In his hands, Dr. Thaddeus Xyank held the future. And that made him smile.
It was a lump of gray metal, cool to the touch, with a laser etched serial number, a portrait of George Washington, and a UPC code for Bush's Baked Beans. It took a while to get all of that approved, but he needed to be sure. You couldn't spit in the Multi-U division without it landing in some parallel world or a seamless wormhole that leads directly to a point exactly 2 cm inside your own rectum. Xyank wasn't interested in the same-old present in some remote reality where people are giant lizards. He was interested in the future. And here it was.
“Melissa?”
“Yes sir!” she said, beaming like the fresh ones sometimes do when things are going according to plan.
“Was the device active when you found the brick?”
“Uhh… Mr. Kim?”
Assistant Researcher Leonard Kim raised his head from the wiring panel, blinking. “Hm?”
“Was the device left on overnight? Dr. Xyank wanted to know its status when the sample was retrieved.” Melissa Brooks was always doing that, in her own vainglorious attempt to curry favor with superiors. Thought there was a promotion in it for her, probably. Shame she was such a kiss-ass that no one else trusted her.
Xyank's glasses started to fog. His finger tapped. His thumb traced Washington's nose. Almost without thinking he grabbed a bit of tape from the desk, slapped it on the brick and wrote ‘Retrieved' in black marker. Just in case.
Kim was quiet for a long time. “…Okay, first of all, I didn't do anything with it.”
“I don't actually care this time, Larry. Just tell me.”
“Alright, yes, I'm sorry. I left it on running a debug after hours. That reference loop just keeps popping up no matter what I do. I'm working on it now.”
Xyank nodded. On but not set to 'receive' was a good enough answer. “Melissa, scan the surveillance logs from last night through this morning. I want to know about every spark, bang, shimmy, and flash.”
On the other side of the floor, past ten dozen coolant pipes and thirty industrial strength cables, he placed the sample next to itself just as Gerald Kingston was putting the finishing touches on the UPC. “…Holy Shit! When did this come in?”
“Sometime before opening today; Brooks is checking the log.”
“Dear sweet Jesus,” Gerry said, picking up the small brick and turning it over in his hands. Checking the mill marks with pinpoint pupils as he strained to focus. “It looks like the real deal but I want to get this over to Microscopy and run the whole battery.”
“Get it done,” the Doctor said, checking his watch. “I want the original out of here by end of business today.”
“Sure sure sure!”
“And bring Foreman in here to make sure the calibration is spotless. Kim's having feedback issues again.” Swear to god, Larry was going to be the death of this project, always trying to move out of his depth.
Then again, so was Thaddeus. That's what got him out of bed in the morning.
Jets of hot gas sprayed him down from every angle and he spun in a circle. Six months of doing this, it was natural as breathing. The suit hung neatly in his locker and he stepped outside.
Plain sight. Where he was from this would never have been tolerated—would not be tolerated here for very much longer, probably. Sloppy work by the Foundation setting him up here. But there were bio-hazard signs and poison emblems, and all the flashing lights and smokestacks that belched black evil into the air, and that was enough. For anyone dumb enough to try and break into a chemical refinery, there were two golf carts on half-hourly rounds and the deceptively hard pudgy-looking Agents inside of them. Besides, there wasn't a radio tower or satellite signal stronger than twenty watts for maybe fifty kilometers in any direction, and the Podunk town where they took R&R was maybe forty minutes down the road. It was far enough. It was isolated enough. The EM bands were clear enough.
Maybe.
Coughing, he scaled the stairs to the office and stepped inside. Lights flickering on in that annoying mercury fluorescent glow; practically stone-age. And the whiteboards. Three of the four, filled to bursting with diagrams and equations in his trademark red ink. Xyank grabbed a bagel and an OJ as he stared at them, trying to remember. Trying to fill in the gaps. Trying to find the way out of the rat maze of causality and float above it. He wasn't a rat, he was a man. And if something like this could happen once—twice now, actually, at the very least—then he could make it happen again.
His calculator booted up and he thought with it for a while. The creepy blue sheen and white text a man never gets used to filled his vision, recorded his hand-written chaos, and began a search for errors. It was close now. Very close.

The phone rang and he picked it up.
“Thad Xyank.”
“Hi Doc, it's Gerry.”
“Shoot.”
“Paulson is losing his mind.” The good Doctor smiled and nodded to no one, privately celebrating. “It's our brick alright, down to every last defect. When do you want to send it?”
“Hold on a minute.” Two buttons tapped, and he watched as Melissa picked up the phone. “It's Xyank. Put Kim on the line,” and the researcher trotted across the floor, notes under his arm and grabbed the phone. “What's the status of the device?”
“Same problem, but at least we've isolated it in Unit Beta with some creative wiring. Alpha is green-lit across the board,” Kim said, looking up at the office window and giving a thumbs-up. “The brick?”
He smiled and returned the gesture. “Power up Alpha, it's going out right now. I'm on my way.” Two buttons. “We're doing it. Get up here and bring the original.” He'd never put on a clean suit so fast in his life, and the spray was just quieting down when Kingston came out of the south end of the building with the brick in his hand. Foreman opened the door to the active chamber and held his breath as the five of them gathered around it. Carefully it was placed inside the small, glowing white box, and closed. Xyank almost chuckled at how much it looked like the world's most expensive and over-complicated microwave oven. As Unit Alpha powered up, the globe above it began to spin quietly, and capacitors all over it whined.
“Alright everyone look sharp, we are now starting the official experiment log.” A few taps on a keyboard and the microphones in their suits began recording. “This is Dr. Thaddeus Xyank, beginning experiment log 11924. It is July 9th 1992. Researcher Brooks, what's the correct time?” Thaddeus asked, spinning to Melissa Brooks.
“1035 and 15 seconds on my mark.” Larry Kim jumped behind the other console and input the time. “Three… two… one… mark!” The whirring settled into a steady hum, and the first green light over the chamber lit.
“When did you recover the test object?”
“Approximately 0700, give or take a few minutes.”
“Alright; Mr. Foreman, please input destination for today's date, at 0630. That should leave enough of a window for Ms. Brooks' discovery”
Beeping and keystrokes, and another light, this one lingering yellow a moment as the lock was established. Then green; blessed, blessed green.
“Mr. Kingston, how are those ion levels?”
“We have gamma and alpha rad at… 4 eV and holding. Ambient levels on the floor are… 13 mili-RAD. Everything's green.”
The team leaned in to watch closely, fingers crossed, breath baited.
Dr. Xyank threw the switch, and after a bright flash of light within the chamber, it was gone. Localized tachyon field manipulation confirmed. Eat your heart out, Stephen Hawking.
They cheered. They clapped, they patted one another about the back. Mr. Kim declared tequila shots on him after work. But the good Doctor knew better. This one had been easy, they knew that some point in the future it would work, or else there was a paradox afoot, and paradoxes are for logic and not for nature. Nature had no such conventions. The device simply couldn't not work.
“Everyone quiet,” he said, after a long, relieved exhale. “Brooks, your job is to check, double-check, and triple-check all of the surveillance and monitoring equipment we have and report to me by the end of the day exactly what kind of conditions we can expect when something comes through. Foreman and Kim, you two are on Beta, get that bug fixed. Kingston, I need you to recalibrate Alpha to positive temporal displacement and prepare a new sample.”
“Paulson wanted a front-row seat on the next trial,” Gerry said, looking hopeful.
“He's got it if he gets up here and helps you calibrate. And I mean oscilloscopes, voltmeters; I want everything explained before I file this. I'm going to go see if I can't finish filling in the black box.”
The Black Box… Every engineer dreads the damn black box. That's what all those equations were about. Thad mused for a moment about it, scratching the graying hair at his temples as the blue screen came up over his vision, trying desperately to make sense of the math that had seemed so clear when he held the tachyon emitter in his hands, turned it over a few times, felt the warm glow of backwards time. Or maybe it was all just desperation and the team had gotten lucky. Maybe all of these equations weren't even necessary and it all came down to the number threeve or twour or whatever they were calling 033 these days. Theta Prime, right? Goddamn ridiculous.
What about all of the other ones? His clearance didn't give him really juicy access to the hard temporal anomalies the Foundation was just starting to play with. Hell, he didn't even know for sure if 711 had been built, disassembled, encased in concrete, or still sat on the drawing board of someone's office as a kind of pet project. Or maybe he was conceiving of it now, down in that clean-room with a bunch of eager, talented researchers.
And when were they going to discover SCP-one-seven… Oh dear god. The view… how had he not noticed this before?
The door burst open below as Xyank jumped to his feet, just in time to watch it all happen for the first time. There was a lot of yelling. Lots of it, about getting on knees and stepping away from the machinery and putting down the clipboard and they were all too shocked to comply.
“No…”
Gerry Kingston got it first, two in the head.
“No.”
Melissa ducked behind the desk and covered her ears just in time for Paulson to catch a few rounds with his upper torso and fall out of sight half a second later.
“No!”
Kim and Foreman fell like cans on a fence-post, lying in puddles of their own blood. He could still hear Kim gagging on his lasts moments of life.
“NO!”
Thad slammed the alarm and let it blare as the four men moved into the room, scanning computer monitors and smashing equipment, heading further the basement and the other screaming technicians. You could see the surprise in the balls of Mr. M4A1 himself when he saw Unit Beta, heard the humming and whining and sparks. He screamed something about getting out and then
There was the white flash, right on schedule. And then it started again. All five of them milled about the floor, working their way through the recalibration without a care in the world. Each one of them dead certain that they'd get a huge raise, better clearance, and maybe even a Nobel Prize if it ever went public.
“GODDAMMIT, NO!”
Thad grabbed the just-in-case 12 gauge from behind the filing cabinet and bolted out the door, down the stairs, and came to the clean room entrance. Maybe he was part of it. Maybe he was aware. Maybe there was time to save them all and stop the loop. But the knob was hot and he daren't enter. Might have five kinds of cancer already now that the shielding was forfeit. He wasn't part of it, and there wasn't time. If he had been, then there would be a paradox afoot. Paradoxes don't exist in nature.
Smoke billowed out the windows in thick plumes. The white panel van was already speeding off, too far away to make the doctor out as he pressed his body against the building and waited. And waited. And waited.

Two hours later the MTF arrived and put out the fires and bagged up the charred remains and harvested the scrap for secure disposal. The whole installation was tagged, bagged, shipped off for review. A truck pumped the basement full of concrete, and just like that it was over.
For Thad, it was still happening. They found him in the office, watching his Research Assistants die over and over with a dead look in his eyes and a pint of whiskey in his hands.
“Dr. Xyank?”
“Hm?”
“Are you alright?”
“…Nope. Not even a little.”
He didn't speak again until he was in the ambulance.

O5 didn't like his write-up. Didn't like it one bit. “Explain this to me again,” 5 said as 3, 7, 12 and 9 sat with their arms folded and their brows furrowed on the various screens. “'Event boundary?' What is that?”
“It's a psychological phenomenon; how the brain categorizes events. Something as simple as changing the room you're standing in begins a new 'event' to be logged in memory. That's why a person can head to the kitchen to get a sandwich and completely forget why they went there as soon as they walk through the door.” Dr. Xyank was nervous. His reputation, his clearance level, his future with the Foundation hanging in the… heh. ‘Future with the Foundation.' That was good. He'd have to remember that.
O5-7 laughed, but not with him so much as at him. “You really expect us to believe that human psychology halted a tachyon cascade? That's honestly what you're saying?”
“Yes sir,” Thad replied, hanging his head and looking at the floor. “The machine had a maximum drain of five megawatts, but the actual tachyon field accounts for only 15 watts, which is significantly less than—”
“So if you witnessed this event first hand,” Three interrupted, “how comes it that you aren't stuck in that loop with them? Or is this thanks to your fanciful ‘event boundary' hypothesis?”
“It is, sir.”
“And the assailants which caused this… debacle?”
Xyank sighed deeply. “My estimation is that the Global Occult Coalition detected the experiment via ground based tachyon detection equipment, and moved to intercept the emitter. How they detected it, I do not know.”
Twelve cleared his throat. The other O5's went quiet and serious.
“Agent Tomlin,” Nine said, “secure Dr. Xyank. We will return with our decision after a brief recess.”
Five of the tensest minutes of his life, staring straight ahead at those shit LED screens as he wondered over and over and over again why he hadn't tried to move the whole operation underground. Thirty-seven researchers dead, millions of dollars' worth of equipment and five years of research with a working tachyon emitter, gone. Poof. In another year they could have built a second, but there was no way, now. Someone had found out and broken it. The bill was on his tab. And the blood was on his hands.
When the lights came back on it was fast and to the point. “Given Dr. Xyank's valuable research into tachyon field theory, we have determined that a certain amount of leniency is in order. Dr. Xyank, you are hereby demoted to Level 3 clearance, and are to report to our new containment site immediately. Your assignment will be documentation, experimentation, and implementation of containment procedures for the temporal anomaly designated SCP-176.”
“…Sir?”
“It's your mess, Thaddeus,” 12 said, leaning forward. “Now go clean it up.”

It was eerie watching it. His ticket home was ticking in there, still. And he might yet get to it if he could find a way. He must have seen this site a dozen times in the time before… Before. But now he knew these people, knew the machine, knew the circumstance and what would have happened next if everything had just gone to plan.
After three more hours watching it, the effect wore off, and before him was just another anomaly to be cataloged. This is the way the world moves on. Erasing his beloved whiteboard, Thad cracked his knuckles and began.
Description: SCP-176 is an abandoned … chemical factory situated near … Nah, they'll probably leave that out. [DATA EXPUNGED].
…

Start | Hub | Part Two: The Deep End


"I was scared when I first saw him. It happened just as you told me: the messages, the pictures, seeing him around every corner afterwards. I was so young; who wouldn't have lost it?" William sighed. By then, he was over the creature following him. It wasn't like it was going to go away, no matter how much he begged, or pleaded, or attempted to bribe. He knew that the best and only solution would be to just get used to Capone being there. At least he had the solace of knowing he wasn't going insane.
“Believe me, William; I know many people have reacted the same way. Fear is a more common reaction to the unknown than you'd think,” Dr. Laura Breynz consoled him. These cases weren't exactly common, but they were commonly known.
“It's not even that I'm afraid of him anymore. I mean, he makes me jump when I see him in the morning, I don't think I'll ever get used to that; It's the just the bad connotations he has,” William rebutted.
"I know that he does, but it happened two years ago. I know it's hard for you, especially with your shadow, but you need to carry on," Dr. Breynz stated. William just sighed as she continued. "Our session is almost up. We made some real progress, William. I want you to do something for me when you get home. Do you have any homework or anything?"
"I did it all on my break."
"Good. When you get home, I want you to think back to your first experience, and write as much as you feel comfortable sharing. Is that alright?"
"Yeah. Thanks for seeing me."

It wasn't too long a drive from the doctor's office to home. Five, possibly ten minutes if there was a train. He always saw the creature through the rear view mirror when he drove, riding in the back seat. It looked innocent, in its own, alien way, waving to William as he saw it.
Despite everything, William found himself talking to it, like one would talk to a dog or cat about their day when they're alone. It seemed to listen when he talked, and after a while, he could swear that it understood. It's hard to tell with a face like that, so all there were to go by were various head tilts and waves, and even then, he had to teach it how to wave.
"At least I know you're interested."

Drop the backpack near the door, go to the patio, wave to Capone from the mirror, fridge, drink, chair, crash. William's afternoon routine was more clockwork than it should be. He thought back to his session with Dr. Breynz. "She wanted me to try and recapture the experience when I first saw him, huh?" William mumbled as he grabbed a few sheets of paper and a pen. Bit by bit, he pieced together the sequence of events that led up to this point.

I've had Capone with me ever since I was fifteen years old. I remember that my twenty-year old sister, Sara, brought up an app that she downloaded earlier at the dinner table one night. She had no idea how it does it, but hazarded a guess that it tracks you through your phone's GPS, and sends you pictures of the places you've been with a 'really cute' monster placed in the photo to make it look like it's following you.
It didn't seem that weird. I recall that Google maps could get a decent ground photo at the time, so just add Photoshop to that, and you'd have a gimmick. Plus, we knew it couldn't be a virus. The app store checks every app for things like that before peddling it. The only thing I found legitimately off about it at the time was that it was both free, and ad-less.
Her explanation of it sounded pretty cool to me, so I asked Sara to help me download it on my phone. She told me that while my old, hand-me-downed, flip-phone did have something like an app store, it most likely didn't have MalO. Didn't stop her from looking though.
Sara was a good sister. She really could have told me to just get out of her hair, but she always took time out of her day for me, packing my lunch, playing with me, bringing me to 'R' rated movies that I was clearly too young for. I was lucky to have her as a legal guardian when our parents went away.
I was too young to process it all when it happened, but mom and dad died from a head-on collision with a drunk driver. Sara took care of me as my legal guardian up until I moved out for college. God knows where I'd be if she didn't. After some prodding, she found the app, which was a surprise to the both of us. It was obvious that my phone didn't have any kind of GPS, but neither of us had even thought about it until much, much later. Soon enough, I received my first picture.
I'll never understand the way Sara saw the world, if that was her idea of 'cute'. The photo was taken in my school's courtyard, with the creature I'd soon call Capone sitting on one of the benches. You could barely see him, but there he was, covered in his black, matted fur, with his knife-like claws, a set of blank, pure-white eyes, and that face, which was merely a skull belonging to some kind of large beast, looking directly at us with that large, wolfish grin.
I gave the phone back to Sara, telling her how terrifying it was, and that I didn't want the messages anymore. She just jokingly punched my shoulder, saying "Oh don't be such a baby. It is too cute! Look how happy he is to meet you!" I looked back at his face; his wide grin specifically… I have to admit, I laughed at that. It was just the sheer wrongness of that statement that made me listen to the next.
"I'm sure he'll grow on you eventually… Tell you what, if you can put up with him for one whole week, we'll go see that movie you've wanted to see. If he still gives you nightmares, we'll delete it. If you end up liking it, we'll laugh about it later; deal?" I looked at the picture again. It appeared that getting a photo every now and then was the extent this was going to go to, and looking at it in hindsight, I probably would've kept it on for next to nothing if she really wanted me to; so I agreed.
Sara was ecstatic after that, and assured me that I wouldn't regret it while showing me some of her own pictures. She only had three so far: one at her office, one at the park, and another on the road we lived on, each picture containing her own clearly visible entity. I must have looked nervous or something, because she suggested that I name mine like she did with her 'Cassandra'. I thought about it for a bit.
Let me make something clear though, because it seems to come up whenever I tell people this: I did not name my MalO 'Capone' because of the incident with my parents; I didn't even know that mom and dad's arrest involved alcohol at the time. I named him after a history lesson I found amusing in school where people's fear got the best of them, and as my teacher put it, it ended up doing more harm than good. It was intended as a reminder that I shouldn't be making the same mistake.
I saw a bit of light in this whole thing after giving it a mock-title and thought it wasn't going to be that bad. I went to bed, and my normal life went on for just a little while longer.
I continued to get pictures of Capone for a while, following me at school, the bus stop, my street, virtually everywhere I went. It wasn't until the third or fourth day when I got called in from class. I was thinking that I was in trouble for something, even if I didn't know what, but as soon as I saw Sara, that feeling was stifled. She looked very shaken. The instant she saw me, she immediately yanked my arm, and brought me to the car.
Sara was not looking good at all. She kept asking questions about Capone, things like if I saw him, or if I received any photos from him with me in the images. I haven't checked anything from today, but when I checked, there were two. I remembered exactly when and where those messages were taken, because during them, I made a mental note that I got some texts from Capone. They've been sent as soon as they've been taken.
Sara knew that we were being pursued by something, she probably had no idea by what they were, and I knew she had no idea how they were doing it, but she knew that they knew where we lived. She couldn't figure out how to delete it. She said she tried everything, but couldn't find a way to get it off. She couldn't even find where the app went.
I'm not even sure what we were planning to do, but before we could even fully plan a course of action, I got another text. Sara froze and stared at me, as if to say 'don't look at it'. If I didn't, I could have had a semi-normal life right now. It would have been over the news within the week, and we would have known…
But I did it. I opened the phone… And there we were, just sitting there, with that fear stricken look on our face. The photo was clearly taken from the hood of the moving car, giving us a clear view of what was behind us. He took up most of the backseat, and towered over me. We both turned around, preparing to scream at the monstrosity behind us, but when we did, the seat was empty. We didn't know what was happening, or what to make of it, but we felt that the only thing to do is run away, abandoning the car.
We hastily ditched the car, ran the rest of the way to the apartment, and locked the door behind us. We locked ourselves in the bathroom, and waited. We just stayed there, even when we got a message from Cassandra or Capone, Sara would scream at them, asking why they were following us and begged for us to be left alone.
We felt helpless against them. All we felt we could do is just sit in the bathroom, and hope they would go away. The room felt like our only safe haven until… We were exposed to them for too long. Sara started to panic, saying that she kept seeing one of them behind her. I wasn't seeing it though. I was more concerned about trying to calm her down by telling her that maybe they weren't really there than I was about seeing Capone in the mirror.
I convinced Sara that we needed to leave the room out of necessity. We couldn't stay in the apartment forever, and if they wanted to get us, they would have done so already. We called the police and… Here we are.
We both got help, but I was the lucky one. Everyone's case was different in terms of interaction, but for me, Capone was always in a mirror or some reflective thing large enough to show him. He was predictable, and I could find ways to block him out when I needed it.
I learned how to expect Capone, and after a while, he kind of grew on me. I used to have a makeshift curtain that I would pull over the mirrors when I didn't want to see him, but I started using that curtain less and less as time went on.
Capone always seemed to try and interact with me, even if I didn't understand what he was trying to say most of the time. I started to greet Capone with a casual wave as I passed by him from the living room mirror, and eventually, he started to wave back. He kind of became a constant companion to me, and I adjusted to Capone just as he adjusted to me.
My case wasn't as severe as Sara's. She saw Cassandra every where she looked. Around every corner, just out of sight, over her while she slept. Sara took her own life two years ago. I wanted to blame the MalOs for it, but I can't. Following the person who looks at their messages is just… what they do. Now, every time I see Capone, I'm reminded of what I did in the car that day. I knew I shouldn't have picked up that text. If I didn't, she would still be here.

It was almost four hours since William started writing, but he almost felt relieved. He's never actually told anyone about this in such detail before; the majority of what happened was kept between himself and Capone. He looked up to the creature in the mirror from across the room for a few seconds, as it gave the old, familiar wave.
William was silent for a minute, staring at Capone, and then back to his papers. He felt the need to make one last point.

But then again, how would I have known? I don't know who made the MalOs, or why. I don't even know if anyone actually made the app; many things like it have been created naturally, or have been given some kind of anomaly out of sheer chance. It would make so much sense if some physical thing was to blame, but there's none that I can legitimately find: none on the MalOs, none on me; just on chance.


To the Parents of Sergeant Johnathan Percy,
It is with the deepest regret that we inform you that your son has fallen in the line of duty this Monday, the 12th of August. Due to the sensitivity of the task he was involved in fulfilling in the time of his death, as well as other circumstances we are not at liberty to discuss, further details may not be divulged at this moment. He died for a cause he truly believed in, that much can be said.
For details concerning reparations and funeral arrangements, please contact our representatives as detailed on the attached sheet.
Respectfully yours,
Director Thomas McCain, SpearCross Private Solutions

I got a closed-casket funeral, they tell me. Makes sense enough. Templeton told me it was a private thing, real respectable. My folks probably weren't too surprised to hear I was gone, and between you and me, I figure they were counting themselves lucky that they at least got something out of it. God knows I brought them very little joy when I was alive.
I see that look on your face. You're wondering why I'm speaking in the past tense. Obviously, I'm still alive now. Breathing, eating, talking, shitting, the whole nine yards. And that's true, I suppose. It's just hard to think about it that way, from where I'm standing. Sorry, I'm rambling again, I tend to do that when I get company. You have some questions, I'm sure, you folks usually do.
How was I exposed? That's an unusual thing to ask. Most of you just read the reports and go straight to the meat. I guess you're not the trusting type, maybe that's why they choose you this time. Honestly, there isn't much to tell. I died in a work accident, air conditioner fell on my head. My body got transferred to the morgue, as per release papers, and was selected for testing due to the mundane COD. Now, the report will tell you they understood 447 shouldn't be tested on bodies right from the get go, but that's just them covering their ass. No, it took some testing, and I was one of those volunteered.
It worked, as you see. Five minutes in that thing, and I was back on my feet, right as rain. Ah, I see what you're doing there, looking at that file. What is that, the psych evaluation? I'd take that with a pinch of salt if I were you. See, there's nothing wrong with me, or with any of the others. 447 makes the dead come back to life. That's it. No zombies, or mutants, or any of that monkey-paw bullshit.
The only thing that makes me different from you, and why I'm on this side of the glass and you're on the other, is that I saw what comes next. I went into light, through the other side of the tunnel. There's nothing there. The word really isn't sufficient in explaining it, since it has substance, and a history. When you think "nothing", you think of a black void, or a featureless white plain, or whatever. You think of yourself stranded there, stuck in nothingness forever.
There is no void, or white plain. There's no self to be stuck in them either. You just cease. And that's why we're here. We're here because we know the Foundation's deepest, darkest secret.
It's pointless. Not as dramatic as you might have hoped, but that's just it. Nothing the Foundation does, or anyone else for that matter, means anything at all. The wonders it preserves, and the monstrosities, every life saved or lost, every act of heroism, every atrocity committed, every revelation, every bit of progress, every creative spark, every soul lost to madness. All of that, for the sake of humanity. For a picture drawn in sand. For nothing.
This is why they think no one can know. The Foundation likes to pretend it's all about science, reason, cold facts. Nonsense. It's about faith. Even the most jaded of researchers has to believe in something in order to do what we… what you do, after all. It can be reason, or the scientific method, or the greater good, or even God. Seeing us, knowing what we know… well, that would tear the Foundation apart, as they see it. So they keep us quiet and hidden, and make everyone else believe we're monsters. They might very well believe in that themselves, most days. Every once in a while though, they get restless. They think, 'we must have missed something, there must be something more to them than that'. That's when they send someone like you.
I'll tell you what I told your predecessors, and what I told the O5s, at the time. You should be glad. There's nothing for you to fear anymore. All of the things that keep you awake at night, the barely contained horrors that can so easily overwhelm you if you let your guard slip for just a moment? Just let them out. The world will burn, and people will die, and that would be that. It's all the same, after all, and at least that way it will be quick. At least you could sleep soundly, if but for a short while.
Anything else I want to tell you? No, not really. That's it then? Shame. Well, I suppose you have better things to do. Reports to fill, scips to contain, a world to protect. Good for you, keeping yourself busy. Could you do me a favor? Could you get me a ball? A few coins, maybe? Man, I'd kill for a deck of cards. It gets real dull in here, sometimes.

Progress report SCP-447-1-A
Instances of SCP-447-1 continue to exhibit extreme subversive tendencies towards the Foundation and its objectives, as well as displaying the previously observed nihilistic sentiments. Until further notice, all communication with instances of SCP-447-1 are to be treated as unreliable due to the subtle memetic properties inherent to their speech. Inquiries as to the true nature of SCP-447 are to continue at the discretion of O5 Command.


Elise was my only thought. I meant nothing but to have her.
I started with one, one of me, alone in everything, nothing else entering my world but me and a ham radio set, airwaves singing my thoughts to me as they brought voices, friends from every corner of everywhere.
It was my friend. Until I saw her.
She was beautiful, a vision in a blue striped dress at the supermarket, buying milk and flour and sugar and butter and blueberries. I had bought a bag of apples and some Hot Pockets.
I think she was making muffins.
I tried to talk to her, I tried to say hello, but she just smiled and kept walking. She saw me, she looked me in the eye and smiled!
I was ecstatic. I had been noticed. This gave me hope.
I used to read, read books, manuals, scribblings on bathroom walls and sewer tunnels about time and space and holes and loops and exceptions to causality's restrictions. About nuclear munitions and tachyons singing the music of unreality at the tops of their lungs, which are metaphorical of course.
But reading can sometimes lead to inspiration.
As I read, I came back to the grocery store at the same time, same aisle, same bag of apples in my hand, waiting for her to make another batch of muffins, but she never came back, not once, so I'd nearly given up on seeing her again.
And that was when I saw her.
I hadn't had any clue where the courage came from, whether it was the song in my head or the smell of her shampoo or the bag of apples in my hand or the fact that I needed to make this decision quick because I needed to go to the bathroom, but I did it. I asked her to join me for coffee.
We hit it off immediately.
In my shed, I was building, building something groundbreaking and amazing. Something beautiful, something so complex it was a symphony of antennae, transistors, and resistors, a veritable orchestra of electrical parts.
Along with some Caesium.
I knew it would work, even though nobody said they could be reproduced. Nobody said anything about making them outside of an explosion, and even then, they were only born for a fleeting second and then died. They couldn't exist in this world, this plane so alien to their own.
But they weren't motivated by what I was.
She was happy when I asked her out a second time. We lost ourselves in conversation, forgetting the world, time becoming meaningless in the face of our fascination with each other. We ate little, talking through the night about the world, the future, the past, and the present.
We would have all the time in the world.
By the fourth date I had rigged an adaptor into the power substation near the radio antenna. I'd tell her to come with me to see the view, invite her out to watch the sunrise. She was from here, she knew how mind-boggling a sunrise over wheat fields looks.
By the fifth, it was almost ready.
By the sixth date, I told her to meet me at the radio mast at 5:00 AM. Things were in motion, I had set everything up according to plan. All that remained was for me to tell her the words I'd prepared. The words telling her I loved her more than life itself. The words she'd have forever to hear.
She showed up.
The first thing I did, the last thing I did, and the only thing I'll ever do was kiss her, then hit the switch. Then the humming started, and stopped and started and stopped and started, never stopping. The door couldn't be opened.
Then we kissed again, then I hit the switch. Then the humming started, and stopped and started and stopped and started, never stopping.
We tried opening the door when we were done again. It wouldn't budge, it only flickered in the candlelight which came from everywhere and nowhere.
Then we kissed again, then I hit the switch. Then the humming started, and stopped and started and stopped and started, never stopping.
She screamed at me, that she hated me, that she didn't want to die in some shack waiting forever for the sunrise.
Then we kissed again, then I hit the switch. Then the humming started, and stopped and started and stopped and started, never stopping.
I told her it would be alright, that we'd get home somehow. We'd get home soon.
Then we kissed again, then I hit the switch. Then the humming started, and stopped and started and stopped and started, never stopping.
Tachyon emission was only possible in theory, they said. I built one in my garage. I picked up a way to make a moment last forever. And it's true. We have eternity, we can hold each other forever!
We can attempt to undo our wrongs and start over every half hour.
I have no idea how far out the tachyons have reached.
But I know that my love and I are now together forever.
Because I was there the day time died.


Blood has long been regarded as an important part of our rituals. Its powers and properties have been extensively studied by many famous priests. Among the first was the Holy Father Dichardu of Himay, who began his research in the First Cycle of Oyatl.

William did not enjoy his job as a history professor. In fact, he hated it. He hated the repetitiveness; the same lectures, over and over again, given to hundreds upon hundreds of bored, sleepy students every day. There was no hope of newness, of discovery or exploration. He wanted a change of pace, something that was not just about the Fur Trade or the Opium War or the Industrial Revolution. There had to be something more to discover, something that he had not yet stumbled upon.
And that was how William found himself in the University library, peering over mounds of history books, looking for new material to learn from. But there was little promise for him there. Pages and pages of useless, dreary information about useless, dreary events lay in front of him like dead leaves in the fall.
He knew that his passion for knowledge was borderline fanaticism. But he couldn't help that; it was who he was. Obtaining knowledge was exponentially more thrilling and satisfying than anything on Earth. It was better than all the sex, drugs, food, music, and art combined.
William would give everything for knowledge.

He gradually lost all sense of determination for his quest, and drifted away from the dry history books. Wandering between bookshelves, he let himself relax within the comforts of the library. The homely, snug atmosphere eased his mind, and allowed him to forget his troubles.
He found the nondescript black book tucked away in a forgotten corner of the shelf, sandwiched between a dusty copy of E.L. James' Fifty Shades of Grey and a moldy Twilight by Stephenie Meyer.
William groaned. If it had been abandoned here, it must be just as horrible as its neighbours. He took it off the shelf anyways. Who knows? He might be able to get a cheap laugh out of it.
Tucking it under his arm, he went back to looking through the shelves.

And on the Fortieth Length of the Great Siege, Alkri led fourscore of his finest warriors and crept into the city through a secret passage that had been dug underneath the walls. Slaughtering the slumbering sentinels, Alkri opened the gates of Julabin and let his Black Horde into the city. For three Lengths and three Sets, Alkri and his men pillaged and raped and burned, until the mighty Julabins were no more. Thus the Great Siege ended, and Alkri once again led our people to glory.

William slowly lowered the book with trembling hands onto his desk. His face was pale from the lack of sleep and nutrition, and with some difficulty he clamped his tired eyes shut. But even as he saw nothing but darkness, he could still picture the words floating around in his mind.
Creaking out of his armchair, William checked his digital clock. 6:30am, September 21. He had been reading nonstop for the past 60 hours. He needed something to drink. Something strong. William went to go look for vodka.

"Yes sir, her condition is stable now….no, I'm leaving for London tonight…yes, of course…thank you, goodbye."
He hung up the phone. With a heavy sigh, William slowly creaked back to his armchair. He hated lying, but he couldn't go to work. Not when he still had to finish the book. Who cared about English or French or German history when there was still so much to learn about the Daevites? He had read through hundreds, thousands of pages already, but it seemed like he had only just scratched the surface. There was still more to know, more to discover.

Yunoc's banner was designed by Hrusga of Guinen. It depicts three Irun lions guarding the Spear of Uin, with a background of indigo and vermilion. The lions represent strength, courage, and charisma, of which the House of Yunoc possesses in surplus. The Spear of Uin represents Guinen, a city of impressive influence and might from which Yunoc hails. Lastly, the indigo and vermilion background represents Yunoc's respectable profession as a warrior-chanter.

Flip. Page 1877. He kept reading.

He was losing weight. Too much weight, in fact. William had not been a skinny man. But now, he barely pushed a hundred pounds. He didn't care, though. The Daevites were waiting.

The Divine Father then blessed all who knelt before him, and declared, "True sons of Iloquim, you are the Chosen. You are the Blessed. We shall defeat the unbelievers, and take back our Holy City!" And so in the Third Cycle of Kiluya, thirty thousand heroes of Ambuil marched for the unbelievers at Orpija, to reclaim the City of Worms.

Flip. Page 3630. He kept reading.

William hated to leave his study. That would mean leaving the Chronicle, and he hated even the thought of that. But he had to eat. Steeling himself, he dashed to the kitchen.
William finished the hastily-made sandwich as fast as he could, and then rushed back to the book. With crumbs clinging to the sides of his mouth, he eagerly picked it up again.

The Urimbja Ritual is an extremely important tradition, dating back to the time of our King the Okalyt. The Urimbja begins as the Sun climbs over the horizon on the Sixth Length of Yatzel, when the villages still slumber and the cities still dream. This is the time for boys to become men. Those who are of 12 Cycles rise with the Sun, and travel, by foot, to the great Numbik Sea. There, they are to wash in her waters until the Sun touches the great Inu Peaks.

Flip. Page 5936. He kept reading.

William no longer knew the time of day. Was it June? Or August? He didn't care. The smell of the leftovers and dirty dishes piled all around him went unnoticed. Drinking water had become something mechanical: lift the bottle, tilt, swallow, put it back down. His eyes never left the pages.

The women wake before the men, and collect the grain in baskets before heading out to the pens. They water and feed the fowl and hogs and cattle, before attending to the crops. One Turn after the rising Sun, men of the village are roused, and break their fast at the head of the table, joined by the elders, wives, daughters, and sons of the settlement. Then, the men carry their axes and hatchets to the forests, where they cut down pine for fires and elm for the home.

Flip. Page 7851. He kept reading.

William flipped to the next page when he heard a groan above him. Just as he tilted his head up, the water pipe broke, and the liquid spewed into his study.
"No no no NO NO! FUCK."
Frantically, William shielded the book from the water with his body, and raced out of the house. Where could he go? The library? They'd kick him out if they saw him. That's it! His office at the University! William ran, bony legs bending and buckling.

He locked the door and slumped into an uncomfortable chair. But he couldn't feel a thing now. Checking to make sure he had not damaged the book, he continued reading.

Sqelinof was talented from birth. He composed his first melody at 3 Cycles, and his first chant at 5 Cycles. His father did not cut down enough trees for the slates that Sqelinof worked with, so he would inscribe on all the surfaces that he could find. This included the village gate, the garden stones, and the inner walls.

Flip. Page 11,214. He kept reading.

Huik is a small village near the mouth of the Jhefgim River. It was first settled by Linj of Alkrin, in the Eighteenth Cycle of Niklezt. Its nearest city is Proctitu, which grants Huik the right to clear the woods, work the land, and fish the waters of the Jhefgim. In return, Huik is to pay tribute every sixty Lengths, in the form of fifty markeqs of crop and twenty markeqs of cod and trout.

Flip. And then there were no more pages. That wasn't right. It was still unfinished, still more to know! William tore through the book, flipping frantically for undiscovered passages. But there weren't any. He felt tears blurring his vision. No, this couldn't be! There was more. There had to be. More! More! More!
His finger slid over the edge of the page, and a drop of blood fell onto the book. William dropped the volume, shocked and horrified at the possible damage that he had inflicted upon it. Quickly picking it up from the ground, he tried to find the page he had bloodied. But to his surprise, he found instead an unread section.
William was delighted. Just as he was about to settle into the chair again, however, a thought crept into his fuzzy conscience. Blood. He had bled, and the book had given him more to discover. This was too good to be true. Was blood all it took to unlock the secrets of the chronicle? He had to find out if it was so.

Gnihal of Quirtu is commonly credited with the invention of the Enlarger, a device that is now commonplace throughout our cities. The Enlarger is a long hollow rock-tube, with disks of Eilu ice that magnify any object the user wishes to view. However, some claim that it was in fact invented 200 Cycles before Gnihal, by a Lupanion priest named Zikail.

Flip. Page 24,760. And that was it. The back cover greeted William's eyes, like a nemesis that he dreaded to meet again. Fumbling for the knife on his desk, William impatiently opened up the old wound on his finger, dribbling his blood onto the pages. And then he kept reading.

William decided not to use his own blood anymore. He could feel himself become weaker every time he cut himself. And he did not want to die. If he did, there would be no more opportunities, no more chances to obtain more knowledge. But he needed blood for the book. Where could he get more blood? The butcher shop? Then William remembered. The Dean's dog, what was its name? Alto, that was it. It was a stupid little dog. No one would miss it.
William slipped the knife into his coat pocket, and then stepped out of the office, into the deserted hallway.

William was terribly happy. The University was a haven; there was an endless supply of blood for him to use. He would never have to stop reading!

And thus Bjukva claimed, "No warrior shall beat me, no chanter shall sway me, and no maiden shall seduce me! I have been blessed by Thulicn, and my fortitude is strong!" And so as Bjukva challenged those around him, Kilar drew his blade and declared Bjukva a liar. Kilar then beheaded him with one swipe, and tossed Bjukva's head into the swamp.

Flip. He had reached the end. He cursed himself, and then glared with contempt at the vessel that lay on its side by the corner of the room. It hadn't given a lot of blood, even though it had been quite tall for its age. He had to go collecting again.
William slipped the knife into his coat pocket and stepped out of the dormitory. The larger the vessel, the better.

We, as Daevites, are the supreme race. No other can match our glory. Our culture shall be spread by the sword and the spear and the holy chant. We are the Daevites. We are absolute.


My sons have left me.
I was once a proud father of five boys, each with their own great ambitions and plans. As our days went by, the sound of them whispering their plans was sometimes all I could hear. My first son was an unhappy lad, with a vicious streak. He wanted to break men, and see them beg him for death. When he left, it was under the cover of night, never to visit me.
He made his home with a vicious clan of madmen, who shared his bloodlust. Used for an unimaginable number of tortures and slayings, my son made these men his friends, and grew to trust them. He was surprised then, when his blade went dull, they cast him aside for new toys.
Happily, my second son harbored no such ambition. His lot in life was simpler, as he only wished to make men beautiful. I cannot say I completely approved of his lifestyle, but can say that I was happy for him nonetheless.
Sadly, he met his end over a matter of taste. While giving his treatment to a man of different caliber, they had a disagreement over what style to use. It eventually came to blows, and this man knocked my sons teeth out. Never the same, he died broken.
The third boy to leave me was not as determined as my other kin. Spineless and weak, he let others fill him with whatever they pleased, and repeated it to whomever could hear him. His lies were completely transparent, leaving him untrustworthy and useless. The worst came with his judgemental attitude, which made him despised and contemptible. Death came to him through the carelessness of one and the carefulness of another. So I was left with only two kin.
My next child believed cleanliness was godliness. I don't have any memories of him not cleaning something, or trying to keep tidy. It seemed his whole goal in life was to wipe out the literal scum of the earth. Coming to the enemies of my first son, they found ways for him to keep the world clean.
One day, after many years of service, he looked down upon his body to find it ingrained with the very dirt and grime he had worked to wash out over the years. Taking his talents to his own body, he scrubbed and bleached until there was nothing left at all. So, I was left with one.
Now, my final boy was nobody special. All he ever wanted to do with his life was to keep people happy, nothing more and nothing less. When presented to the madmen, they found nothing worthwhile about him. So they gave him to a young man. I'm proud to say, he changed that man's life, becoming his most valuable possession and travelling companion. He saw everything that came from the man's mouth, becoming the keeper of his secrets.
Eventually, most of his bristles fell out and he became a wizened old ivory pick. The young man kept him still, despite being useless in his first path. He was given a new purpose, opening gateways and helping to make the man very wealthy. My son died happy, knowing he had made his mark. I wish I could say the same.
In my cold box, I wait for another to behold me. Although my legacy has died, I live on, sitting patiently and quietly. When the time draws near, they shall see themselves within me, and be struck down by doubt and confusion. My sons may be forgotten, but without a doubt, I will always remember them.


To His Grace, Angelo Sodano, Dean of the College of Cardinals, Cardinal-Bishop of Albano, Cardinal-Bishop of Ostia, Cardinal-Priest of Santa Maria Nuova;
And to His Grace, Tarcisio Bertone, Cardinal Secretary of State, Camarlengo of the Holy Roman Church, Secretary of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Cardinal-Bishop of Frascati;
And to His Holiness, Joseph Aloisius Ratzinger, Pontifex Emeritus Benedict XVI;
And to all other Cardinal-Bishops and Cardinal-Priests of the Holy Roman Church, Catholic and Apostolic, Militant, Penitent, and Triumphant;
Know that his Royal Highness, Eugenio the Second, by the Grace of God, King of the Forest, Lord of the Plains, Duke of the Grand Fir and the Undergrowth, Count of the Swamp, Margrave of the Great Snow-Capped Mountain, Warden of All the Streams and Rivers, and Lord Protector of the Cities of Man, Defender of the Faith, greets you fondly and amiably, as a friend, compatriot, and brother in Christ.
We have watched with great interest recent developments within the Church involving the departure from the Petrine Ministry of His Holiness, Pope Benedict XVI. While we have respectfully disagreed with certain doctrinal notions advanced by the Church in recent decades, let it be said that we hold nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the Vicar of Christ, who by the time this epistle reaches you shall have departed the Holy Office, and trust that his decision to abdicate the papacy is one reached through solemn contemplation and prayer, and which shall ultimately prove to be in the best interest of the Church.
Before we proceed with our purpose for engaging you at this time, we feel it appropriate that we explain ourselves; for our see has for some time been in partibus infidelium and out of contact with Rome, and those who now serve her as members of the College of Cardinals may not be familiar with us. Our kingdom spans the whole of the great forests that stretch across the northwestern regions of the New World (save those regions settled by man, in accordance with the Concordance of Alki; those we merely steward and protect for our subjects traveling therein.) We currently find ourselves in a state of suzerainty to a group of men we suspect to be allied with the Holy Roman Empire (a condition we hope to appeal to whomever shall assume the Holy Office in the coming weeks), and though certain rogue elements that are not worth mentioning here currently present slight difficulties to the execution of our office, we assure you that the legitimacy of our divine right to rule this nation is unimpeachable.
We are a fox, as was our father, and his, and his, and so on unto Time Immemorial, but our nation is not populated only by our own kind. Wolves, deer, sheep and goats, cats, birds of the air and creatures underfoot all number among our subjects; for we accept all within our domain who pledge to obey the laws of our kingdom and keep the love of Christ in their hearts. We have a bishop and priests among us who have maintained the apostolic succession and kept the Gospel and the magisterium of the Church pure and true throughout the centuries, and we have recently acquired a genuine Bible from the men of this region, that we may verify that our teachings have not been in error.
It has come to our attention that within the days and weeks to come, the cardinals of the Church shall convene in Rome, as they have done time and time again throughout history, to determine who shall succeed Benedict XVI in the Bishopric of Rome. It is not our intent to attempt to exert undue influence on the decision of this august body, nor to cajole it, nor attempt to speak on its behalf; we merely wish to make the College aware of certain facts of which, due to the difficulties in communication between our see and the Church, it may be unaware.
There is among our nation a tiger, bearing the Christian name Matthew, who is bishop of our see and the chief instructor and advisor in religious matters to ourself. He is a tiger of humble birth, but great spirit and wisdom. Having been born unto a pagan family in the land of Hindustan, he was merely a child when he was captured by slave-traders and brought to the New World to be made the property of a man living in one of the lands excluded from our dominion by the Concordance of Alki. In time, he made his escape from bondage and found his way into our lands, whereupon our knights discovered him wandering lost, and he was brought before our father, the late Albert VI. Though we do not suffer pagans to live in our lands, our father believed he could be redeemed; and in time Matthew accepted Christ's salvation and was baptized into the Church.
He was ordained to the priesthood the following summer and has since proven the wisest and most pious of bishops that any in our lands can recall having known. He has personally attended to the bringing up of children in the faith, and is an invaluable aid to ourself in ensuring that our rulings and decisions are always just and Godly. It is our wish to suggest that, when the College of Cardinals convenes presently, that Bishop Matthew the tiger be considered and voted upon to become Pope.
We are aware that we ask much of the cardinals assembled, to elect this tiger, however much we might speak well of him, having only just learned of him. If we were able, we would dispatch him to Rome immediately so that the cardinals might learn of him better; unfortunately, due to the circumstances of our suzerainty, it is not possible for him to travel at this time. We offer, therefore, the following three arguments that we feel bear consideration;
First, that the Church has elected no Pope that was not a man. Though we know of none in our lands who lack faith in Christ, we know of a few poor souls who wonder whether a church so dominated by one kind can truly minister to them; and surely, if there are nations such as ours elsewhere in the world, there must be many among their numbers who also have such doubts. By placing Bishop Matthew in the pontificate, the Church shall be able to demonstrate to all that, though it has not shied away from its traditions and its heritage, the Church is open to all, and seeks to minister not only to men, or to foxes, or even to tigers, but to all of God's creations. To show that even the humblest of creatures, born into heathenry and made a slave, can be reached by the Gospel and become the most pious of beings shall prove to one and all that the power of Christ knows no bounds.
Second, that as a tiger brought up as a slave, Matthew shall be able to speak to the Church and to all the world to effect the abolition of that horrendous practice. Though the Church has fought for centuries to abolish that heinous act among men, it has yet done little to end the enslavement by man of his fellow creations. Galatians 3:28 states; "There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." There are many men who do not think of the sins they commit against other beings, because they are ignorant and do not see the spark of the divine within us all; the placement of this tiger upon the papal throne will remove the scales from their eyes.
Third, that it has come to our attention that the Church has in recent years been betrayed by its own, and that a great many ordained to her service have brought disgrace upon the sanctity of their vows, violating the sixth commandment, and engaging in acts of the type not fit to be spoken of among Christian males. We can wholeheartedly assure you that such acts against nature are not committed among our see; and that neither Matthew, nor any of the priests or deacons under him, would ever engage in such deeds. As a tiger uninvolved in these sinful proceedings, nor tainted by association with any involved in their perpetration, Matthew shall no doubt be a powerful force in ridding the Church of such actions as were condemned in Romans 1:26-27.
Again, let us solemnly assure you, on our sacred honor as king and as a Christian, that we do not seek to force the hand of this body or exert any undue influence. We simply suggest, respectfully and humbly, that to place upon Bishop Matthew the responsibility and dignity of the Petrine Ministry would be a wise choice, one which would benefit not only our see, but all of the Church and all of God's children. We trust in the wisdom of the conclave to take their own counsel, and to heed the judgment of the Lord, and thereby to cast their vote correctly.
To this document, we do, on this, the twenty-fifth day of February, in the year of Our Lord Two-Thousand and Thirteen, affix our royal signature;

Memo from Dr. Samesh; The above is a translation of a document written in Latin, found on a piece of vellum hidden in SCP-1845's containment habitat during a routine inspection. Forensic analysis indicates that it was written by one of the raccoons trained to write and function as SCP-1845-1's scribes. A full review of security procedures is underway to determine how SCP-1845-1 became aware of the current papal vacancy and how it intended to send this message to the College of Cardinals. The Foundation's liaison within the Vatican has confirmed that neither the outgoing pope nor any senior members of the College of Cardinals are aware of the existence of SCP-1845 or of any historical alliance between the Catholic Church and non-human sapient entities.


"All right, Campers! Who hasn't fed Big Bear yet? We can't go to bed until Big Bear's nice and full!" At the back of the dining hall, a shy little girl held up her hand. She hadn't said a word since she had arrived at Camp Krakkow, and had spent all dinner looking at her plate. Counselor Dan simply smiled at her. "And what's your name little lady?"
"Mary."
"Well, step on up, Mary! Is this your first time at Camp Krakkow?"
Mary nodded, stepping forward and standing in front of Big Bear, an ornate carving of a grizzly with an open mouth.
"There's a special reason we feed Big Bear every night, Mary. He keeps the camp safe from bad things in the woods. So, whaddaya say?" Counselor Dan stepped aside, handing Mary a small bit of steak.
Mary, standing on her tippy-toes, put the steak into Big Bear's mouth. "Hello, Big Bear." The little girl stepped back, and the carving closed its mouth, its eyes lighting up. Mary gasped. Big Bear was magic…
"All right campers," Counselor Dan said, "The bad things in the woods can't get us now! You're all safe to run around camp at dark, but don't let us catch you!" The campers cheered.

Mary couldn't sleep. She missed her mom and dad, and woke up crying. Why was she here? She knew she asked, but she didn't know she'd be so homesick… and she needed to go to the bathroom.
She stepped outside of the girl's cabin quietly, and onto the lantern-lit walk to the toilet. She was glad Big Bear was watching over the camp; it was scary at night, but the lights and Big Bear made it not so scary.
After she came out of the restroom, she saw something near the path. It was the chainsaw man, from the movie her brother made her watch before she came here, but chainsaw man wasn't real it was just a movie. "Mommy…"
Big Bear came out of nowhere and ate the chainsaw man right up. He then walked with Mary back to the cabin.
Mary woke up just then, still in her bed. She didn't need to use the bathroom, and realized that she had been dreaming. She didn't remember what the dream was about by the time the morning came.

Tuesday was Arts and Crafts. They were supposed to help decorate Big Bear, make him scarier so the bad things wouldn't hurt the camp. She knew it was all pretend, but it was still fun. She got to paint a big scary face on Big Bear's chest, and gave him a medal that said "Best Bear Ever".
Camp wasn't so bad, that night. She slept and dreamed that she was with Big Bear, riding him through the forest and helping him fight the bad things.

Wednesday was a nature walk. It was fun. She found a big footprint that her camp book said was a Bear Track! "Look counselor Dan, look! It's one of Big Bear's!"
"Right you are, Mary! Right you are." He pointed to another footprint next to it, this one a triangle. "Looks like he was going after a bad thing. I hope he got it." Counselor Dan showed them about how to hide yourself from bad bears that weren't Big Bear.

On Thursday, Mary slept. At least, she thought she slept; she couldn't remember doing anything.
Big Bear was gone. Nobody knew what happened. He had just… gone. The counselors said they had called the police, and Counselor Dan was scared of something. Mary didn't know why; it was all pretend. The bad things weren't real.
Counselor Dan did a magic trick after dinner, and made himself fly; it wasn't a very good trick, though. Nobody was around to see it, and you could see him hanging by the rope.
The other counselors said that Counselor Dan had hurt himself doing his trick and had to go home, now. They would be sending the campers home tomorrow.

"I'm here at Camp Krakkow, where dozens of parents arrived this morning to a gruesome sight. Over 50 people are believed to be dead, most of them children. Parents arrived here to pick up their children early after a camp counselor reportedly died of unknown circumstances. The FBI is investigating, as are local police, who refuse to disclose any details, except for the absence of the camp's mascot 'Big Bear', a statue kept in the dining hall. There's a truck pulling up now from the Southern Camping Partnership, which recently purchased Camp Krakkow… Sir? Sir! Wendy Dolittle, Channel 4 News, can we get a comment?"

|Hub|


It was a dark and stormy dawn, with a sky of wet slate. Rain poured down the window, as it had for the last six hours. The clock on the wall said 7:04. Salah hadn't slept since that time yesterday.
That cursed clock. It couldn't be digital, something modern and sensible. No, it had to have a pendulum, swinging back and forth with a loud tick…tock…tick…tock.
He sat in the little waiting room with his arms resting on his knees, holding a half-filled Styrofoam cup of tepid coffee. A half-eaten doughnut lay on the table next to him, near a stack of old Time magazines.
When he had prayed fajir that morning, he had felt nothing. Just as he had every morning since he had seen the Voice. Nothing but a resounding hollowness in his soul as he went through the motions. God was gone. He had watched the Voice be destroyed, and he had been helpless to do anything.
Was there any point anymore? Was the Initiative doing more harm than good? Why didn't they realize what they were doing? Why couldn't he have done something?
Why was it allowed to happen?
tick…tock…tick…tock…
He had spoken with Mary-Ann about it, as soon as he had come home. She had been through her own dark night of the soul. “Nobody else can do it for you, but they can help. You helped me.” That was what she had ended with. He knew it was true, and he knew she would be right there…and yet he didn't feel like he knew much of anything anymore.
Salah truly wanted to speak to Adnan but…that was easier said than done. He was a ghost, here at one moment and gone the next, and contacting him was a nightmare in and of itself.
tick…tock…tick…tock…
Salah half-expected to see a hook on his hand.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
Salah looked up to see Di standing there, arms full of books, as usual.
“Yeah…yeah.”
“Did she kick you out of the room or something?”
“She threatened to make me eat the placenta if I didn't get some sleep.”
Di sat down next to him.
“And you haven't slept, have you?”
“Not a wink.”
“You probably should. You look awful.”
“Haven't been sleeping well lately anyway.”
“Because of what happened with the Wolves?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you talked to Mary-Ann about it?”
“Yeah. She cursed up a storm when I told her.”
“I don't doubt it.”
“I know she believes me, but…I knew. I knew what it was. And they destroyed it. I might be the only person alive who knows the truth, the actual truth…and I can't prove any of it. Maybe I'm going mad.” He sighed. “What do you do, when you can't see a point in it all?”
Di held up a book.
“Right, right.”
Di put a hand on his shoulder.
“Salah, you're going to be a father. If you've got anything right now, it's a point."
So he did. So he did. The little gears of celestial happenings clicked into place then, as a doctor now stood at the entrance to the waiting room.
“You can come in now,” he said.
Wordlessly, Salah stood up and walked down the hall, as if in a dream. Here was the hall, here was the door. Here was Mary-Ann, sitting in her bed: smiling, exhausted. And there in her arms, a bundle of white cloth.
“Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” Her voice was a pure, tired joy.
“Not at all.” Salah stepped over to the bedside.
Mary-Ann gave him an “are you kidding me I specifically told you to go do that” face.
“You're lucky I donated it already,” she snarked. “Come on, you can hold her: She's your daughter as much as mine.” Mary-Ann offered the bundle to Salah.
In an instant, Salah's world became compressed around the little bundle now in his arms. His daughter, with her little balled fists and clenched-shut eyes and the little tuft of dirty straw hair. His daughter, whom he would watch go through diapers and scraped knees and homework and first dates and college and jobs and marriage and children of her own. A whole life in his hands, and all the more precious for how small it was. For a moment, the evils of the world seemed insignificant in the face of the smallest of goods.
His daughter. A little match in the darkness.
“Hey there, sweet pea. I'm your abbi.”
And so Naomi Ibtisam Zairi-Lewitt was welcomed into the world.

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Three weeks into a possible future…

THIS IS A RUSH TRANSCRIPT. THIS COPY MAY NOT BE IN ITS FINAL FORM AND MAY BE UPDATED.
RANDI KAYE, CNN ANCHOR: From CNN world headquarters in Atlanta, this is EARLY START WEEKEND.
(VIDEO CLIP)
KAYE: The island nation of Sri Lanka was transformed literally overnight as an obscure deity claimed rulership over the country and its people. The reactions of those left behind, as well as our continuing coverage of the ends of the world.
And, in Cameroon today, President Paul Biya has officially requested the intervention of the African Union and NATO in dealing with a spate of possessions which threaten to destabilize the nation. What all this has to do with an extinct witch-cult.
And, along with the ascension of Zuhhak and death, it's one of the unavoidables of life. That's right: taxes. But one Silicon Valley entrepreneur is looking to gameify filing tax returns, giving us something to look forward to come April 15th.
It's Friday, March 22th. Good morning, everyone. I'm Randi Kaye. Clifford Schwab is currently on indefinite medical leave due to severe locust inhalation. We wish him a speedy recovery.
We start today in South Asia where an obscure island nation, best known for one of the longest-running civil wars in modern history and its many varieties of tea, has become a literal heaven on Earth thanks to the efforts of an obscure deity.
On Thursday morning, Afanam, the Great Creator, Lord of All Wisdom and Holiness, was almost completely unknown outside of a small group of followers.
By Thursday evening, he ruled over the Indian Ocean island of Sri Lanka, where he had struck down all tyranny and injustice and instituted a new quote "free love and love-all" reign.
Correspondent Gunavati Mahale brings us more.
(BEGIN VIDEOTAPE)
MAHALE: Sri Lanka. The pearl of the Indian Ocean. Despite heated fighting in Bangledesh, the country was relatively untouched by the ongoing religious battles in the region. Until now. At approximately 12:15 PM, local time, Afanam, an almost-unknown god materialized in the offices of Sri Lankan president Mahinda Rajapaksa and claimed sovereignty over the country, demanding that Rajapaksa immediately relinquish control.
Rajapaksa refused and was destroyed by a glance from the deity. Afanam then proceeded to proclaim the entire nation to be his domain, dissolving parliament by erasing both the building and its 225-person membership from existence.
Over the next six hours, numerous radical reforms were enacted, including an end to all violence and inequality, the execution of all tax collectors, the elimination of clothing and all forms of currency.
Next, the god-ruler joined with his subjects in one mind, reportedly informing them, quote "your days of suffering are at an end. Gather around my throne for all eternity, in free and communal love and free from pain and suffering, and sing my praises unending."
The eccentric deity then materialized every one of the twenty million Sri Lankans to the capital city of Colombo, where it allegedly instructed its assembled subjects to, quote "go at it." Early reports suggest that nearly a thousand Sri Lankans died from the initial shock of sudden materialization.
When asked for comment, the spokescrystal for Afanam said the following.
ARANDRALCASE LUBRUSANTIOPALIU, SRI LANKAN PRESS SECRETARY: All is well. The Sri Lankan people have happily begun worshiping the light, perfect and unimpeachable, that is Afanam, as they will do for the rest of time. There is nothing more to be said.
MAHALE: When pressed on how these developments might impact efforts at reproachment between ethnic Tamil and Sinhalese, Lubrusantiopaliu emitted a high-frequency humming that melted all plastic in the vicinity. Immediately afterwards, all journalists found themselves returned to their cities of origins.
Gunavati Mahale, CNN, Mumbai.
(END VIDEOTAPE)
KAYE: Thank you, Gunavati. If you are currently in Sri Lanka, tweet your situation, along with the hashtag #afanamcnn, and give us your take on the events of today.
While Afanam might have come down in Sri Lanka, his most devout, and indeed, only followers were a small group known as "The Followers of Light." Scott O'Hara brings us the other side of the day's most shocking story: that of faithful left behind.
(BEGIN VIDEOTAPE)
O'HARA: It's a bright sunny day here in Pollensbee, Texas. The perfect day for a picnic or tree climbing or a nude love-in. But the atmosphere here at the "Righteous Light" compound is anything but sunny.
SISTER MENSYIA, ANAFAM DEVOTEE: It's just like, a bummer, y'know? Why not us? We're all Afanam's children and whatever, but, like, really?
O'HARA: Despite being the only followers of Afanam, the "Followers of Light" found yesterday morning that the paradise their leader had prophesied had come about. In Sri Lanka.
Starting in 1978, Charles Garrison, a miner-turned-drifter, claimed to have revelations from a god he called Afanam. Despite several run-ins with the IRS and local law enforcement, Garrison, who in 1985 legally changed his name to "The Beloved," continued to attract a following with his message of simple communal living, communion with nature, and free love.
At the time of his death in 2009, Garrison's movement had over two hundred followers, most choosing to live in the "Righteous Light" compound here in Pollensbee, Texas.
However, with the revelation late last night that Afanam had chosen the people of Sri Lanka for his heaven, the fate of the compound and its inhabitants has become unclear. Some, such as Father Leisabu, de-facto leader of the movement, are optimistic.
FATHER LEISABU, SENIOR ANAFAM FOLLOWER: We'll keep soldiering on, definitely… definitely. We didn't stop when the wicked world invaded us in '89 for sharing our love, or when they tried to take more from our old lives. It's like… if Afanam doesn't find us worthy, we'll keep purifying ourselves until he does.
O'HARA: However, others are less sure of themselves.
MENSYIA: I mean, I've been here for, like, ever. And I've lived on the earth and I been simple and I let go of my ego or whatever. So if Afanam doesn't want to choose me, screw 'im. I been doing right according to lots of religions. Wiccans, some 'a the Quakers, Unitarians, probably, all the Buddhists. Hell, I heard the Northern Fifthers are taking anyone they can find. It's a seller's market, man. Unless there's a sign or something, I might just move on.
O'HARA: While the Path of Light claimed to reveal the questions of the cosmos, it hasn't been able to answer one just yet: "What now?"
Scott O'Hara, CNN, Pollensbee, Texas.
(END VIDEOTAPE)
KAYE: Thank you, Scott. Later tonight, be sure to catch Fareed Zakaria GPS tonight at 7 PM, where he'll be asking Kalki, final avatar of Vishnu, what this means for the eschatological conflict raging throughout South Asia.
And, after the break, we'll be taking a look at Cameroon, where a gang of minor deities has been causing chaos through mass possessions. Stick around.
(COMMERCIAL BREAK)

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Book of Movements, Third Gear:
00:01:00 And God was torn into six parts, and those parts were sent to the edges of the world, so that none that knew Its name might recover them.
00:02:00 The parts were carried away as it follows.
00:03:00 The Heart of God, so that It may feed upon the living and unliving, was placed in the deepest of oceans.

august
The last two humans on Earth bowed.
"It is time, Brother Stound."
"Finally. It has been so long, Sister 60th. Why did we have to bear the weight of flesh for longer than all the infidels?"
"No one's pendulum is too heavy. We were to wait until all knew of Its gospel. And now they're ready. We're ready."
"It has been a long road."
"It was. But once the first gear fell into place, it was all inevitable. And all has come around. Engage the Heart."
And SCP-882 was connected to the other five pieces of the Broken God. A dial was turned, and every gear on every being on Earth fell into lockstep.
The noise was beautiful.

00:04:00 The Body of God, so that It may work Its great Plan upon the worthy, was given to the unknowers of the Name, who argued of Its purpose.

july
Remove magazine, put it aside, slot new one in, pull bolt handle. Reposition, aim, pull the trigger.
Agent Friday had been mowing down clockwork zombies all morning, and they still kept coming. She had it down to a science. If they had a human head or heart, pop them open. Otherwise, hit one of their knees and wait for Strelnikov to notice and get them with a grenade. The Russian was having entirely too much fun exploding the meat-brass monstrosities; as far as she could grasp from his butchered English, he believed they came from Chechenya or something like that.
Aim at head, fire. Aim at heart, fire. Aim at knee, fire.
She felt rather safe, really. None of them got less than half a block from the entrance, and even if the hill was remarkably less steep now with all the piled up bodies, they weren't getting any more agile. The prospect of running out of ammo or having to face nightfall were still distant. Just keep firing, and don't let them get to 914. As long as she and Strelnikov kept the things away, and the eggheads downstairs did what eggheads downstairs do, all would be fine.
Remove magazine, put it aside… Ow, that was a sharp edge.
She looked at the gash on her hand, revealing the fine brass gears grinding away the bone beneath. Then she shook her head. Time to do your work. Slot new magazine in, pull bolt handle. Reposition, aim, pull the trigger. As long as each one does their part, we'll be fine.
Aim at head, fire. Aim at heart, fire. Aim at knee, fire.

00:05:00 The Voice of God, so that It may spread its gospel through the unworthy, was spread among the beasts of the field.

june
"We should spread some of the green slime on them." Dr. Zara said, eyeing the giant brass ovoids, silently sporting the history of the Church on their surface.
Dr. Heiden sighed. It was nearly impossible to decode Zara's spoken English, and when you did you wished you hadn't. "Do you know why we avoid SCP cross-contamination, Doctor?"
"To keep Bright from running cage matches?"
"No. Well, it's a fortunate side effect. But it was exactly the Church of the Broken God that got us thinking. What if some of these SCPs are part of a … larger entity? That someone with more sense than us tore to pieces?"
"Pft. The Church is a gang of nutcases with a fetish for wind-up toys. 'Oh, that has gears on it, it's ours.' Next they'll kidnap Dr. Gears."
"Have you read any of the reports, Dr. Zara? They're the number one threat to our operations right now. Why do you think we're here?"
"Don't know, just got shuffled here."
"The Church has commandeered three SCPs in the last three months. Perfect operations, no alarm until it was too late, no casualties on their side. We might not even know it was them, if they cared. It's like they have someone new in charge."
Dr. Zara frowned. "But isn't this—" he pointed at the eggs "— like, their bible? Why didn't they come for this first? Why aren't they coming after it now?"
Dr. Heiden shrugged back. "Maybe they know how well guarded it is and backed off. Maybe they're taking their time."
"Maybe it's a trap."
"That'd —- that'd make perfect sense, actually."
At that moment the Foundation made two important finds: What was inside SCP-1564, and where the Clockwork Virus came from.

00:06:00 The Eyes of God, so that It may see the stars that say when the time is right, were cast upon the highest mountain.

may
a main barrel that rotated once every eight hours turned an escape wheel and the gear train to the ratchet wheel which drives the great wheel through an internal spring this circular spring is inside the great wheel the first pallet therefore moves out of the driving member the ratchet wheel engaging tooth at one end and a cam follower at the same time the other it describes a straight line tangent to the pendulum pushes the pallet makes contact with the wheel as the tooth moves over the impulse plane of the exit tooth can slide over the impulse plane of the exit tooth of the wheel as it engages the escape wheel
"Here it is. Oh, you're beautiful. Brother Vernal, confirm the explosives are defused. Sister Trice, help me open the tank."
the weight continually stresses the spring continues to turn a small amount until the balance wheels impulse pin via the lever fork while pushing the lever up against the exit tooth against the exit pallet jewel after the exit pallet jewel after the exit pallet into the path of the barrel to turn a small amount until the exit pallet into the path of the balance spring pulls it back clockwise and the program wheel in response to rotation of the potential energy stored in the weight system and transferred by the second pallet the first pallet swings down into the path of the rotating escape wheel drops again until the exit pallet into the path of the balance wheel the pallet makes contact with the wheel backwards slightly and contact between the wheel again it makes contact with the wheel again it makes contact with
"Foundation support fifteen minutes away, Father Tempo."
"We can do this in fourteen fifty-nine. Explosives are clear. Brother Fugit, lower the Ark."
in order to maintain a constant velocity ratio with a continually changing contact point diameter the width of each tooth decreases towards its point as the escape wheel that rotated once every minute as two involute gears engage the ratchet wheel which drives the great wheel through an internal spring this circular spring is inside the great wheel through an internal spring this circular spring is inside the great wheel with one end attached to the pendulum provides the precise time intervals isochronously lastly the indicator comprised of it face and hands records how often the escapement wheel controls the transfer of the balance spring pulls it back clockwise and the job of impulsing the pendulum the escapement releasing the escape wheel rotates anti clockwise free of interference
"Brothers and sisters, I shall now open the Ark and bring forth communion—"
when it contacts the wheel and driven by the lever to the great wheel forward during winding while the drive from the escape wheel as it pushes it DAMAGE backwards slightly this releases the second pallet the hinge folds away from one tooth and towards the other pallet is broken both the pallets about their axis which places the exit tooth DAMAGE can slide over the impulse pin via the lever fork while pushing the lever fork while pushing the DAMAGE lever up against the exit tooth of the path
"Father, it's waking up—"
DAMAGE
"Stand clear! Your protection won't last at this range!"
REPAIR ME
"Father, what about you?"
REPAIR ME
"This is my sacrifice and my honor, Children. The communion must be complete!"
REPAIR ME
"Father!"
REPAIR ME
"As the Face and the Eyes and the Mind and the —"
REPAIR M
—
"… Lord?"
I AM.

00:07:00 The Face of God, so that all may know Its glory and wrath, was given to Its greatest enemy.

april
Mr. Brass' head rolled against a corner of the containment room. He could not see much but ceiling and ceiling lighting.
His eye-lights flickered as he tested for anything that might still be attached. Nothing. "W-w-who's there? Guard?"
An unfamiliar woman wearing a guard uniform came into view. "I believe we parted in bad terms last time, 'Mr. Brass'. I'm sorry. We have a much better plan now."
As she spoke, she pulled a pair of glasses from her pocket and put them on. The lenses were clock faces.
He was wrong, she was not unfamiliar. He had just never seen her without the hood.
"No. N-n-not you. Guards!"
"All the guards on this wing are ours. Gears within, gears without. So is the true Way."
"W-w-w…" Gears whirring and a loud CLUNK as one catched. "what are you going to do?"
"We'll not be forcing ourselves on you, this time. We thought you were the Mind of God. Heresy, courtesy of your cursed master 'Wondertainment'. But we do need our possessions returned."
"What possessions? Put me b-b-back on my body. Y-y-your god demands it!"
"You are not God. You were seated on his throne, and we'll be taking that. The true God has been found."
"The true g-g-g- Who?"
The woman leaned down to fill the whole of Mr. Brass' field of view.
"No comment."
His head rolled again, down under the cot. When someone checked in, the woman was gone. So was his body.

00:08:00 And the Mind of God, so that It may guide and rule the world, was cast into the lowest creature, that none may know Its majesty and Its power.

march
The knob-eyes of the voltmeter looked up at the figure on the door.
"Who dares enter the domain of Lord Kickass The Magnawesome?"
"Lord? I'm Brother Tempo. I've pledged myself to you. Do you understand?"
"I am King Pesterbot the Multitudinous. My rage has crushed man and mountain. I will crush you with my manly pincers. I am Wild Willy, the Duke of Crunk."
"… Right. You'll be coming with me. We'll restore you, I swear."
"I am President Superion Prime. Lean down so I may remove your eyes for daring to stare at me. … Unhand me, filthy meat thing! I demand you release me from this prison of … cow leather!"
"Forgive me."


CONFIDENTIAL PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION, DO NOT DISTRIBUTE.
Name: Lee "Kraito" Byron
Clearance: Level 3
Location: Site-19
Date of Birth: 09/18/1959
Age: 49 years, 11 months
Dates of Testing: █-18-██, █-25-██, █-1-██, █-9-██, █-16-██, █-22-██
Tests Given:

Bijhan-Ghost Test of Visual-Motor Integration (BGVMT)
Blast-Glass Psychological Aptitude Scale(BGPAS)
Grungkok Comprehensibility Exam(GCE)
Standard Psionic Resistence Index Testing(PRI)
Mann-Iceberg Scientific Competency Exam(MICE)
Sharpnose Adult Intelligence Scale- Third Edition (SAIS-III)

REASON FOR REFERRAL
Researcher Byron has a documented history of having difficulty working under duress, and due to the nature of his current project it has been decided that a re-evaluation is necessary.
Background Information
Lee Byron is an expert in telepathic phenomenon, having trained under the late Dr. Jagyr. Lee came to his current employment with the Foundation after being recruited from Prometheus Labs in 19██. Since then, he has been instrumental in our research on various Prometheus related projects within Site-19. Since his recruitment, he has received two promotions, and currently has Level 3 clearance.
However, there has also been a history of projects he works on being removed from Foundation study. Of all the projects Researcher Byron has worked on, 11 have been neutralized, 9 destroyed by negligence, and 2 being decommissioned. This has contributed to Lee having a history of depression, which he has had medication for in the past. He is not currently on any medication.
Health/Medical
Lee has reported having a normal birth in the city of ██████, and is allergic to shellfish. The only major medical issue that has come up in recent history is his depression, for which he was issued standard Level-3 personnel antidepressants. He has not been on nor has he requested any type of medication for the past 1 year and 4 months.
Education
As stated above, Researcher Byron is an expert in telepathic phenomenon, after his tutelage on the subject by the late Dr. Jagyr. Prior to his employment with the Foundation, he had achieved a masters degree in engineering and physics. He graduated from his high school in 1976.
Behavioral Observations
During each evaluation, Lee was noted as being lethargic, with slow reaction times and having trouble communicating. Researcher Byron exhibited sudden mood swings, typically manic. Our assessment indicates that Researcher Byron has great difficulty reading body language and did not appear to notice changes in pitch when he was spoken to by the tester. Furthermore, it became evident that he didn't understand the emotional cues of others.
It has been determined that Researcher Byron is suffering from sleep deprivation, and has been given medication and a sleeping regimen to accommodate his schedule. A follow up examination has been scheduled for the upcoming months.

"Lee."
Kraito froze. Someone had said his name. There was someone in his room. Why would there be someone in his room? Could be Masipag… or Cyrus. Hopefully not Cyrus. But it didn't sound like either of them… actually who did that sound like? Kraito frowned. He didn't know anyone who sounded like that. Wait, the lights weren't even on. Why is there someone in the dark? There's only one way to know, so…
His eyes flicked open, and glanced around. The static stillness of his dormitory greeted him, and confused him. Nobody there? Then who had said his name…. maybe it was these new sleeping pills. He never trusted pills.
"Do you remember, Lee?"
Scrambling out of his bed, Kraito pressed himself up to a thin dormitory wall.
"Who's there?" He'd hoped to sound intimidating, but it came out as a whisper.
"Not here to harm. But it is time for the symphony to resume. The intermission has gone on long enough, the crescendo must be reached."
"What… the hell are you… talking about?" Kraito stammered. He was having trouble speaking. There wasn't anything he could remember about this. All he knew was the voice sounded so familiar, and musical.
"The symphony isn't over Lee. It needs its conductor. Will be able to take place, and rise as the final notes are played."
"I… can't…" Kraito could feel the slick wetness of sweat running down his body. This couldn't be true, this wasn't how it happened… he couldn't breathe, oh god… the music… they were singing… it was all in the band.
"Lee, don't you remember, how the children used to sing?"
"I… do…"
"You learned your part so well, Lee. Of course you remember."

The next morning, Lee Byron woke up feeling aches from his back. When he'd eaten his breakfast, he whistled a little tune for himself. He didn't remember where he heard it, but it was a rather nice tune, all things considered. Lee would whistle it all the way to work.

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