was a chance to display all you had learned over the course of your education and prove you wouldn't immediately get yourself killed in the field.
It was not going well for Beatrice Ross.
The fledgling evoker panted as she continued to dodge the golem's attacks. It was large, brass, and vaguely humanoid in shape. A series of wands were built into both its hands to simulate a simple array of spells a fellow thaumaturge may know in the field. Over the course of the last seven minutes, she and the great automaton had managed to exchange blows to bring the score to an even 2-2. She just needed to get in one more hit. Unfortunately, the damn thing was now on the defensive, and her energy was running out.
A projectile of force whizzed past Beatrice, causing her to roll across the stage and slam into the containment field. She hastily picked herself up, and locked eyes with her opponent. Streams of sweat trickled down in front of her goggles.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, what do I do. I can't get anything past its deflection field. Unless-
The series of wands on the golem's right arm shifted. It began to stomp forward to claim its final point.

STOMP

Beatrice did her best to clear her thoughts…

STOMP

She selected the spell in her mind and made the mental calculations…

STOMP

Balled up her fists…

STOMP

And ran towards the golem, sliding under a blast of wind. As the column of air raged above her, she forced her hands onto the golem's torso, and let her spell loose. The golem flew backward through the air and collided with the containment ring's invisible wall.
It let out a horrid mechanical whirr as Beatrice maintained her concentration, pressing it against a wall of unyielding force. The brass began to glow red hot.
"Ms. Ross, release," Dr. Vogel said from the judge's table. "You've won."
His voice was distant, and the words passed over Beatrice without her understanding.
"Ms. Ross!" he shouted. "Release!"
The golem let out a long howl. Components melted off and flew to the ground below. She needed to finish it off before the thaumatological backlash set it in. With how powerful this spell was, it was going to hit her like a truck. Ross's lips turned into a confident smile.
"MS. ROSS!"
The golem exploded into a series of red-hot chunks of brass, breaking through the containment field with a thunderclap and showering the unfortunate nearby audience with debris. The golem's wands then detonated, releasing a menagerie of magical energies.
Ross looked on in horror. Her mouth fell open. She hardly noticed the sudden cold of the thaumatological backlash start to set in.
"Alyssa!"

"Someone get a medic!"

"Oh my god! Is she dead?"

Three Portlands
September 24th, 2023

It was hard to effectively sprint after someone through a forest. It was even harder to perform this task when the park was unlit, it was nighttime, and a lightning storm raged above. It was hardest when the person you were pursuing was dressed entirely in black robes, and also a wizard. Yet Agent Beatrice Ross of the SCP Foundation and Agent Robin Thorne of the UIU gave this task the old college try. Occasionally they would get sight of their prey, and fire off a bolt of lightning, a blast of fire, a disembodied projectile of force, or even a classic bullet in an attempt to pin them down. Their opponent was not having this. Already the duo had nearly been skewered by ice and roasted by fire several times.
"They have to be heading somewhere," Ross said through her heavy breathing, desperately wiping the rain from her goggles. "They can't just keep running through here forever!"
"Have you ever been through Kempton Park?" Thorne replied, their voice likewise strained. "They very well could if they knew what they were do-goddamnit!"
Thorne tackled their partner from behind, driving the two of them into the mud with a loud smack. A bolt of light sailed through the area where their torsos had previously been. Without losing a beat, Thorne helped their colleague up, and the chase resumed.
This pattern went on for nearly ten more minutes, coming to a close as the two agents rushed out of the soaked treeline and into a clearing, skittering to a stop. The sky above was open, allowing the area to remain dry. A magic circle was drawn into the ground in silver powder, with a six-pointed star at its center. At four of the points, a large torch was lit, with two torches untouched at the remainder. Standing at the circle's center was a black-cloaked figure, their arms raised in a final gesture of defiance.
Thorne and Ross raised their pistols and fired.
The cloak fell to the ground completely empty.
"Got ya!"
A sudden blast of force from behind the agents slammed them face-first into the dirt. Skeletal hands emerged to grab their wrists and firmly trapped them on the ground.
"You don't know what you are doing!" Ross shouted, frantically looking around for their assailant. The cloaked figure stepped before them, heading to the circle's center. Ross continued to shout. "You have no idea who the fuck you are dealing with here, pal!"
"I know exactly who I am dealing with, Ms. Ross." His voice was masculine and calm.
From within his robes, he pulled out a series of four large mason jars, inside of which was a shimmering silver mist. One by one, he placed a jar at the base of each of the four lit torches.
"Angela Volkov. Hans Vogel. Irida Kemp. Daxton Parker."
He then drew back his hood. Underneath was a familiar tan face, covered in uneven stubble. With tired eyes, he smiled at them.
"Edmund Bray," he said.
"Edmund Bray?" Thorne asked, recognizing their former pupil. "But you're-"
"Dead?" A chillingly familiar voice interrupted. Another cloaked figure entered the circle. "It's surprising how easy it is to disguise a body when the soul is removed. In fact, few people do their due diligence after that point. A simple illusion spell and you can even disguise the DNA. No one even noticed Mirza was missing."
The voice sent a shiver down Ross's spine.
"No," she whispered to herself as this second figure also removed her hood.
The woman was deathly pale, with bleached-out long hair. Her eyes were sunken and glowed with a faint necrotic light. She gave Edmund a peck on the cheek, smirking at Ross and Thorne.
Her name was Alyssa. In 2014, Ross had accidentally killed her during the Evocation Capstone.
"How?" Ross went on. "I don't understand."
"Surely you've heard of a revenant, dear," Alyssa said.
"So that's it then?" Thorne asked. "You came back from the dead, killed all these people, all due to some innate drive? Revenge?"
"Then she would cease to be," Edmund answered. "We tried to just wait it out. When she arrived on my doorstep all those years ago, I was so overjoyed. We thought we lucked out. But revenants decay. The forces that brought them back to seek revenge don't last forever. No! We have bigger plans than that. It took some digging, but I've created a way to ensure that when she kills Ross not only is her purpose complete, but she also stays around. Five souls strongly connected to Alyssa via memory, and then the bitch that killed her. A permanent necromantic shield against revenant decay. Forever."
He tightly squeezed Alyssa's hand as tears began to well. She gave him a soft smile and he closed his eyes, falling silent for a few tender moments. It was then Ross felt something sharp land on her left elbow. Turning her head, she noticed Crowe, Thorne's familiar. The agent looked to Thorne, who gave her a wink.
"There is a quick release by the elbow joint," Ross whispered. The semi-spectral bird tilted its head and then began to peck around.
"You have no idea if that will work," Thorne called out. "I can think of a million ways that could backfire. You could easily destroy her in the process."
"It's worth the shot," Alyssa replied. "In for a penny, in for a pound."
Crowe pressed down on the button that released her prosthetic from the rest of her body. Ross smiled, even though the feeling in her left arm below the elbow was now gone. She gave Thorne and Crowe a nod.
"We were engaged!" Edmund went on. "You took so much from us, Ross, and we didn't even fucking know you in school. And then you just got to walk away. Like some kid pulling a flower off its stem. You didn't know what kind of damage you did!"
"Edmund, I'm so sorry," she said in a low voice. "I left Three Portlands because-"
"What! You're going to tell me now how it haunted you?" Alyssa snapped back. "How it kept you awake at night?! You became a goddamn skipper afterward. What the fuck do you think you can say or do at this point?"
Ross fell silent.
"Well, I guess the debt has finally come due," Edmund stated. He began to approach, his hands glowing with a crackling purple. "Eye for a fucking eye, Ross."
Ross waited for her former classmate to close in. She cleared her mind. Made the mental calculations. Balled up her fist. Then threw her feet forward, pivoting on her still-pinned wrist. With all the finesse she could muster, she attempted to cast from her left foot. A clumsy wave of force lurched forward and sent Edmund and Alyssa tumbling across the clearing.
"Now!" Ross shouted. Her hand glowed red hot, incinerating the bones that gripped her. She punched the ground, the heat vanishing into the earth. Thorne's bindings turned to dust. Ross then sprinted forward, swiftly cutting the distance between her and her foes.
"Look away!" Thorne shouted. They quickly cast a spell: a small ball of light flew through the air and exploded into a blinding flash. Alyssa and Edmund were caught off guard as the pair scrambled to get to their feet.
Recovering their pistol, Thorne then took aim at the mason jars at the base of each torch. One by one, they shattered each with a well-placed shot. The silver mist within each dissipated. The contents slowly faded back into the fabric of the universe.
Edmund stumbled as his vision slowly returned. He could just make out his fiance when Ross came into focus.
"Shit! Ross, no!"
He felt a strong hand grab him by his shirt, and launch him forward, driving him once more into the dirt. There was a metallic click right behind his head.
"I would strongly suggest you remain still and think about what you have done," Thorne said.
From his spot on the ground, he turned his head to look back at Alyssa. She stood defiantly at the center of the circle. A seething rage filled her eyes as she looked down the barrel of Ross's pistol.
"I love you, Edmund," she called out. "I'm sorry we couldn't make this work."
"I love you too, Alyssa," he called back. "Thank you for the extra time."
The revenant nodded, a sad smile on her lips as she looked away from her lover, the rage rushing back as her eyes returned to Ross.
"Go on," she said to Ross. "You already did it once. What's round two going to be?"
Ross's finger began to curl up on the trigger. She then relented and shook her head.
"We're in your jurisdiction, Thorne," she said. "It's your call."
Thorne looked at Alyssa, then at Edmund, and finally to the four shattered mason jars around the clearing. They shook their head.
"Ghosts don't go to prison, Ross."

Portland, Oregon
September 28th, 2023

Agents Beatrice Ross and Damian Creed sat once more upon a bench within Portland's Park Blocks. Creed squeezed Ross's hand tightly as the pair enjoyed a coffee and watched the various civilians go about their lives, wholly oblivious as to what lurked only a pocket dimension away.
"I really wish you had told me," Creed said. "I could have helped."
Ross shook her head.
"This was something Thorne and I needed to do alone," she replied, squeezing his hand in return. "If it's any consolation, Spencer also didn't know at the time."
"That actually does make me feel a little better," Creed chuckled. "And I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing if I was in your shoes."
He gave her a gentle peck on the cheek. Ross's lips curled into a reassured smile.
"Do you think I did the wrong thing? To Alyssa and Edmund?"
"I'm not sure there really was a correct answer there," Creed sighed. "And it's not like the Foundation would have kept them in containment."
Ross fell silent as her eyes drifted to the pavement.
"Did it haunt you?" Creed asked. "Her death, I mean. That's why you came here right? Joined the Foundation?"
"Yeah, it did at first," Ross answered. "But after I joined Tau-51 I just… pushed it aside. Forgot about it? Christ, Damian, what the fuck is wrong with me?"
Creed opened his mouth to speak but paused as Ross began to look around. A familiar aura was drawing near. Ross and Creed's hands untangled from one another.
"We really have to stop meeting like this," Thorne said as they took a seat next to Ross on the other side of the bench. "Agent Creed."
"Agent Thorne," Creed replied. "Always a pleasure."
"How did things end up on your end?" Ross asked. "I can see Spencer didn't literally bite your head off."
"He certainly tried," Thorne chuckled. "We've wrapped up the last bits of the investigation. The case is officially being labeled as closed."
The UIU agent handed their former mentee a small package.
"I took the liberty of speaking with the families of the victims, including Angela's. I recorded the sessions. Figured you might want some closure of your own, what with you living in the shadows."
"Thank you." Ross smiled. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," Thorne shrugged. "And thank you, Bea. I couldn't have done it without you."
"You're a terrible liar," Ross snickered.
"I really am," Thorne replied.
Without another word the UIU agent stood, brushed themself off, and began to depart.
"Remember everything we practiced, Bea," Thorne called back over their shoulder. They then vanished into the crowded Portland streets.

« A Slow, Flickering Flame | A Dark, Forsaken Candle


PREVIOUSLY ON ENDLESS HUNT BECAUSE I KNOW NO ONE KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED IN AN OBSCURE TALE SERIES THAT HASN'T BEEN UPDATED IN FIVE YEARS
Uh okay I'm writing this at midnight after banging out 3345 words in about 9 hours so my mind's a bit woozy, I haven't touched this series in almost five years, and I haven't reread the full thing yet, but here's basically what I remember so you can read this without going back and reading eight parts of an obscure tale series. Though hopefully you'll want to do that after reading! Be warned for spoilers ofc:
Amy was an ordinary high school girl until she had what seemed to be a psychotic break and began hallucinating. She was locked in a mental institution for a little bit, but released. After her release she was captured and put into much more dangerous custody: the Foundation, who realized she had become host to a powerful knowledge entity known as The Witness.
Trapped and tested on for six years, Amy was rescued one day by monstrous creatures and woke up in a mansion in New York City, where she met Rupinder, a mysterious man who asks for her help, but won't explain exactly with what. With the help of the Witness she learns she is able to use magic, and casts a spell to help her escape.
From there the Witness explains that she must enter the Wanderer's Library to search out for an entity similar to itself, the Warden. She seeks out the advice of a hidden shadow god, Silav, who makes a deal with her: He tells her the Warden and its host are in India, and in return she promises to give it her life story when she dies.
As she prepares to leave the Library she is confronted by Rupinder, who followed her. Again he asks for her help, which she declines. He gives her a method to contact him if she ever changes her mind and leaves. She travels through a Way to the Warden's village, only to find that the Foundation has gotten there first. As they are just about to capture her, she calls Rupinder, who arrives and slaughters all the Foundation agents with a powerful display of magic. From the Witness she learns that Rupinder is likely a millennia old and immensely powerful mage of legend, and agrees to go with him to help.
He takes her to his companions, where she meets his boss/partner: The Black Queen. They are about to launch a rescue mission for an imprisoned Sister of the Queen, and they require the Witness as a guide. They travel to another universe and take a ship to the place where the Sister is imprisoned. On the way Rupinder becomes a tutor for Amy, helping her grasp the finer points of magic, and notes that she's an incredibly skilled prodigy at it.
After rescuing the Queen their ship is caught in a storm and wrecks. Amy and the Queen are stuck on a deserted island together. Guided by the Witness, Amy leads them to the center of the island to a hole in the fabric of reality which she uses to create a Way back to the library, although in the process of doing so she accidentally scatters parts of her Being across multiple parts of the multiverse.
After arriving back at the Library, the Queen and Amy realize that Rupinder and the Sister have not yet arrived. Using a looking glass, Amy discovers that they've been captured by powerful, angelic entities that guard the places between worlds, and along with the Queen and her allies launches a rescue mission. They are able to save their targets, but when they return back to the Library the Foundation is waiting and captures her after threatening to kill her family if she resists. After an unknown amount of time of solitary isolation in total darkness, they offer her a choice: She can join them, or she can return to her cell. She chooses to join.
As a final note, since touching the center of reality, Amy has been undergoing strange experiences: sometimes she will be randomly transported to another universe before returning to Earth shortly. There's something there. It's alive, it's hunting her, and it claims that "you belong to me now".

Amy no longer cared what she felt. She did still feel things, unfortunately, but she no longer let them make contact with her, as if she had hung up her emotions in a museum which she occasionally browsed out of mild curiosity. There's the guilt, there's the loneliness, there's the fear… display objects, nothing more. Inert.
Four and a half years since she accepted the request to join the Foundation. The first seven months had been training, breaking her down bit by bit and reforming her into a weapon. Then, as soon as that was finished, they pulled her trigger. She tried not to remember that first mission. That wound, old as it was, was too raw to touch, too deep to just lock up in a glass case. The Warden, just 14, staring down at a wounded Coalition soldier and sending enough electricity through his body to power a house. Touching a man and feeling him shudder as his body turned to dust. The sound of an empty building after everyone inside it had become a body.
And despite the months of nightmares that followed, despite the voices she sometimes heard of the dead, despite the sickness she felt down to her soul, she had stayed with the Foundation. Kept following orders. Because if she didn't they would send her back to the dark, and because they let her see her family. Not often. A few times a year in between missions. But enough.
Her parents didn't believe it when she first appeared back in front of their house. She hadn't been able to tell them anything close to the truth, of course – she deflected it by claiming she'd run away, that she'd had another psychotic break and decided to abandon everything she knew. It wasn't clear if they believed the story but they also weren't going to ask any more questions now that they had their daughter back, even if it was only temporary. She got to stay with them for about a week at time before an alert inevitably came from the Foundation that she was needed, and she had to promise her mother and father that she'd return soon. What would they do if they knew how much blood their daughter had on her hands, she often wondered. Sometimes she wanted to break down and tell them everything, but the thought of being sent back to the dark always stopped her, and the force of that thought made her realize something – that she no longer truly felt happiness while with her family. She faked it and faked companionship and faked love but it was like a paper mask, a marvel that it was not seen through.
The Witness was gone. She had no idea where. It was unsurprising that it wouldn't want to talk to an agent of one of the organizations it considered its greatest enemy. Thinking about its absence was one of the few other things that still managed to move something in her. She could push aside the judgement she laid on herself, but when she wondered what it now thought of her the truth of it seemed too much to bear. For so long she'd hated it, but since her first escape its presence within her had become as natural as her own thoughts. Without it half the world had been torn away. Her skipping between universes seemed to have stopped as well, which she considered mostly a blessing.
But she told herself she did not care about these things. That she would not allow herself to care. When she felt herself beginning to care she reminded herself what she was: a mass murdering attack dog for men trying to strangle the world. She didn't have the right to care anymore. She'd given up that privilege when she made the decision to become this. The only thing she would allow herself is fear – fear that one day they would decide she was no longer useful and lock herself back in that hidden, dark cell. So she did not let the mask slip. She did not allow anyone to see the emptiness behind her eyes.
The doctor who'd first made her the offer to join them was name Kerrin. Dr. Kerrin had remained her supervisor for every mission since then and it was him that he was truly afraid of. Oh yes, he was nice most of the time. He helped her. He made good conversation. But she knew that with a stroke of a pen he could turn her life black. His eyes were empty too, but he didn't have to hide it. He seemed to enjoy being what he was. It was useful for him, not just a mechanism. She wondered sometimes if he'd ever cared about anything in the first place, and decided it was unlikely.
She did her best not to think these thoughts as she walked down the neon-light night streets of Shanghai. The Warden (or SCP-7873, or Radhamai Janakiraman, as he preferred to be called) walked next to her with his hands in his pockets and a blank expression. He had grown up from the 14 year old boy he'd been when they first were thrown into this situation together. His shoulders were broader, his eyes sharper. He walked with an earned confidence that seemed to physically part the crowds of people out of his way as he moved. As they walked he was looking at the buildings around them in a way that could have seemed like tourist awe, but disguised a constant awareness for threats. Every once in a while his head twitched as if he'd heard a noise inaudible to anyone else.
Unlike the Witness, the creature inside Radhamai had stuck inside of his host. It disliked the Foundation, but seemed to be willing to tolerate them, or at least value his connection to Radhamai more. This was another thing that Amy tried not to think about. She checked a street sign and motioned to Radhamai that it was time to turn left. They silently walked down the bustling streets, not caring about the stares they attracted. This was not a part of the city that outsiders went to voluntarily. Amy let their looks roll over her and ignored them.
The space between the towering apartments around them was choked with smog and the smell of vended meat. Amy could have easily put up a smell to purify the air around her, but didn't want to take any chance of drawing more attention to herself. If someone with a modicum of talent who hasn't a civilian was watching, it would be immediately obvious what she was. She dealt with the filthy air the old fashioned way – sucking it up. Still, she was thankful when they reached their destination, a large apartment complex, and were able to buzz themselves into a more filtered environment. Their destination was on the fourth floor. They took the stairs. Less chance of catastrophic failure.
The door was plain, with one of the metal numbers broken off. Amy knocked twice and waited. The hallway was cramped and dirty. One of the lights was on its last attempt at flickering. She'd been in worse places. The door opened and a balding, skinny man in a too-large black Metallica shirt peered at her through the crack. There was a cigarette between his teeth and he sucked on it as he gave Amy a threatening look.
“What the fuck do you want?” he said, presumably in Mandarin. Amy didn't speak the language, but it was simple enough to cast a translation spell.
“We're here to see Lu Shuren,” said Amy. Skinny was a twitchy kind of guy. Twitchy guys used to make her nervous. Now she just felt bored. The bit was the kind of cliché it was easiest to humor, for a little while at least.
“Wrong apartment,” said the man, and began to close the door. Amy reached out a hand. As she did she put a binding on her arm to push back against it. The man, confused by how this small woman seemed able to resist him so easily, started applying more force to the doorknob. It didn't budge. Amy shoved the door open, sending him sprawling, and stepped inside.
It was a shitty drug den of an apartment, just as she'd expected. The only thing that looked remotely cared for was the 70 inch tv hooked up to a shiny PS5. A fat man sat on a ratty couch in front of it, holding a controller in his lap and looking at Amy in shock. She glared at him and he looked away. She took a step towards the skinny man, whose eyes seemed to be as wide as they could go. Radhamai stepped into the room behind her.
“We're here to see Lu,” said Amy again. “We know he's here. We know everything about your little racket.” Come on strong, but not too fast. Not too hard. No need to go all in during the first round. She snapped a finger at the fat gamer. “You. Bring him here. Twig, you don't move.” She glanced down. There was a faint outline of a gun beneath his baggy shirt. Maybe a 30% chance he was brave enough to pull it.
“No need,” said a voice from across the room. “I'm here.” She looked over to the kitchen entrance. Standing in the doorway was a young man in a white hoodie. The red characters on it, her translation spell told her, read “Ride the Dragon”. She could see a few abstract tattoos on his face and he was smoking on something that wasn't tobacco.
“You know who we are,” said Amy. Lu sneered.
“Cops,” he said. “The big scary Coalition cops. I know you.” He looked over at the fat man. “What the fuck are you looking so scared for, Zhou? We knew they were coming.” He turned back to meet Amy's gaze and didn't flinch away. “Just surprised they didn't send more heat.”
“We'll be enough,” said Amy. “If you're lucky, we might just be here to talk.” She didn't break his stare. “And you're wrong. We're not Coalition.”
Instantly the man's expression changed. Only for an instant, but the realization that passed over his face was unmistakable.
“Oh, fuck,” he said. “Oh, fuck me.” Amy had to respect it. He was clearly frightened, but he was keeping it under control. Holding his shit in place better than most people when they found out who they were dealing with.
Movement to her left. Skinny was going for the gun. He'd barely gotten it out of his jeans before a metal spike erupted from the floor and pierced his wrist. He screamed and dropped the gun. Amy looked back at Radhamai, who was still standing still with his hands in his pockets, looking like he was barely paying attention.
“Thanks,” she said. He nodded. She turned back to Lu. “Fortunately I'm not going to hold your lapdog here being stupid against you. Fresh starts all around.” She motioned to the couch next to Zhou. “Sit.” Once he did she slid into the chair beside it. It cracked as she put her weight onto it and instinctively she putting a binding spell on the old wood so it wouldn't snap. Radhamai stayed standing, looming behind the couch. Skinny was still lying on the ground, moaning about his skewered hand.
“You know why we're here,” Amy said. “It's understandable. You're some dumb kid who failed out of college and decided to start messing with things humans shouldn't be messing with. You figured out you could do some cool tricks, maybe contact some things from beyond this world, and started dreaming big. You thought it'd get you a bit of cash and maybe laid a few times, so you got deeper into it, started making connections, learning. Then one day you strike it big – the Insurgency wants your help. Wants you to start manufacturing stuff only you have the skills to manufacture.” As she spoke she cast her senses over the room, letting them echo off the furniture and into the walls until she found what she was looking for. She nodded to Radhamai. “In the bathroom. Under some loose tiles by the sink.”
Radhamai left the room and came back a few minutes later holding a bag full of vials the size of Amy's pink finger. The insides flickered with glowing, vibrant colors. He took a red one and reached to open the top.
“Don't!” cried Lu, spinning around with more genuine panic in his voice than Amy had heard so far. Radhamai didn't care. He popped off the black stopper. Instantly a point of red light burst out of it and began zipping around the room in wide loops, like a Christmas light had somehow got its hands on a jetpack. It circled the room a few times before stabilizing its course directly towards Zhou. He leaped up, tried to scramble away, but the light was too fast. It slammed into his forehead and there was a crimson flash that blinded everyone in the room for a few seconds. When Amy's sight returned, Zhou's body was lying on the floor with half its head missing. The gore glowed with red light. Amy looked back at Lu. He was starting to seem green around the edges.
“Souls,” Amy said, her voice emotionless. “Souls of families killed together, souls cut into a thousand pieces and fused with essence of books from the Wanderer's Library. Powerful familiars, if you can control them. Or powerful fuel.”
“I… I just did what they told me,” Lu stammered. “I just used what they gave me.”
“And you never got curious, huh? Never snooped around a bit? Never asked any questions? Sure, you can try to tell us that.” Amy leaned forward in her chair. “But before you do, let's make a deal.”
She took Lu's silence as an invitation to continue.
“You tell us where we can meet your employers. We leave. We take the souls with us. You live. You forget all about everything you've learned and go on with your life.” Again she met his eyes. It looked like tears were about to start spilling over any second now. “Think, Lu. We've got you by the throat. With the Insurgency at least you'll have a head start.”
She'd often seen people break before. There was a moment in there eyes where you could see whatever was inside of them vanish. One second there was life, the next only resignation. Irises reflecting the abyss they stared into. Sometimes it was instantaneous. Sometimes it needed a few seconds for the light to disappear. With Lu it was like watching a switch flicked off. He nodded, swallowed.
“They gave me a phone. It doesn't do anything but ring sometimes. They tell me what to do. I can give it to you.” He stood up and walked slowly over to a cabinet, out of which he took a black brick-like phone that looked at least 20 years old and brought it over to her. It was heavy, had no features other than a speaker, a microphone, and a button with a green picture of a phone on it. Amy could not detect any magic on it. Technology wasn't her strong suit, but knowing the Insurgency she felt confident that they would have some sort of failsafe on it to alert the other side if it was stolen. Didn't mean there wouldn't be information, though. She slid it into her pocket and stood up.
“We'll know if you break your word,” she said. Stepping over Zhou's body, she exited the apartment with Radhamai behind, still holding the bag of sacrifices. As they were walking down the stairs, she looked over at Radhamai. “Does this feel funny to you?”
He shrugged.
“I find very little about this job funny,” he said.
She took the bag from him and held it up to her face. Dozens of dancing lights, bursting to be free. If she held her ear close, she could almost imagine she heard crying.
“This thing's gonna be sitting in a box until the Earth rots,” she said. “At least that's what they tell us.”
Radhamai didn't reply. They reached the end of the stairs and stepped out onto the street.
“They're underestimating us,” she said. “They think because they took away the Witness and the books that I don't have other ways of finding what I need to know. These past few jobs, Rad, they're connected, but not in the ways they've told us. You must have noticed it too. They're having us follow something and lying about what it is.”
“They lie to us about many things. I don't try to keep track.”
She was about to respond when the phone in her pocket rang. The pair stopped and stared at it as she pulled it out of her jacket. They looked at each other. She pressed the button to answer.
“Hello?”
“You're not as clever as you think you are,” said an elderly woman's voice. The call clicked dead.
The bag in her hand exploded. Immediately dozens of sparks of light burst out into the air around them, tumbling over the heads of hundreds of shocked pedestrians who must have thought it wasn't a fireworks display. Unfortunately, these lights weren't lifeless, and they didn't fade away. They zipped rapidly, rising higher and higher, paused for a second, and shot back towards the Earth.
Amy was already moving, trying to cast a spell that would intercept them before they reached their targets, but there were too many, too fast, and fine control was never her strong suit. She managed to cause a few to burst harmlessly in the air, but the vast majority got past her. In just a few seconds they began to explode, and the people around her began to scream. Blood splashed the street as torn up corpses, burning with light, fell to the asphalt. These lights didn't disappear like the one inside – they flew back up and descended again to keep ripping through whoever came in their way. Amy desperately tried to pull them back, but she could do nothing. A few popped out of existence – must be Radhami's work, she thought – but most kept tearing through the people below, again and again again.
She saw it just out of the corner of her eye, a green glow hurtling towards her, and managed to jerk away right before it collided with her hand. She took a step forward and felt something slam into her back. Instantly pain erupted through her – pain like she'd never felt before, pain burning and stinging and lashing. She tried to scream but her mouth would not open. She tried to move but she was already falling, and as she hit the ground the world went black.

She woke lying on the sand in a desert, so vast she could see nothing but sand in every direction. The sun was at its midpoint in the sky and even standing under it for just a few seconds felt like she was beginning to burn. There was no other pain. She reached to touch her back and felt only smooth, unharmed skin. Pushing herself to her feet, she saw a piece of sand nearby moving. A small lizard burst out and darted away. She followed its motion, and as it disappeared into the distance saw something standing far away. Seven feet tall. An extra joint in each arm. A wolf-like head. Her hunter.
After four years of silence, she was back here. This time, she thought, I won't run away. She crouched down, ready to fight, trying to draw in energy. None came. This world had no magic to give her. Just then she felt something inside of her that had been absent for years. Something she thought she'd never feel again. A familiar voice in her head.
I am very disappointed with you, Amy.

« Wasting | Hub | Coming Soon »


21/08/2033, 12:45 AM
Top Floor of Chen-Walton Luxury Apartments, Eurtec

The average person can walk up forty flights of stairs in around fifteen minutes. Johnny "The Gelatin"1 Silvano did it in three. He wasn't particularly fit, far from it, but running for your life makes a great motivator.
He burst onto the roof. Nice view; Johnny would've tried to piss over the ledge, but given the circumstances, the heads of the people below shall be spared his foul-smelling2 wrath.
Alright, weapons, he's going to need weapons to survive. Only things on the roof are AC units and cigarette butts, so he's gonna have to work with what he has. And he has:

A crumpled bag of barbecue potato chips (empty)
Twenty-seven (27) loose almonds
One (1) five-dollar ($5) bill, defaced so that Abe (president) has a funny mustache.

In summary: He has jack shit.
Got it. Thaumaturgy. He knows thaumaturgy, right? He took that free class back in Portlands, what could he do, he could, uh, fuckin, uh… SUMMON A DEMON! Hell yeah, now we're getting somewhere, alright, he just needs ten liters of goat's blood, a bar of gold, the still-beating heart of a dove, and a… and a…
Crap. Back to square one. Okay, maybe he could—
Johnny was still contemplating a Plan C when the door to the roof burst from its hinges, and Madeline "No Nickname" Garcia3 stepped through the door-shaped hole. Always had a penchant for dramatic entrances and being no fun when everyone was coming up with nicknames.
"Hey Maddy." said Johnny. He attempted a friendly smile, it resembled more of a grimace.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Got a lot of nerve coming back here, Johnny."
"Can't I visit an old friend?"
"You were trying to break into my apartment."
"Touché."
"Look, we had a deal! We'd forget about what happened in Seattle, and you'd fuck off from Eurtec and the collective forever."
"Deals are made to be broken."
"Rules."
"Hmm?"
"The saying is 'rules are meant to be broken.'"
"Ah, thank you for that illuminating linguistics lesson, really puts into perspective the wonderful world we- POCKET ALMONDS!!"
Johnny threw all twenty-seven almonds in her face and made a mad dash for the exit. If he could just get there in time he could—
A large brown clay blob filled the doorframe, and Johnny ran into it at full speed, the left half of his body sinking into the mass. His submerged half tried to continue his half-baked escape, it felt a lot like walking through molasses. With a flick of her wrist, Maddy (who at this point had fully recovered from the physical and physiological damage the pocket almonds caused) caused the material to pulse with energy. Still attempting to run, Johnny's covered half now felt like he was moving through solid concrete, which is to say, not at all.
"Like it? It's this new material I'm working on, sentient mud. Link it up to your brain and it's like putty in your mental hands.4 Lloyd and I were planning to showcase it at Somme-Nous, but it seems that you already knew that."
"Hmm?"
"You know, you've got the lying capabilities of a goldfish.5 I've got security wards all over my apartment, you'd already set off ten of them by the time you finished downloading those files onto that drive."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
She leaned against the wall, making sure to keep her distance from Johnny's free hand. He noticed a serrated box cutter in her left. So that's how this is going to go.
"So how'd you get past the Forest Promise?"
He blinked in surprise, maybe it wasn't.
"Huh?"
"The blood oath, it's what you agreed to when you said you'd leave. That's a ritual of the old woods, as soon as you entered the Undercity your blood should've been replaced with liquid mercury."
"My… employer's got friends in very high places, they took it off of me in exchange for half of my spleen."
"Ouch."
"Eh, wasn't really using it anyway."
"So who's this big employer of yours, the Foundies? Marshall?"
"I can't say. Literally, the client put a cognito-something-or-other in my head as a failsafe. I talk, I explode."
"Shees, you getting paid a lot?"
"Enough to cover food and rent for the next few months, beats dumpster diving behind Ambrose every other day."
"Hm."
She took a cigarette from out of her pocket, dropped it to the floor, and crushed it with her heel.6
"You know how the collective treats stealing."
"I do, it's a shame, I'm rather fond of my head."
"Alright, I have a deal for you, interested?"
"Not really in a position to say no."
"We'll call a mulligan—"
"Mulligan?"
"Some hockey term or something, point is, it's late and I don't want to stay up getting the blood out of my clothes. This is your one Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card, no strings attached."
"Pretty sweet deal."
"There's a but coming, a big but- shut up - I want to make this very clear. If you even step foot in Eurtec again, I will do… something… bad."
"Bad."
"Yeah, bad. Real bad. So bad I can't even begin to fathom it right now."
Johnny weighed his options.
"Consider me terrified, I accept."
"Right then, hand over the drive."
"Really?"
"Yeah? That's what this whole thing was about. Gimme."
"Then we have a bit of an issue."
"Why's that?"
"It's in my left pocket."
"The pocket that's currently-"
"The pocket that's currently stuck in the clay, yeah."
"…"
"…"
Maddy stepped away from the doorway, slowly setting down the knife onto the floor. She bent down and began talking to him as if he were a small child.
"Okay. Here's what we'll do. I will tell the clay to let you free. You will then give me the flash drive, and we will get on the elevator to go down, where you will leave. You will not try to run. Got it?"
"Consider it got."
She made a series of hand gestures, thaumic energy crackling between her fingers. The clay whimpered, then slowly slid off of Johnny.
"Alright there you go, no running."
A pause. Then Johnny ran. It was a reflex, really, he hadn't realized he was moving until he heard Maddy shout, and he decided he had already gotten this far, might as well commit.
He came to a sudden stop over the ledge, windmilling his arms to avoid falling off. He glanced back. The clay had formed into a giant hand, its fingers were just a few yards away from him. Maddy rode on its back (?), furiously forming a swirling ball of fire between her hands.
Johnny saluted, and jumped off.
Impossibly tall buildings blended together into a blur of neon and glass. Below, the concrete sidewalk was rushing towards him at breakneck speed. Not a bad final view. Johnny closed his eyes, and waited for the ground and his head to meet.
He opened his eyes. The ground was still rushing to meet him, the buildings were still blurring past. He closed them.
He opened his eyes again. The buildings blurred- okay, this building had an obscene amount of floors. Makes it really inconvenient for a final thoughts monologue. Ah well, too late for complaints now, the ground was just a few seconds away, maybe he could-
Splat.

21/08/2033, 04:12 AM
Sidewalk Outside of Chen-Walton Luxury Apartments, Eurtec

It was four in the morning, the time when the reasonable had long since gone to bed, and the foolish had already passed out on a couch, floor, or wherever was most convenient. Surprisingly, the small red puddle on the sidewalk had gone mostly unnoticed by passers-by. When you live in a city with neon billboards miles long and street racers going Mach 10, a guy falling from a building was pretty mundane in comparison. At the very least someone had the courtesy to put up a wet floor sign next to the splat.
If anyone was around (which they weren't), they would have seen the splat shift, rising off the pavement and slowly moving into the general shape of a man.
Johnny "The Gelatin" Silvano opened his eyes, and immediately vomited bits of collagen onto the sidewalk.7 Urgh. Okay, quick checkup, no visible injuries, all arms and legs still attached and where they should be, his body was covered in a thin film of what looked like- hold on, yep, strawberry Jell-O, and if he checked his pocket, score! The drive was still intact, albeit covered in a delectable fruit gel.
Alright, homestretch. He pulled out his phone, and after an embarrassing amount of time trying to text using the gel-covered screen, relented, and activated the voice assistant.
"What can I do for you, Johnny?"
"Send text to Mr. Night, tell him that I secured the- shit"
His brain finally caught up to what his mouth just said. Then it exploded.

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Footnotes
1. Nicknamed for his ability to temporarily transmute himself into Jell-O. Very fun trick at parties.
2. note to self: If you survive tonight get that checked out man
3. Former friend, occasional anartist, competitive omelet maker.
4. Maddy was very bad at coming up with metaphors.
5. Case in point.
6. Don't smoke, kids.
7. This part of the trick made him very unpopular at parties.


International Center for the Study of Unified Thaumatology: Three Portlands Campus
April 17th, 2012

Beatrice Ross let out a slow, controlled breath. She stood center stage within the Evocation Hall, a target dummy a good fifty feet away. She could feel the eyes of her classmates upon her as she prepared her mind for the casting.
"Alright, Bea." Robin Thorne stood behind her, overseeing the practice session. This was their final semester as Dr. Vogel's TA, and they were pulling out the stops to ensure they left everyone on a good final footing. "Whatever you want to cast. Just knock down the target, and minimalize the backlash."
Thorne then stepped off the stage.
"Containment ring intact. Show us what you got, Bea."
Beatrice nodded. She let out another breath, closed her eyes, and began the evocation. Sparks leapt from her right index and middle finger as she pointed them, like a gun, at the target. As she squeezed her thumb down, a thin bolt of lightning launched out. With a deafening crackle, it struck the target's torso and sent it airborne, sparking and aflame. It hit the containment field with a loud, hollow smack, then slid to the stage below.
"Hell yeah, Bea!" Angela's voice called from the audience. A small round of applause erupted from the remainder in attendance. Beatrice grinned from ear to ear. This was the first time she had successfully cast something so powerful.
Her concentration then turned inward as the mechanisms of the universe began to swing into motion. Spontaneously summoning one of the most powerful effects of the natural world was not without its cost. The numerous thaumatological laws kicked into action and brought balance back to the world.
Beatrice's focus remained inward. She began to shiver, the heat from her body sapping away as the thaumatologic backlash ran its course, stopping when it had extracted its toll. She chuckled as she could see her breath.
"Well, hey, that's impressive," Thorne said, hopping back onto the stage and handing Beatrice her jacket to warm herself. "Most people on their first couple of castings just send the backlash into the wild and let others deal with the consequences. Looks like you've already got a solid handle on internalizing it. Well done."
"Th-th-thanks, R-r-obin," Beatrice managed to get out between clattering teeth.
"Just remember, you can't cast too many times in a row if you're going to hang your hat on that technique," Thorne continued. "You'll give yourself frostbite or worse."
Beatrice nodded in understanding. She zipped up the jacket and rubbed her hands together, heading to the edge of the stage. For the first time since failing her Conjuration final, she was proud of herself.

Three Portlands
September 24th, 2023

Often when visitors thought of Three Portlands, they pictured a sprawling cityscape, radiating outward into infinity. A hyperbole of counter culture and beyond-the-veil elements coalesced into an urban jungle that would make most mundane hipsters sell their vinyl collections for a chance to live there. This ultimately was the influence of Portland, Oregon, and that city's dominance in the noosphere over its counterparts in the UK and Maine. Still, there was no shortage of ways the latter two Portlands exerted their presence. From the famous Three Portlands lighthouses to the random bursts of sea air, to the occasional patches of lush deciduous forest breaking the monotony of concrete and pavement, the rural Portlands refused to be silenced by the monolith of their more famous descendent.
The largest and most expansive of these little forests was a place colloquially known as Autumn Hill: a deep, dark, and thick wood so named for being permanently trapped in the fall foliage of the Northeastern United States. It was here, on the edge of the wood's main path, that Agent Beatrice Ross of the Foundation and Agent Robin Thorne of the UIU found themselves.
"Fitting," Ross sighed. "She literally lives in eternal Halloween."
Thorne shrugged, disturbing a small bird on their shoulder. Shortly after they had arrived in Three Portlands, an albino robin had appeared by Thorne's side and remained there since. Occasionally, its form would briefly flicker out, indicating that it was at least partially spectral.
"I mean, I couldn't say I wouldn't have done the same," Thorne commented. "Certainly fits the aesthetic. I've also been told Necromancy is particularly strong here. Please don't pick a fight with her. This… this isn't the first time the UIU has put her through this song and dance."
Ross rolled her eyes.
"Familiar?" she then asked, pointing at the bird. "What's its name?"
"I never gave it one," Thorne said with a smirk, and gently placed the creature in their jacket pocket. Occasionally its head would pop out, and stare at Ross with unblinking curiosity. "Spencer started calling it 'Crowe' a while back, which I guess is good enough. Comes in handy in a pinch."
"Original," Ross commented and began down the path. Thorne trailed close behind.
Within half an hour, they had arrived at a clearing opening onto a small stone cottage overlooking a crumbling cemetery, the dates on the tombstones having long been eroded by Three Portlands constant rain. At the clearing's entrance was a sign:

Dr. Annebelle Lee, Ph.D.
Necromantic Solutions and Castings

"NEVERMORE!"
A skeletal raven landed on the sign. Red pinpoints of light in place of eyes glared down at the two agents as it curiously tilted its head and let out another screech. Crowe flew out of Thorne's pocket and landed beside the undead creature on the sign. For several moments the two merely stared each other down, but eventually, the raven let out a third cry, then flew towards the cottage. Within moments, a dark-skinned woman in a flowing purple dress emerged. A smug smile came to her lips as she recognized her guests, and beckoned them closer.
"Thank you, Edgar," the woman said softly, the undead bird landing on her shoulder before returning its unblinking gaze to the two agents. The two approached, Crowe returning to its perch in Thorne's jacket pocket. "It's good to see you again, Beatrice. That nervous blond man you were with last time we met, is he still alive? I thought his lifeline felt faint when we parted ways."
Ross could feel Thorne's gaze bore into the back of her head.
"Creed is alive and well, yes," she answered. "You have a lovely home, Annabelle."
"Worth a pretty penny to acquire, but I am a sucker for atmosphere." The necromancer grinned sheepishly. "I have to say, I didn't expect the UIU's own Robin Thorne to pay a visit. What brings you two out to Autumn Hill?"
"We needed your expertise," Thorne replied and handed their former classmate a folder. The smile quickly vanished from Annabelle's face.
"Oh," she said, flipping between images of shrunken necrotic corpses. "Oh no."
"Someone has been murdering members of the ICSUT Evocation Class of 2014," Ross explained. "Each one was found like this. What can you tell us?"
"Well, their souls were extracted from their bodies," Annabelle said. "Goddess, this is awful."
"Any idea as to why?" Ross continued to press.
"Any number of reasons ranging from spell component collection to straight-up murder." Annabelle returned the photos to Thorne. "The fact that these are all thaumaturge souls could mean something of ritual significance, maybe? That said, ripping out a soul from someone's body is a pretty effective way of killing them. Do these people have anything else in common other than being classmates at ICSUT?"
"Not that we are currently aware of," Thorne replied. "Does casting this kind of spell need any kind of specific components itself? We might be able to track them through business records at suppliers in the city."
"I can think of a couple." Annabelle nodded and began to head back towards her dwelling. "But I have a sinking feeling that whoever is causing your little murder spree here didn't have the common courtesy to leave you a convenient paper trail. Wait here. I'll create a component list for you."
"Would it be possible for us to have a look inside?" Ross asked.
Annabelle stopped midstride and looked over her shoulder.
"Am I a suspect, Beatrice?" she asked.
Ross said nothing.
"Am. I. A. Suspect?" Annabelle repeated.
"We haven't excluded you quite ye-"
"And do you have a warrant?"
"We do not," Thorne replied.
"Well then." Annabelle turned back to her guests. The whites of her eyes vanished into inky darkness as the temperature throughout the clearing plummeted. "Let me make something perfectly clear to you two. The nature of my work is incredibly sensitive to my clients and highly personal. I will not jeopardize that on a whim. I'm sick of you people constantly acting like being a necromancer somehow automatically makes you a murderer. Your welcome is worn out. I think it will be best if you two took your leave."
Humanoid silhouettes rose from the graves. Obsidian black bits of bone would emerge from the haze and quickly dart back into the shadow as distant whispering became audible. They started to close in on the agents. Thorne held their hands up and took a step back.
"Okay, okay," they said. "We're going. Please call off your wraiths."
The figures stopped and waited. Ross and Thorne quickly headed toward the exit of the clearing. Upon their stepping back on the path, the temperature returned to its prior level. Annabelle's eyes, while no longer monochrome, now flashed indignation as she returned to her cottage.
"Well, that could have gone better," Ross mumbled, her eyes still on the graveyard.
"What part?" Thorne replied flatly. "The fact that we aren't better off than where we started, or the fact that you tried to rifle through a necromancer's house and almost got us attacked by wraiths?"
Thorne sighed and began to walk away.
"I should have left you back in Portland."
"You wanted to do the same thing," Ross said defensively. "Don't bullshit me."
"Of course I did!" Thorne snapped back. "But I haven't lived on the other side of the Veil long enough to completely forget the kind of tact you ne-"
"NEVERMORE!"
The skeletal raven interrupted Thorne's rant. It had once more landed on the signpost, but this time carried a small slip of paper in its beak, dropping it into Ross's hand as the evoker approached.
"NEVERMORE!"
It let out one more cry and flew back to its master's domain. Ross began to read the contents of the note and smiled.
"Component list," she said. "That could have gone a lot worse too."
Thorne shook their head and sighed. The two began to make their way back along the wooded path.
"We're not done talking about you bringing Creed here, by the way."

***

It started raining at sunset, drenching the streets of Three Portlands in a new coat of moisture. Thorne and Ross took shelter at a diner near Autumn Hill, the two looking over a pocket map of the city as they worked out their next move. Partway through the session, Thorne's phone went off, the agent excusing themself from the table as they stepped away to take the call.
Ross sighed as she stared at the map. So much had changed in the city since she left for baseline reality, and little was where she had last left it. Despite what she told Creed and the rest of Tau-51, she truly did miss Three Portlands. One by one her eyes glanced over her former haunts, memories of her ICSUT classmates flooding back as nostalgia took hold-
"They just found Daxton in his apartment downtown." There was a grim expression on Thorne's face. They were already packing up and signaling for the check. "Same song and dance as the others. No sign of struggle. No forced entry. Spencer is meeting me there. You, however, need to head back to baseline. Now. I'll reach out to you as soon as we can pick it back up discretely. There is a Way on my route. I'll walk you there."
Ross nodded in agreement and began to don her coat.
"Fair enough. Promise me you won't leave me out to dry on this?"
"You know I can't make that promise. But I'll do my best."
The two stepped out into the downpour and made their way through the emptying city streets. Minutes passed in silence.
"So, I know this isn't really the time or place," Ross finally said, "I've been meaning to ask, how do you guys get cell reception in here?"
"I have no idea," Thorne said with a shrug. They sidestepped by a small crowd of robed people. "It was something Prometheus set up back in the 90s that people kind of just rolled with-"
Ross looked over her shoulder. One member of the crowd, a black-cloaked figure, was still starring at them as they got further away. She looked back after another hundred meters and saw them again, now walking hastily in the same direction.
"- some company called Asterism Communication basically has a monopoly on the service now. Anderson and the Maxwellists are big investors too. I think-"
"Thorne, I think we have company," Ross interrupted. A dull whistle filled the air as a projectile collided with the back of Ross's right leg with a small thud. The agents looked down to see a small dart sticking out of her prosthetic.
"Fuck! Get down!"
Thorne pushed their comrade into a doorway where both agents drew their sidearms as they peered out into the street. They saw the cloaked figure closing in at a sprint, hands glowing with necrotic energy. Ross removed the dart from her leg, nodded to Thorne, took aim, and fired.
The necrotic energy on the figure's hands dissipated as a shimmering bubble sprang up around it, Ross's bullets shattering into dust upon contact. So Ross threw a bolt of lightning at them. Electricity slammed through the bubble with a crackling explosion and tossed the figure backward across the pavement. The figure crashed into a rack of bicycles with a heavy thud and went limp. The two agents emerged from their hiding spot, weapons drawn, and closed in on their would-be assailant.
"If they're still alive we'll need to keep them stable until EMTs arrive," Thorne stated. "You have some training in conjuration right?"
"If they're not dead now, that will definitely kill them," Ross replied flatly. "But I know some basics."
The figure shot back up with a blast of force from its hands that tossed them both aside. Both agents fired back on reflex, but their bullets bounced harmlessly off while the two of them went sprawling. Ross picked herself up and saw the figure sprinting away, turning a corner and vanishing between the streetlights.
"Come on," Ross mumbled, getting back to her feet and hobbling after the figure. "They're getting away!"
"They won't get far." Thorne stood up and pulled Crowe from their coat pocket and tossing the beast into the air. They closed their eyes in concentration while it vanished into the rain. A grin slowly crept over their face.
"They're heading toward Kempton Park," they said. "Let's go!"
The two agents took off at a sprint into the rain. Overhead, thunder began to clap. In the distance, the dark twisted pines of one of the city's largest and most heavily forested parks loomed overhead.

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The first time I died was one of the best days of my life.
It's not that my life before was so terrible, it wasn't, honestly. But the feeling of shedding all that baggage and expectation is one of the most freeing things I can imagine happening to a person. The day I joined the SCP Foundation was the first day of my life as someone new.
Dr. Cimmerian wouldn't have the same hangups as the old me. He would never spend half a decade with a crush on a friend from high school and not ask her out. He could get over how hopeless the world is and really live for once. He might even be more assertive, less reliant on alcohol to feel like a real person. He'd eat better. Exercise more.
It took a week for that new car smell to wear off. After I died I was still me, just with a different name. The same hangups as always. The same troubles.
And it's then that I started to realize that the problem truly lied with me. Not the world around me. We tie up so much of our selves in an externalized view. We do what we do because of our parents, because of our environment, our names, our identity. If only we weren't attached so closely to our history maybe we'd be better people.
But that kind of self reflection is only useful in creating stumbling blocks. I made my problems something outside of myself so that I would never have to face the truth:
I am a bad person.
And there's no shame in that. Most people are. Most people would rather save themselves than a child in danger. We pretend we're the hero in our heads, we game out a dozen scenarios on how we'd step up when the chips are down.
Sometimes you even surprise yourself and be that hero. But those events are the exceptions to the rule. The truth is that we are who we are, and nothing will change that.
I looked up that girl from high school a while back. I couldn't help myself. Married for over a decade. 6 kids. Genuine smiles in every picture. Is she living a perfect life? No. There's not enough work, not enough money, not enough happiness to go around. But she smiles anyway. And she means it. I should know. That smile is all I can see when I close my eyes.
That's when the self reflection starts to turn back on itself. Imagination takes over. What if I'd spoke up? What if I'd said what I really meant. I cherish the friendship we had, but I could've been more honest with myself and with her. And then what?
We get married? We have a half dozen kids? She smiles?
Maybe. Probably not. And less than she does now.
I know what I am. I am broken, and no amount of love and understanding is going to change that. Do I deserve happiness? Absolutely. But is it worth it at the expense of someone else's? No way. Not if you truly care about them. Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is to leave them alone.
So I close the Facebook tab and go back to work. I think about my first death, when I left everything behind to become a new man.
I wonder what my second death will be like. After the amnestics. After the reconditioning. After adjusting to being a civilian again.
Will I be whole? Will I still know myself? Will I still hurt the people around me?
When I die a third time, and they're lowering me into the ground, who will care?
It doesn't matter. I've got work to do.

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