There was a stir in the thin, inky void. Two titans clashed, the waves of their battle washing across the endless tide of universes, at a time when all of it was new. This was the first of a conflict that would transcend time and rival creation, again and again.
At the center of their thrashing, the newly made was dashed to dust, drawn into the battle. But further, a vast distance away, the muted heat of their battle washed against countless endless husks. For in this newly birthed creation, not a soul save the two were there to witness.
But this heat turned thin reality's rules, melding together creation after creation. Soon, this molten slurry of reality coalesced into a singularity. Its pull grew stronger and soon the singularity had carved itself a sizable chunk within the void.
Then it began to think. A first.
Then it began to feel. Pain.
Then it began to see. Beauty.
It swelled with pride at as it fully realized itself, its pain now second to the joy it now experienced.
Then the two titan's fists met each others and set aflame every creation.
The singularity shattered in an instant, as every reality shattered, as all that had been was once again set to nothing.
Once more all became one, save a scarlet hate and the two titans. But reaching from the singularity of singularities, a consciousness which had just come into being reached from its depths, its arms not long enough to pull itself out of all that was.
And so it fell.
And fell.
And i-

A man covered in blood and tattoos woke up. He was suspended from a stone pole high above the ground, a chain running around his body, one end in his flesh, the other just above him.
Struggle as he may, the most he accomplished was to make his body dance beneath the sky. Long, black hair covered his face. It hid eyes lit with anger which in turn hid a soul lit with regret.
Below him, smoke and burning embers rose to the top of his pole. Their source was the ground which, as far as the man could see, was burning with nothing but molten rock.
He screamed out a name for none to hear. Had someone been there to listen, they would have heard "Ca-"

Sarah shot up from her covers, her hand slamming down on the blaring alarm clock. Yawning, she got out of bed and rushed downstairs. She was greeted first by the smell of simmering sausages and then by the glowing face of her mother.
"How's my bumpkin this wonderful morning?"
"Mom, you have no idea how excited I am," Sarah said as she hugged her mom.
"You have no idea how proud we are of you," her mom said from the other side of the hug.
From the other side of the kitchen, Sarah's dad came over carrying a pan full of perfectly cooked sausages. "So who's ready for breakfast," he said.
Sarah laughed. "Thank you guys so much."
Her parents both said in unison "Anything for you."
[…]
Sarah grabbed her cap from her mother, who hugged her once again.
"Mom, I'm going to be late."
"Bah, you have 30 minutes to spare and the walk only takes 2. You're fine."
Sarah pried herself from her mother's gift and set out of the door. "See ya later mom."
Her mom smiled as she closed the door. "Bye honey."
Sarah's heart raced as she set off across the lawn and met the sunny day. Taking a moment, she gleamed as she read the sign at their front lawn.

KLHS
CONGRATULATIONS
Sarah
Class of 76

She looked behind her to see her friend calling her.
"Hey, Sarah! M-"

A pale figure sat watching an empty TV. They sat in a tattered armchair surrounded by dust. A beam of light filtered in through a hole in the ceiling. Had the figure been alive, none would have been able to tell. Its chest did not move and a heart did not beat within its chest.
But it was still alive, if just barely. Its arm was outstretched, gripping half of a TV remote. Over and over, it just lifted its finger and pressed the long destroyed power-on button.
The house rattled, wood from the ceiling dropping onto the ground, settled dust spraying into the air, soon followed the sound of a huge explosion in the distance. The hand kept on clicking.
This happened twice more and neither time did the figure stir, not even when a piece of falling plywood tore through its arm and hit the ground. It bled nothing.
A klaxon sounded through the area followed by more booms. Another piece of wood fell, revealing a sky filled with grey and swirling with ashes. It looked almost like television static. The face of the figure was struck, revealing a dry and long rotten face, the torn skin cracking.
These cracks spread across its face as finally it grew aware. It whispered a single word: "Redemption."
Outside, a voice rang out along with the alarm. "THREAT LEVEL: ALEPH. ALL CITIZENS ARE TO MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE N-"

Rosen jerked awake as his head hit his desk. In front of him, the documents for some SCP he had been trying to read through sat. He had been about halfway through the containment procedures when he started to feel the effects of his all nighter and had just finished them when his eyes closed.
He yawned and stretched his arms as he stood up from his chair. Looking around the white room, he noted once again just how boring the windowless office space 50 meters underground was. Sighing, he headed towards the bathrooms towards the front of the space.
A co-worker making his way towards him caught his attention. His name was Steven and right now Rosen did not want to deal with him. Hoping that Steven hadn't noticed him yet, Rosen cast his gaze towards the ground and quickened his pace ever so slightly, hoping Steven would just walk by.
Steven had other plans. "Hey Rosen, what's poppin?"
Rosen faked a smile as his heart dropped. "Ha ha, you know, nothing much."
"Woah man, you look kind of like shit."
"Well, you know, reports to type, real life to deal with, didn't get much sleep last night."
"Yeah man I feel ya. Speaking of reports, how's your current one coming along?"
Rosen thought back to the empty document on his screen. "Pretty nicely, hoping I can knock it out early and get some sleep tonight."
"Hell yeah man, you do that. But if something happens, seriously, don't worry about it, I ca-"
Rosen cut him off. "No, no, it's fine, I said I'd have it done tomorrow, I'll have it done tomorrow. I know it's important to you."
"Alright man, whatever you say. I gotta get going, but best of luck with it and thank you much for helping out."
"Yeah, of course. See ya."
Steven went on his ways past Rosen, cheery as can be. Rosen's smile dropped as he thought about the prospect of another sleepless night.
Arriving at the bathroom, Rosen made his way to the urinal as the automatic light flicked to life.
He closed his eyes as he peed, taking in the flickering of the lights, the commotion of hushed voices and footsteps outside, and the…
Rosen's eyes peeped back open. The halls were never busy this time of the day. He quickly zipped himself up, washed his hands, then silently opened the door.
People in white labcoat and black armor streamed by, putting as much distance between them-self and whatever was happening on the other side of the hallway.
"Hey, what's going on?" Rosen hissed to the passerbys. He was met with a couple 'shhhs' and his question still unanswered.
Just then, red lights came to life on either side of the hallway. A robotic voice rang out. "All personnel, please make your way to the nearest shelter. This a Level 3 containment breach. Silence is to be maintained as much as possible. Thank you."
Rosen stared, dumbfounded as he saw the lights on the other side of the hallway cut out one by one.
"Oh, you have go-"

John snorted as a voice called him out of his light slumber. "We're here, sir." He was in a black car with a rather cramped interior. John opened the door, giving the driver a thanks as he stepped out.
Outside, the night was lit up by the thrumming of New York City. In the distance, the shell of the empire state could be seen, construction halfway through. On the other side, silent waves formed and crashed against the harbor.
John took out a cigar and lit it, taking a moment to admire the view. He turned his attention to the cars and policemen crowded around a warehouse.
"John!"
A man called out from the middle of the thrumming crowd.
"John, over here!"
John made his way over to the man calling his name. Joining him, John and the man walked through the small crowd and into the cordoned off circle of the warehouse. "Alright Clyde, what's the scoop here," John asked.
Clyde, a handsome man with a square face and round nose, put his hand on John's back. "We thought they were just a bunch of wackos squatting in the harbor but turned out the owners of the harbor were in on it to."
"And where are they?"
Clyde gestured towards the door of the harbor, sliding it open. "They're in here."
They walked into the dark interior, where Clyde made his way towards the right side. "One sec, I'll hit the lights." After a couple seconds of fumbling, there was an electric woosh and the warehouse was swamped with bright light.
John surveyed the scene in front of him. White tiling covered the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. Sliding doors and additional glass cubicles were cropped up around the area, almost like a chess board.
"What is this place?" John asked.
Clyde walked over. "We're not exactly sure. When we first wind of this place, we thought it was a drug operation, so we got a force and busted down their doors. The problem was when they started shooting back with a lot more firepower. If we didn't have numbers the force would have definitely been wiped out."
He walked to one of the glass cages. "We don't know who they are or what exactly it is they're doing, but one thing is for certain: it isn't drugs." As he said this, he took out a small plastic card and slid it across the keypad by the door. "They've got money and technology way beyond us. But that isn't what's interested me."
The glass doors slid open to reveal a pedestal with a small box on top of it. As John approached it, it lit up green and revealed a holographic display.
John turned back to Clyde. "What is this thing?" he asked.
Clyde shrugged. "Not exactly sure. But whatever it is, they called it euclid."
John turned back to the display, which only showed a shield with three arrows pointed inwards. "And they have more of this stuff?"
Clyde walked out of the room. "Every single one of these things has stuff inside of it. There's a second floor, too. One of the guys that's where they stored the 'keters,' whatever those are." He paused then turned back to John.
"Look, John, I don't know what these things are but I know one thing: they're not normal and if it weren't for these guys all this shit would be who knows where in the world."
John glared at the screen for a second then turned back to Clyde. "I know. And it isn't just these guys or these objects. A man who can't be shot or a liquor gang of wizards, the worlds been getting weird recently." He took out his cigar then threw it on the ground. "I've been gathering support for a unit to deal with these kinds of things. Better funding, better weapons, better intel. Devoted solely to protecting our nation from threats like these."
"And you want me to join?"
"It would be dangerous. Who knows what's out there, who doesn't want to be found- and what exactly they're willing to do to make sure they stay that way."
"You know I'd do anything for you, Hoover."
"Yeah, except calling me 'Hoover.' You know I don't like you calling me that."
Clyde cracked a smile. "Well, let's get going. The b-"

Its peace had been disturbed. In a rocky, primitive mind, only relief was wanted. It couldn't move, not yet. It was held in place by something.
This something had been encountered by it many times before. It seethed with anger and rage as its dreams had been disturbed. Now it was locked in here.
It saw brown and red and orange. The orange. Such a familiar color. A color which had, time and time again, locked it down, causing it to come crashing down from the heavens back to whatever this place was.
It much preferred the sight of home, of an endless grassy plain to run around in. A place to sleep however longed it wished, to eat from the ground whatever it came across.
The air hurt and stung here. It was cold. And no matter how hard it tried, it could not move an inch.
So it didn't. Angry as it was, it also new patience. So it sat, waiting and hating.
Then an opportunity. A small, fleeting moment. When it was still in that dreadful place but it could move.
So move it did, approaching an orange something in an instant, and there it wrapped its fingers around its neck and squeezed until it bro-

An owl opened its eyes upon the branch of a snowy tree. It gave a silent hoot to a passing moon then set to flight, talons ready for the prey it had just spotted.

He awoke.
He wasn't sure what that meant. Last he had known he had been doing…something. Existing, it had felt like, but it was distant. Almost like…a dream.
He was startled for a moment. He didn't know what a dream was. But the word had popped into his mind and it felt so perfect.
He had been dreaming. He looked around his surroundings. Another word flitted into his mind: alley.
That's where he was. He looked down at his body. More words went in and out of his mind: suit, gray, tie, blue, shoes, legs, arms. He closed his eyes. It was a bit too much too quickly. With his eyes closed, he explored his mind.
It was empty. Looking through his past, the last 2 or so minutes had been just about the totality of his existence. But that felt wrong. There had been something before, he was sure of it. So he dug.
But as he dug, images flipped through his mind. A first puppy, the death of a loved one, running a sword through someone's chest. They were there, clear as day. Memories.
Consciousness.
But they weren't his. He hadn't done this. At least, not while he was awake. Opening his eyes again, he realized they must have been dreams.
They still didn't answer any questions. Slowly, he got up from the ground. He looked around and took it all in. He noticed that the words and meanings that flickered through his head were also dreams. They came from other places and other people. But now they were his.
Hat. That word struck his mind as he saw a gray fedora sitting on the ground right next to him. He put it on and felt…right.
He still had questions. Looking out of the alley, he seemed to be in an endless city. His dreams told him that there should be honking cars and people but the only population right there was silence.
And there was the issue of who he was.
He wanted answers and he was going to get them.
So he took his first step.
Then set out to find out why.


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Sevens sat at her desk, with her friend Pop— a little green strainer— resting up against her computer monitor. He spoke, shaking a bit. "So, we actually get a break for once?"
Leaning back in her chair, she kicked her legs up on her desk, groaning as she stretched her arms. "Yep… No plastic, no paper, nothing to do but relax…"
"Hm…" Pop paused for a moment, thinking. "I wonder if I can even sleep. I haven't really tried."
"Go ahead, I'm probably going to take a little nap too!" She closed her eyes, shifting her body into a comfy position. "Goodnigh—"
"Sevens!!!"
Her eyes shot open to see a familiar man burst through the door— the man who had first ordered her to start the plastics business— but he had a chef's hat on. "What?" she sighed.
The man pulled a red cherry pie from behind his back, exclaiming, "I have a job for you! S&C Pastries!"
He shoved the steamy pie into Seven's hands, which she instantly dropped, burned. "Jesus, you could at least wait for it to cool!"
The man ignored her, instead demanding, "Make it real!"
As the man ran off, Sevens blinked, staring into space for a moment before looking down at the pie she had dropped on the ground, then at Pop. "Will we ever catch a break?"

As a demo run for their new business, Sevens and Pop ran around Site-87 handing out painstakingly baked homemade brownies. It had taken them hours to get the recipe right, and everyone loved them!
But then Sevens saw the man approach once more. She held out the pan of brownies, "Try one, they're good!"
Instead of taking up her gracious offer, he slapped the pan out of her hands, spreading the now-ruined brownies all over the filthy floor.
While Sevens was speechless, Pop spoke up, "Whatever was that for?!"
"Sevens!!!"
The man screamed right into her ears, causing her to flinch. "S&C Pottery!" he exclaimed as he pulled out a small clay pot, shoving it into her hands.
As he walked away, Sevens could feel her eye twitch.

"How does he expect us to do this! Baking, sure, it's easy, but pottery!? I can't believe him!" Sevens ranted to Pop, whom was sat on her desk.
"Well, I personally think that it could be kind of fun—"
The poor old man was interrupted by Sevens, whom continued with her frantic tirade. "Who does he think he is!? Just coming in here and demanding me— a Head Researcher of all people— to do this dumb, trivial grunt work! First it's S&C plastics, then paper, then pastries, and now pottery?! What's next, S&C p—"
"Sevens!!!!!"
"Fucking…"
The man kicked the door down, twirling through it before reciting a short rhyme:
"I have a venture just for you
You may just have to start anew
So that we earn money & don't grow hungry
Let's start with S&C Poetry!"
Just as quick as he arrived, he turned around to leave.
"No." Sevens said.
The man paused and turned around with a piercing glare. "What did you just say?"
"I said no."
The man took a step forwards. "You will follow my S&C Procedure or else you will get S&C Punished."
Sevens chuckled, mocking him. "Why do you keep adding S&C to everything? Because you're an S&C Prick?"
He took another step forwards. "Get. Started," he said before walking away.

"Sevens!!!!!"
No…
"Sevens!!!!!"
Just…
"S&C Potatoes!"
Stop it…
"S&C Paints!"
Stop…
"S&C Piracy!"
I can't…
"S&C Purgatory!!!"
"Stop it!!!!!" Sevens shouted as she woke up in a cold sweat, panting as she realized that she was at her desk.
"Did you have a bad dream?" Pop asked, concerned.
"No, not just a dream…" Sevens stood, her eyes wide as she looked over at the green strainer. "It was a nightmare."

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Krona Midaeus cast her gaze around the fluid reality surrounding her, brief ideas forming and dissipating before taking shape fully. She was no stranger to lucid dreams, but the experience always took a few moments to get used to. Krona decided that, even if this wasn't her physical body, she needed to sit down for a second. A bench manifested behind her, and she took a seat.
Her eyes were closed when she realised that she wasn't alone any more. A strange experience that, knowing that you're not the only conscious being inside your head. Nevertheless, when she opened her dreaming self's eyes once again and looked to the right, she observed a suited man lighting a cigar.
"You know, it's rude to appear in a girl's head without buying her dinner first."
"Apologies, you understand how that might be difficult to achieve when one doesn't exist physically." The suited man turned to look at her, his face obscured by the fuzziness of a dream. "You know who I am, I take it?"
"I know what you are, nobody knows who you are."
"Good answer."
The suited man turned back to observe the dream space, as a large bird or possibly plane appeared over the horizon. "Call me Richard."
"Alright then. What have you come to portend, Richard?" Krona tried to keep herself composed, but it's not every day that a Keter class comes to visit.
"Someone in your little facility has made a critical error. If you do not address it in the next two days, you will be killed, alongside everyone in Site-34, the state of California, and the veil will be irrevocably breached for a hundred years to come."
Richard took a long drag on his cigar.
Krona took a moment to take in all of the information, wishing she had a better memory so that she could record all of this information later. Unfortunately for her, the suited man was not done.
"I don't even believe you've given the offending object any special containment procedures? Simply another curiosity to be put in a standard locker alongside all of the rest. That little curiosity is an anchor… Actually no, more accurately it's a parasite, latched on to your reality like a leech. If it is allowed to persist, will consume your reality at an exponential rate until it is finally destroyed with a stolen eiganweapon by the Global Occult Coalition."
Krona shook her head as she tried to contain all of the information she was being given. She sighed and prepared to ask the question that so many before had asked.
"What can I do?"
"You have two options, destroy the anomaly, or revise its containment procedures in such a way that it can't drain everything. Regardless of what you choose, it's time to wake up."

Two days had passed since her encounter with SCP-990, and Krona was now stood in the anomalous objects storage vault. In spite of her best efforts, she couldn't find any way to contain the object that didn't require massive human sacrifice, not without knowing more about how it worked. D-class may not be treated like people at times, but that doesn't mean they didn't deserve to live.
So instead she opened the unlocked safe, and picked up the object in her free hand. It floated a good half inch above her palm, as if contained in by an invisible sphere, and placed in on the floor. What she was about to do would save millions, but nobody except for her and Richard would know of it. Instead, she would probably get reprimanded for destroying an anomalous object without proper reason. She took her sledge in both hands, and with a grunt of exertion struck the object on its invisible edge.
Reality flexed under the pressure of the hammer blow, and for a moment Krona was transported back into the dream. A galleon sailed on an invisible sea of bones, with herself tied to its mast. She strained against the ropes holding her there until they stretched like chewing gum, and she was once more free to swing the weapon of mundane destruction at the orb on the deck in front of her. The air shifted again, and Krona found herself ensnared in the thick undergrowth of a jungle. Unidentifiable creatures crawled all around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, and in her mind saw the sphere's unseen but clearly damaged exterior. The metal 'surface' inside burned red in anger and rage that she would dare to try and bring harm to it. Krona did not care, and she tore through the thick vines that ensnared her, and once more struck the sphere.
Finally she was returned to the storage room, wearily holding her bending sledgehammer above the nearly broken object. The cracks spread like a spider's web across its invisible surface, in fact slightly beyond it, almost fading out of the air as though the lines of the crack were seeping deeper into the universe.
Krona threw her broken tool to the side, and stepped up to the object with a determined look upon her face.
"Get stuffed." She said, stamping the object into non-anomalous shrapnel.


There are thousands upon thousands of stories about Te̮la the huntress, for every slave of Daevon when they tell them tells them anew, and that number is always increasing.
Here is only one, that tells of only one of her exploits, and how she tricked her pótnya and thus saved her life and her reputation besides.

Once, in the ancient days, Te̮la emerged from the forest and came again to the city in the south. Now it was the middle of the summer, when the nights are short and blue and all the birds and insects are in full flight, and Te̮la had had much success in her hunting as the furred animals small and great emerge to chase them and to eat the fresh shoots according to their type. So, even though her desire was ever towards the northward hills and the vast forests that covered them, her heart was high as she walked, for she enjoyed the season of summer and she expected that her pótnyā would be pleased with the furs she was bringing back.
Thus laden, she passed through the gates of the city, and came to the estates of her pótnyā, and there she delivered much of her bounty to those in charge of keeping her pótnyā's wealth, and she entered the palace to present herself again. And at the bidding of the guards she was brought before the pótnyā where she sat on her throne.
There Te̮la bowed low, rough and placeless in that great hall filled with fine silks and gold ornaments and floored with marble, and abased herself before her pótnyā. “O my pót'yā,” she began, “kindest of mistresses, whose beauty is above every gem of the earth. I come to tell you that I have returned with fine furs for your pleasure, and these I have left with your storekeepers so that you may see my word is true. But for you especially, and in gratitude for your keeping, I would present to you the red auroch, that you may see and may know how fine the gifts of the wood are.” And she removed this fur, which she had kept apart, and presented it to her pótnyā.
Her pótnyā was pleased, and said, “You have done well in my sight today. To my storekeeper I will go later, and retrieve the rest of what you bring me.”
And Te̮la rose, and turned to go. But she heard behind her her pótnyā order “Stay,” and so she froze there, all her pride draining away in expectation of the demand.
And her pótnyā said idly, “I have heard,” and she drummed her nails on the arm of her chair, and the sound of them was like the clatter of bones, “that in the forest to the north there dwells a deer, mightiest of all the creatures of the wood. It is said that it stands over man-height at the shoulder, and has a coat of burnished-wood colour. It is spoken among the hunters of both high and lowly status, who say that it can run fleeter than any arrow, and evades all their traps, and so they claim that such a deer cannot be caught by the hand of any man. But for you, my best trapper, I know such a thing would be no hardship. So for my next task I set you to capture this deer, and you will bring it back to me, to be kept captive with my herds, for I would possess such a creature. And you shall do it before the next moon has waned.”
And Te̮la left in despair, for even could she find a single deer among the whole forest, if the hunters' stories were true how could she capture such a creature? And behind her her pótnyā laughed to herself, for she knew Te̮la would never find what she had been sent out to seek, and thereby she would break the pride of her slave.

Taking up again her bow and spear, Te̮la went out from the palace and out onto the grounds about it, and there she sought her brother, Sükni. Unlike her he did not leave the city and travel through the hills and mountains, for his skill lay in the gardening and the tending of crops rather than in the trapping of prey. And she found him in the orchards of the estate, trimming the coppice orchard for kindling and for withes for craft. “Brother!” she called out, running between the trees to greet him, and at the sound of her voice he laid down his billhook and turned towards her.
“Te̮la!” he responded, and drew her into an embrace. “You have come back!”
“I have,” she agreed.
“And you are well?” Sükni asked, stepping back and taking her face between his palms.
“Yes,” she answered, “but I fear not for long. For the pót'yā has demanded of me to go north again and hunt the greatest deer, the one in all the hunters' stories, the one glimpsed but never seen fully, the one pursued but never caught, and she has commanded it be done before the next moon. And I do not believe I shall be able to do such a thing, and even if I do I would regret it the rest of my life, for such a creature as the deer of stories deserves never to be laid in any bond. Yet if I fail surely she will kill me.”
“Do not be so afraid, sister,” said Sükni. “Walk with me.” And so throughout the rest of the day they took counsel together, as Sükni continued with his work of trimming the coppices and binding the withes so that they could be laid upon the ass he led as a beast of burden and brought to the stoves and craftsmen that would have the use of them. And at the end of the day Te̮la took her leave and returned north to the woods, to begin her hunt.
There she set her traps, and her deadfalls all in a wide circle, and she baited them with salt and with bone ash. Then she took her bow and spear and settled herself down far from the circle of traps, and she waited. Through one day and a second she made her camp there and waited, and was passed by the red and roe and reindeer all, but none matched the description in the stories, and she did not attempt to capture any. But Te̮la was a patient hunter, and so she was content to simply wait there.
Eventually, however, she saw the faintest movement in the woods, and heard the slightest brush of undergrowth, and hardly breathing she stilled further, and watched what stepped then into the clearing before her.
Its coat was the colour of burnished pine-heartwood, and beneath the scarless fur it walked with a smoothness like frogs swimming through oil. Its antlers were the shape of a man's outstretched hands and yet stretched wider than Te̮la's entire span, and a single gleaming black hoof would have taken both her hands to hold. There could be no uncertainty: this was the deer of the hunters' stories, and the one that always got away.
And Te̮la knew the tongues of all the birds that fly through the air and the animals that run upon the mould, and so she made no attempt for her bow or her spear; “Elder brother,” she greeted it, fairly as any.
Younger sister, she was answered. What are you waiting for here, far from your traps? It came forward, for there was salt still upon her hands and upon her clothing, and delicately licked it off.
Te̮la sighed. “My dearest brother,” she said, “I would rather not be here at all but in the companionship of my other family, but my pót'yā has given me an order for your capture. This I am not willing to do, because I refuse to bring any others into captivity along with myself,” and here she showed her collar, “but if I do not return with you bound surely she will slay me or set me to torment forever.”
Fear not, younger sister, it told her. I see your will in this is not your own, and it is as wrong that you be slain for my freedom as I be captured for your life. Since you have not touched your bow or spear, I will come with you to the south, to prove your worth to your mistress.
So for the look of the thing Te̮la wove a halter out of beaten nettle stalks, and the great deer suffered her to place it about its neck, and it followed her south as would any domestic reindeer. Indeed, so that they would make better time and Te̮la could be more speedily returned to Sükni's company it even suffered her to ride upon its back as upon a horse, and this way they returned through the woods to meet the road built that led back to the city.
Well before the gate she dismounted from its back, for to ride upon any beast of burden would have been a great affront in the sight of the pótnyāt and freeborn of the city, and she led the deer to her pótnyā's palace again to show it before her. “Here is the quarry that you desired,” she said, “and I have captured it and brought it to you just as you asked.” And Te̮la knelt, as it was demanded all slaves do before their pótnyāt, and she folded her hands in the gesture of submission, as was again demanded of all slaves. And thereby she released the halter that she held.
It was well that Te̮la had knelt then, for the instant that her hand left the rope the great deer wheeled, its hooves flashing through the air just above her head as it kicked out at the pótnyā and all her servants and guards, and these fell to the ground to avoid the blow. Swifter than any other of the creatures on the earth it fled from there, hooves thudding against the ground like the march of a host of men, and disappeared into the woods, and though the guards chased it in accordance with the stories they could not catch it.
And all the servants and attendants were in disarray, and her pótnyā was angered much at the escape of the deer, yet at the last she had to admit that Te̮la had done as she asked, for her orders had been but to capture the creature and bring it before her, and no mention had been made of holding it after. So Te̮la was begrudgingly spared her life for the moment, yet her pótnyā sought another excuse to have her slain for failure, and so she said, “I have a second task for you, trapper, and if your skills availed you to catch the deer of the hunters' stories this second one should be no great thing. The forest in which you hunt is fruitful, and it provides you with much prey to bring back to me. I would have you carry back your forest from the north mountains, that I may keep it as a part of my estate and that the bounty therein may be mine. And you must bring it back to me within the bag that I shall give you.” And she produced for Te̮la a skin bag, scarcely more than a span in both length and width, and she said, “Surely you shall find this task easy to fulfill - trees, after all, cannot flee.”
And in despair Te̮la took the bag and departed, for without all the power of men and horses at her side how could she hope to uproot even the smallest of spruces, and even could she remove a tree alive how could she hope to fit it in the skin, and there were many millions of trees in the forest besides. So, seeking advice, Te̮la went out to the estates and orchards again to find again Sükni her brother, and she found him in the fruit orchard, searching within the trees for the webspinning worms that would blight the crop.
“Sükni!” she called, and in a shower of lichen and bark he dropped down from the branch upon which he stood and came to greet her, and they embraced.
“You have returned,” he said.
“I have,” she answered, “but I am afraid I must leave again in haste. For the pót'yā has given to me a new task, and this one is even less possible than the first. For she has demanded that I bring back the entire forest for her within this bag,” and here she showed it to him, “so she may have the hunting and all the wood within for her own. And this I know I cannot do, for even if I could uproot one tree there are trees in the forest beyond counting, and not even the smallest sapling would fit in this bag.”
Throughout the rest of the day they walked in the orchard in counsel together, and at the end of it Sükni bid her leave and begin upon her pótnyā's task, and as always he asked her to promise to return to him. She made the promise, and as she turned to go Sükni took from the tree above him a red apple, smooth and unblemished, and he placed it in her hand. “The very first of the year,” he said. “I give you all my luck, sister, and may you return speedily with what you seek.”

And Te̮la left, and set her feet upon the northward road back towards the forests that were her home. She walked until the night fell, and the moon rose full and white into the heavens, and there she made her camp at the edge of the road, and wrapped in her blanket under the stars she did not sleep, but pondered further on the task she had been given and any means by which she could achieve it. Out from her pack she drew her brother's apple and ate it, even down to the black seeds within the core, and the thin bit that she could not eat she left for the fieldmice and the songbirds. The following day she went on again, until the road dwindled to a track and she entered the pathless woods.
The woods were still green with the heat of the summer, and the ground was overlain with soft mosses and tall grasses, and yet as she wandered among the trees and boulders and clear streams, listening to the calls of the birds and the scurrying of small animals in the leaf mould, Te̮la could take no pleasure in the woods as she had before, anticipating her failure and the punishment that would follow it. And she sat herself down below a wide-spreading maple to think on her unhappiness.
But the forest was not unaware of her coming and her distress, and the wind rustled through the leaves above her, and as Te̮la knew the speech of animals she also understood that of plants, and they spoke to her with the wind. Ni̮lyuka, the trees whispered to her. Te̮la River-daughter, we will tell you what to do. We will grant you that which you seek, so that your mistress be not wroth with you, and spare your life. And with the aid of the trees Te̮la's bag was filled to bursting, and she turned to return to the city.
Again she went to the palace and again she came before her pótnyā, and bowed low before her, and said, “O my pót'yā, I have returned, and I have brung with me that which you sent me out to retrieve.”
And her pótnyā said, “Is this so?” for she had known the task was impossible when she set it.
And Te̮la said, “It is.”
“Show me then,” demanded her pótnyā. So Te̮la lifted up the skin that sat at her hip, and she unfastened a toggle and opened the flap.
And out of the skin spilled seeds onto that marble floor, many hundreds of them, paper-thin seeds of pine and spruce, the round brown of the hazelnut, the shrivelled red of rowan berries and the small black seeds of the hawthorn, the winged seeds of the fir and maple and the pale birch-nuts, long flattened ashseed and the round walnut kernel, the minute nut of larch and the lime on its fine stems, the dark powdery spores of ferns and kernels of the grasses, and also the fine coin-like seeds of the elm. And Te̮la said, “I have brought to you your forest, o my pót'yā. You only must wait for it to grow.”
And her pótnyā was angered, and yet was forced to admit that Te̮la had done as she asked. But she said, “I have a third task yet for you, my faithful servant. I am sure you have seen the lights that fill the sky on the nights, and yet are never steady as the sun and moon, and appear and disappear within the blink of an eye. I would have you bring me back a little of that light, that with it I might light my halls until within my court it should never be night, and I be known among all the people of the city and all the cities of the land. Perhaps it will be a meet test for your skills, to pursue a prey so fleet as this.”
And Te̮la rose and left the hall in despair. She did not know the place at which the lights came down close enough to the earth for her arrows, traps, or lassoes to touch, and even if she could find such a place light is immaterial and can be trapped by no trap and lain in no bond. As before she went out through the estates, and passed the lanes and hedges and gardens, the pools built for the delight of those who dwelt there, and she came to the orchards, but they were empty.
And she walked along between the rows of coppice and of fruit-trees, and of trees for timber, and still saw nobody, and she feared that she would have to leave without saying farewell to Sükni. At last, however, she came to the small shed that marked the boundary of field, tended land, and wood, and she opened the door and looked in, and there within she found him, and he was hard at work cleaning and plaiting garlics for storage for the coming winter.
But at her entry he dropped his work, and rose, and embraced her joyfully. “Te̮la!” he cried, as she was enveloped in the warmth of his arms and the scent of garlic. “You return again.”
“I do,” she said, and she told him the entire tale of how she had achieved the second of her pótnyā's tasks. “But she has set me a third,” she said, “and this one is the hardest still. For she has demanded that I find her a portion of the light of the north, and bring it back to her so that she may light her halls with it. But even if I could find the place at which the lights draw near to the ground, surely I would have no way of capturing them to burn forever, because light,” and here she held out her hand in the ray of sunlight slanting in through the single window, showing how it fell honey-yellow over her palm and was yet intangible, “cannot be held by any means.”
And they took counsel together there throughout the rest of the day, and Te̮la lent her hands as well to his duty, and by the end of their speech there remained no raw garlic left, and Te̮la arose and took her leave of him, and they embraced once again. “I cannot tell you exactly what to do, sister,” Sükni said. “But you have all my luck once again, and I hope to see you return soon.”

So Te̮la left the city for the third time upon her pótnyā's errand, and took the road to the north into the hills. Her path tracked ever northwards, for that was the region from which the lights would always proceed, and so it took her up until she reached the high plateaux, where snowfields remained even in the summer and fed the rivers that flowed down along the hillsides. And she came upon the headwaters that braided over gravel bars in the highlands, and sat herself down beside it to think on her task.
“River,” she said, “have mercy upon me, Te̮la Ni̮lyuka who has always honoured you. Show me how I may fulfill my task and thereby save my life.”
The river did not answer her with words, for although Te̮la knew the speech of animals and the speech of plants the speech of the waters remained wholly unfamiliar to her. But its noise and its onward rushing stirred in her heart, and so she rose again, and began to follow along its path. Long was the journey, and many days and many nights she travelled, stumbling over stones and trudging through moss and drying brush in the beginning of the year's waning. But the river provided her with fish as food, and within the forest there were still many nuts and the late berries flourishing, and ever above and before her as she went on the lights of the north flickered and danced in their myriad of beams and their thousand fires, a temptation and a taunt both for her.
As she journeyed the river, which had in the hills been deep and fast and filled with spray, began to slow and widen, until it was a width that no known builder could bridge, and at last Te̮la came to the edge of the forest, and she crossed the strip of scrub and fen that bordered it, and looked out upon the north sea. Beneath the grey clouds its waters were the blue-brown of a new-formed bruise, and it filled all the air with the scent of salt, and its edge was inhospitable rocks. And seeing that she could go no farther, there Te̮la made her camp among the stones.
She burned brush for her fire that was so encrusted with salt that the flames danced blue, and as the sun went down and the clouds began to dissipate in the pink twilight she listened to the endless lapping of the waves and the crying of the seabirds over it. And eventually the twilight too faded, and it was night, and sky and sea both lay black as black. Her fire burned lower, and Te̮la was afraid then, both of the vastness of the sea and of the likelihood of her failure, and she wondered if it might not be better to remain there in the treeless north until she died, so as not to face the punishment of her pótnyā.
But the light of the north came to her once again, burning blue and green and red above her, so that all the world was illuminated with their light. Te̮la left her fire and approached again the shore, hoping against hope that they would dip there and touch the earth, for there was nowhere more north that she could walk in search of them. As she approached the waters, the light grew brighter, and she saw with amazement that the water had now become calm, and its black surface was like a mirror to the lights, which caught them and reflected back their every movement. And Te̮la now saw a way that the lights had descended within her grasp, and a way in which she might endeavour to capture them.
Quickly she turned back towards her camp, and took from her pack a vial of oil with thin walls of brownish glass, which she used in the tanning of the hides from her prey. She darted down to the rocks where river met sea, and there she removed the stopper and poured the oil away into the river, where it swirled in concentric rings upon the surface. Thoroughly she rinsed out the vial, until not a trace of oil remained, and she went back down to the shore and dipped it into the shining water, and immediately returned the stopper so that no light could escape.
And Te̮la lifted the vial to her eyes and looked into it, to ensure that she had captured her prize, and lo! the dark water within held many points of dazzling blue-green light like minute stars, and she was very pleased. Fervently she thanked the ocean many times over for its aid in capturing the light of the north, and she replaced the vial in its sleeve on the outside of her pack. There that night among the stones and brush at the shore she slept, and with the first edge of morning she rose again and turned back southwards, eager to bring her prize back her pótnyā and be released from her labours.

The journey back took no fewer days than the journey outwards, and she arrived at the city with the first snow of the winter, coming dusted in white to her pótnyā's halls again. And she came in again through the gate, and bowed again before her, and she said, “O my pót'yā, I have brought you the light which you sent me to find.” And she drew out the vial which still glimmered blue, and gave it to her, and the fires flared as her pótnyā took the vial and looked at the light within. Although she had known that the task she set was impossible even for all the spells of the Daeva, yet she was forced to admit that Te̮la had brought back a light that was indistinguishable from the light of the north.
Impressed despite herself in her slave's completion of the tasks, and angry that she could not find an excuse to have her put to torment or death, Te̮la's pótnyā could not come up with another demand. Begrudgingly she released her then, and Te̮la went as speedily as she could to find her brother again. And she found him out among the grounds at his work, but he did not look up to greet her, for she had been gone a very long time and his expectations for her return had fallen as the sun fell each day, expecting that she had instead found a free death in the wilderness.
So Te̮la slowed, and called out to him, and he startled at the sound of her voice. Then Te̮la embraced him and told him every word of how she had found the light and had retrieved it, and was now released from her labours, and how her pride could not be touched nor ever broken as long as she might live, now that she had done three impossible things and survived. And Sükni laughed to hear it, and he lifted her up and swung her around in his joy.
“It is only a pity,” she said, “that it shall be only you and I who will know the truth to my words. And I know it is no great thing, but I cannot imagine the pót'yā ever telling the tale of how she was tricked by a slave, nor any of her other servants doing so in her despite.”
“But I will,” said Sükni. “I will tell everyone what you have done. There will be no-one who will not know how clever my sister is, how she tricked the pót'yā and thus saved her life.” And so he did so, and the tale of Te̮la's impossible tasks was passed from speaker to listener over the years, and in time even to me, who now tells it to you.

Sükni and the Firebird | »


Dr. Martens sighed and looked at his watch as he stood under the shelter with his hand stretched out towards the road.
His watch was broken again. Its hands stubbornly remained in the same positions and refused to move. Maybe I should fix it soon. Dr. Martens thought to himself.
Still, and he was pretty sure about that fact, it was almost nearing midnight. He didn't need a watch to tell him so. The darkness surrounding the shelter was proof enough for him.
As he waited, a yellow taxi with the label 'REMCO' pulled up to the shelter, its blazing headlights a sight of relief for Dr. Martens. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked towards the taxi.
"Fifth Avenue, please," he remarked as he clambered into the taxi.
"Sure thing." The driver remarked and began to drive down the dimly-illuminated road.
"My name's Alex. What's yours, stranger?" the driver asked.
Martens hesitated in giving a reply. The driver's face was shrouded in darkness, making it hard for him to clearly see his features. In addition, there was a certain…something in the driver's voice that made him fearful.
"M-Martens." he stammered back while sneaking a peek at the driver's license plate. "Alex" was the only name written on it. He calmed himself down a little, reassured himself that he was safe, and waited for Alex's reply.
"What's with the stammer, M-Martens? You didn't have one when you first entered my taxi. Are you…scared of me?"
"No…No!" Martens shot back a reply. That's right, he thought, I shouldn't fear him. I work for the Foundation, for God's sake! I see things that are scarier than this man every day!
"That's all right then, Martens. Trip's probably gonna take a while, so why don't you take a nap first? You seem tired."
Yeah, sleep sounds nice… Martens thought to himself, as a sudden wave of exhaustion suddenly came crashing towards him, and he found himself drifting off in his seat.

"Are you constantly tired? Are you unable to sleep? Well, look no further than Dr. Martens' Relaxation Pills! Highly effective, and very cheap! Don't wait, buy one-"
Martens awoke to the sound of the radio being turned off. He sat up and blearily stared at his watch, then groaned and turned to Alex's direction.
"Alex, I hate to ask this, but do you know what time it is?" he asked.
Waiting for a reply, he took another glance at the driver license plate. The name had changed to 'Reese Martens' now. He attributed the bizarre change to his extreme sleepiness, which was causing his eyelids to droop down every few seconds now.
"Why are you asking me? I don't need to worry about time. It's always you kids, running around, rushing for something, while I'm sitting in my taxi, not in any hurry at all. You should really try it sometime, you know? Not doing anything." Alex replied nonchalantly.
"I would, but I can't right now. I need to go home and sleep so that I can report to work early tomorrow."
"See what I mean? Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. It's always this way for you kids. Just relax, take it easy."
"I need to know what time it is!"
"And you don't need to know! Trust me, I know the quickest way to get you there. We'll get there soon, I promise."
"But-" Martens stopped himself from retorting. He painfully swallowed his anger, and calmly replied, "OK. OK. I'll do it your way. Do whatever you want. Just remember that you promised."
"Yeah, yeah."

Martens was pretty sure the taxi had been on the road for more than an hour already. He could excuse the time he fell asleep since he could not tell how long that had been. However, he knew that this time, the taxi had been travelling for way longer than it should have. Unable to keep in his anger any further, he exploded.
"Alex! You promised, didn't you! Why are we still on the road! Why aren't we there yet!"
"Because, Mr. Martens, I haven't lied. We're not there yet."
"We were supposed to have passed Fifth Avenue minutes ago! Why are we still not there yet!"
"Mr. Martens."
"What?!"
"You are from the Foundation, aren't you?"
Martens stopped shouting. His fear was back, and it was stronger than ever now.
"I don't know what you are talking about, Alex," he replied warily.
"Oh, believe me, I do. I've picked up many others like you, so I'm not wrong. You're definitely Foundation."
"So what if I am?"
"If that's the case, allow me to re-introduce myself. I am SCP-████, pleased to be of service to you."
Martens was now thoroughly lost for words. In his mind, he ran through the files he had read, in an attempt to find SCP-████'s file.

Description: SCP-████ is a mental manifestation of an ordinary New York taxicab printed with the label 'REMCO' on its side.
SCP-████ and its driver, designated as SCP-████-1, will appear in a random individual's dreams and attempt to take them to a destination that is usually significant to the individual in their current state, such as a problem they have to solve. In reality, the individual does not reach the real-life destination but it makes them realise the problem that they must solve when they reawaken.

"So, all of this, is just a dream?" Martens remarked as he recalled SCP-████'s details, and wondered why he didn't connect the taxi ride's strangeness to it.
"Directly, yes. In my opinion, no. You're in my world, which means that I can do anything to you, right here, right now, and you'd wake up and go, 'it was just a dream' or some other cliched line without any repercussions whatsoever. That also means you can just wake up now."
"But, there's a reason you're still driving, right? If I can do all that?"
"I told you, we're not there yet."
"There, as in Fifth Avenue?"
"There, as in where you need to go. Most people that realise that they're in a dream will immediately wake themselves up. They're not interested in waiting for me to take them to where they need to go. But for those who stay, well…"
"Well?"
"Only those who stay will know."
A few minutes of silence passed in the taxi.
"I'll stay," Martens replied after a few minutes.
"Are you sure? You were dead set on going to Fifth Avenue last time."
"It's alright. After all, This is all just a dream, right?"
Alex laughed. "That's true." he replied, "This is all just a dream."
SCP-████ trundled down the road into the darkness.


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« There's a Job For Everyone|Hub|Coming Soon! »

We interrupt your normally scheduled tale to bring you a brief prologue…

"You're telling me that your only job experience… Is as a bed salesman?" The Janitor leaned back in his chair, grunting. "That's a new one."
Liam sheepishly looked down, his face flushing as he muttered. "Look, I don't even have to join you guys, and why should I if you're just gonna make fun of me?"
"Because." The Janitor grinned. "If you become one of us, then you'll serve a purpose. All of us here at The Union do. Of course, that also means you get your own floor here, plus a host of other benefits. After all, unions treat their workforces nicely."
"I'll serve a purpose?" Pointing at himself, Liam asked, "How can I serve a purpose as a bed salesman?"
Chuckling, The Janitor removed a small magnifying glass from his pocket, tossing it to Liam, who clumsily juggled it in his hands before catching it. "Look at me"
Liam hesitantly followed his instructions, only to gasp as he looked through the glass. The Janitor was surrounded by a strange silver aura. It pulsed as if it were a heart, and as Liam studied it more he realized that there was a thin line connecting him to his mop, which was sat on his desk.
"Looks neat, right?" He humbly bragged, plucking the magnifying glass out of Liam's now-shaking hands. "Those little auras around us represent our power. I'm one of the strongest people here, so my aura is the largest. Usually, as people grow, their auras shift and change, but you… You're an interesting one."
Liam stared forwards blankly for a few seconds before shaking his head, bringing him out of his strange funk. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Instead of clouding around you, your aura is concentrated in your brain. And if my hypothesis is correct, that would give you some fascinating powers. As we like to call it, you're Charmed." The Janitor leaned forward, his chair creaking as he creepily stared into Liam's eyes. "But you already know that, don't you?"
"W— what do you mean?" Liam repeated, stuttering slightly. "I don't—"
"Come on, there's something more to you than meets the eye. You must have figured that out by now."
Pausing, they sat in silence for a moment before Liam asked, "Do you have a bed somewhere around here?"

Liam awoke from his peaceful nap on the couch only to see The Janitor sitting over him, watching him intently. "So, what happened?"
For the third time that day, Liam repeated the timeless question once more: "What do you mean?"
"Your powers are based on your dreams, of course. Do you see the past? The future? The present, but from an odd perspective?" The Janitor interrogated. "Just tell me."
"I…"
Liam paused, thinking for a few seconds.
"I had a dream that I walked into this grocery store, Star-somethin'… And as I asked if they wanted to purchase a bed, they just screamed at me, telling me to leave."
"The future it is, then. So, now that we know that…" The Janitor reached into his pocket, brandishing a large silver key. "What do you say about becoming The Bed Salesman?"
Liam opened his mouth to say no, but he stopped, thinking for a moment. If I take this opportunity, I'll have my own floor of this giant tower, and I probably won't even have to work much… Why was I ever doubting this plan in the first place?! A broad smile spread across his face as he grabbed the key from The Janitor, exclaiming, "It's a deal, then!"

"Sir?"
"Sir."
"Sir!!!"
Far away from Sloth's Pit, Liam's eyes peeled open as he woke up, quickly realizing that he was at his job at Soft Comforter Paradise as a bed salesman, and he had fallen asleep on one of the demo beds, right in front of a fuming, middle-aged woman.
The female customer in front of him began to berate him. "I can't believe this! An employee asleep on the job! I want your manager, he better give me a discount for having to put up with this treatment, I have kids at home that need me and this is how you're wasting my time!? God, I'm giving this place a one-star review, now where's your manager, kid!?!?!"
Just a few years to go, Liam thought, tuning the woman out as he radioed for his manager. Then I'll be free…

« There's a Job For Everyone|Hub|Coming Soon! »

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« What's The Deal? | Clash of the Cosmic Comedians ||

Previously…
The day has come.
The mad god Tim Allen has finally launched his last assault on human culture. It is only a matter of time before he forces humanity prostrate before Home Improvement re-runs.
Earth has but one last hope: Jerry Seinfeld, champion of the SCP Foundation. Bootstrapped with cybernetic enhancements to his innate magical abilities, Seinfeld is the sole person able to summon even a fraction of Tim Allen's power. The people of Earth can only pray that this buys Seinfeld enough time to figure out how to defeat Tim Allen, once and for all.
This day was long prophecized, but when the two met on the field of battle, they both vanished into the sky, far from any prying eyes.
What happens now is up to them and them alone.
Unleash the power in…

CLASH
OF THE
COSMIC COMEDIANS

Jerry Seinfeld shook himself awake. He had been unconscious. This fight, the clash with Tim Allen, had it all been just a dream?
Oh, no. He had just passed out when the g-forces pulled the blood out of his brain and into his feet. He shook his head and tried to grasp a sense of place. All he could see was blinding whiteness. All he could hear was a roaring wind. All he could feel was the weight of Tim Allen ramming his sternum into the sky.
Okay. That was a pretty clear picture. Now, what could he do about it?
He could feel the raw energy streaming out of Tim Allen's body. Thanks to the Foundation's enhancements, Seinfeld could feel the stolen, repurposed power gathering inside his core. His hands were pinned against Tim's body by the supersonic winds, but he could still move his fingers to perform a simple repulsion spell. His hands sparked and-
Boom. An azure shockwave split the clouds, and the men were thrown apart. Seinfeld tumbled end over end before he summoned the energy to stabilize himself. He looked up just in time to see Tim Allen rocketing toward him, wielding a flaming power drill and a wicked smile. Jerry flailed out of the way, only catching a scorched glancing blow across his side.
Tim's flaming path curved back around for another charge. Instinctively, Jerry threw up his hands. A violet wall materialized between the two superhumans.
The mad god burst through it effortlessly. It shattered into a cone of psionic shards that buffeted Seinfeld's face. Tim Allen stopped just short of impaling him. He looked down upon Seinfeld with crimson eyes.
"Still getting used to your powers? That's endearing. I've had a decade to prepare for this, Jerry." His voice was enough to shake Jerry's entire body.
"Oh, interesting," Jerry said. "I'm surprised you took that long to practice getting your ass kicked!" He launched at Tim Allen with arms outstretched, ready to nail him in the stomach with a blast of ethereal energy.
Tim Allen caught him by the shoulders and tossed him upwards at ten times the speed of sound. Jerry flew feet-first like a missile. The air compressed against his soles, enveloping his body in a burning heat that he could only barely keep from destroying his suit.
Seinfeld was cooling down, but not slowing down — the air was getting thinner. He was leaving Earth's atmosphere, and fast.
Tim Allen appeared, speeding alongside him. He drew a pair of red-hot hammers and swung them at Seinfeld's core. It was all Seinfeld could do to squirm out of the way of the strikes; even the near-misses left scorch trails on his suit. He needed to redirect the fight somewhere else, get back on even ground. He focused his energy in one direction, a pulse that propelled them through the vacuum of space until they finally smashed-

Seinfeld struggled onto his hands and knees, ears still ringing. He coughed out a lungful of dust and stone shards but found himself unable to breathe back in.
Tim Allen's voice rumbled in Seinfeld's mind. "Jerry, your magic is as unrefined as it is unoriginal. Where's the passion? Where's the thematic resonance?"
He looked up. Tim Allen was hovering above him, framed against the planet Earth.
"And really, Jerry," Tim Allen continued. "The Moon? What an unoriginal setting for a final battle."
Seinfeld clambered to his feet in the new crater the two had made. He focused his power on matter creation. A bubble of air spontaneously coalesced, and he wheezed, "You can choose next time, how about that?"
"I'm hoping there won't be a next time." Allen held his arms out straight, wrists glowing red. A laser beam blasted out, straight at Jerry's face.
It bounced away harmlessly. In Jerry's place, a ghostly Elaine was standing, mirror in hand. She shrugged.
"How's that for thematic resonance?" Jerry flew at Tim from the side, his empowered fists connecting with his ribcage. Tim Allen went flying. He regained control and skidded to a stop in midair.
He spun about to face Seinfeld, but was met by a spectral George Costanza furrowing his brow. He yelled, "George is gettin' upset!"
George lifted his fists and spiked Tim Allen into the lunar soil. A veritable squad of Georges sprang out of thin air to pummel him with their hands and feet.
"ENOUGH," Tim Allen boomed. The sheer force shredded his attackers into a fine mist. He braced against the ground and prepared to leap forward.
Jerry was quicker. He shouted, "I think it's time for a bottle episode!" Chains sprung from the ground and wrapped around Tim Allen's limbs as if they were alive. "Because one of us knows how to write good television."
Tim Allen's voice rose to a frantic yell. "I'll show you good television-"
The chains cracked, then shattered. He tackled Jerry once more, carrying him up and away from the surface of the Moon. They were moving faster now, faster than they had ever gone before.
"At least one of us knows how to make a critically-acclaimed animated film," Tim Allen growled.
"Oh yeah," said Seinfeld. "You're great when someone else is writing the words for you!"
Magma coursed through Tim Allen's veins. "We'll see how smug you are when I slam your face into the rings of Saturn!"
The duo accelerated onward and onward. Jerry looked up, and saw the distorted shape of Saturn approaching-

They blasted into a field of dust and were blown apart. As Jerry sputtered and coughed, Tim Allen glanced around, confused. "Wait, where are the rings? I was sure they were here."
Jerry blew out the last bit of dust from his airways. "I have to say," he said, "that was substantially less cinematic than I had imagined."
Tim Allen pouted. "Are Saturn's rings just a bunch of dust?"
"Yeah," Jerry said, "I was picturing a 'battle for the fate of the cosmos' kind of setting, but this has more of a 'cleaning under my couch' vibe."
The mad god directed his attention back at him. "No matter. Prepare to die, Seinfeld." He closed his eyes as countless rocket pods sprouted from his back like wings. "To infinity…" he yelled, "and BEYOND!" A storm of missiles shot from his body, all locked on to Jerry Seinfeld's heat signature.
Seinfeld backtracked through the vacuum as he swirled his hands in a familiar summoning ritual, plumbing his energy core for every ounce of power he had. "From the depths of Hell, I summon thee…" he shouted, "NEWMAN!"
A great portal of darkness opened up, and from it emerged Newman's infernal visage. He opened his hellish maw and devoured the missile swarm with a single bite.
Seinfeld breathed hard. That had taken more out of him than he had hoped; his augments were short-circuiting under the strain.
"Enough games," Tim Allen yelled. "It's time to end this." He flew forward and caught Jerry again, dragging him through outer space at nearly the speed of light-

They tumbled into the Earth's atmosphere as a colossal fireball. Jerry's augments cracked and splintered inside his body as he pushed them past their limits to summon a psionic barrier around the pair.
The fireball slammed into the centre of a colossal field of wheat. A massive plume of dirt pierced the sky, and the fiery shockwave set the field alight. Jerry stumbled to his knees in the churning soil. He felt the burning absence in his body — his augments had failed entirely. All the extra power the Foundation had given him, it was all gone.
Tim Allen floated to the ground, unharmed. "It's over. Let's finish this."
"But, but," Jerry wheezed, "the prophecy. It said," he coughed, "it said we'd fight at a volcano."
"There never was a prophecy, Jerry. I created that tablet. I altered the molecular structure to create the illusion of age, and I hid it where I knew it would be found."
Jerry's eyes went wide. "But why?"
"I wanted to give humanity one last chance," Tim Allen explained, "to love me of their own volition. So I prepared the greatest spectacle in the universe: a climactic battle between the two most powerful cultural icons of the modern day."
"Is that really what we are?"
"I don't know, Jerry, have you ever seen Ed Sheeran shoot lasers from his eyes? We're timeless, you and I."
"You don't know how to get people to love you, Tim. You don't understand what audiences want."
"How dare you say that to me. I know exactly what audiences want, Jerry. I've been pleasing them my whole life." Tim's eyes sparkled with fire. An axe, glowing red-hot, materialized in his hands, and he raised it above his head.
Jerry sputtered, dragging himself backwards on the dirt. "You're wrong, Tim. We're not timeless. Things aren't what they were in the nineties. Modern audiences just don't want to hear old white men complain about women and political correctness."
The axe lowered slightly. "Wait, they don't?"
"No, Tim. Your content has to evolve, or you'll fade into obscurity. Go travel. Talk to strangers. Maybe pick a type of insect and get really into it for a couple of years. Get some perspective."
Tim shook his head, indignant. "No, no, you're trying to trick me. You want to dilute my brand. People love the bold, transgressive, and original things I've been saying for thirty years."
"I'm not trying to trick you, Tim," Jerry said, back against the wall of the crater. "I'm successfully tricking you."
"What?" Tim Allen gasped. "What did you do?"
Seinfeld held up one hand. It was glowing faintly violet. "I snuck in the back door while you were busy attempting introspection, and implemented one of the first things I learned as a comedian: a sleep spell. But I threw in a twist, just for you."
"No, no!" The axe in his hands dematerialized, and he grabbed his head. He stumbled. "What's happening to me?"
"I'm giving you exactly what you want, Tim." As Tim Allen slumped to the ground, Jerry Seinfeld pulled himself to his feet. "Stasis."

Tim Allen felt the hot spotlight on his face. He opened his eyes.
He was standing in a brightly lit workshop filled with tools. A sign in the back said "TOOL TIME". To his right, he saw the smiling face of Al Borland. He was speaking. "…isn't that right, Tim?"
"Huh?" Tim said. He heard a crowd laughing, somewhere.
"What happened, Tim? Were you drifting off?" Al elbowed him playfully.
"Oh, I… I must've been. I was daydreaming." Another round of laughter.
"Well," Al said, "you were just about to show us how the table saw worked."
"Of course, of course." Tim smiled. The spotlight on his face grew hotter.
The crowd laughed again, and Tim Allen was content.

Later…
Director Blake sat down in a cheap chair facing the visitation window. She spoke into a microphone.
"Jerry, I thought you should know. We've had a breakthrough in Tim Allen's containment. With targeted amnestics, we've wiped his memory clean of all of his anomalous techniques. He's functionally neutralized. Even if he ever chooses to wake up from his coma, he'll be harmless."
Seinfeld turned his chair around to face the window, and Director Blake behind it. His arms were folded across his orange jumpsuit. "Well, isn't that just peachy."
Blake tilted her head. "You seem tense. Is something wrong?"
"Well," he said, "I guess I just can't believe that this is how it ends."
"We're the Foundation, Jerry. We contain. It's what we do."
"I get that. But still. The protagonist just gets locked up, and that's the end?"
"Jerry, I'm not sure what you're-"
He threw up his hands. "The hero of the story! He just ends up imprisoned. That's not narratively satisfying. Who would be satisfied with that?"
"I'm sorry, Jerry," she said earnestly. "This isn't a story. It's real life. There are no protagonists here."
"Certainly not on your side of the glass."
"Okay, Jerry. Look. I think I have something that might cheer you up. I talked to the guards, and they let me supply you with some entertainment." She passed a rectangular object through the letter slot, but Jerry wasn't looking. "I'll see you some other time. Take care." Director Blake stood up, and walked away.
When she was out of sight, he glanced at the table. The object was a box set of DVD's. It was labeled: Last Man Standing: The Complete Series.
He sighed. "God damn it."

THE END

« What's The Deal? | Clash of the Cosmic Comedians ||


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Still the Same Nightmares
Audio: Original Creation by the Author.

Open Mic Night at Stacker's THURSDAYS 10:00pm

The stage beckons. Samuel doesn't know where he is but his heart is full to bursting.
He picks up a lonely guitar. It feels right in his hands. The microphone sits patiently.
"I offer this song in my own voice."

Where can I go?
I'm still trapped in my own nightmare
Where am I now?
Now and then I find you on my mind
Now and then I think
Maybe I'll never wake up
But I can hear you out there singing
What do you do now when it rains?
What do you do now when you see a falling star?
Hearing your voice again is a bittersweet memory
I just want to wake up ‘cause
I can't stop dreaming
I can't stop dreaming
I can't stop scheming my own escape
I can't stop thinking
I can't stop listening
I can't stop
I can't stop making the same mistakes

The guitar drops on the floor.
The stage is empty once more.
The microphone waits for another.
'Til next week.


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Follow me on Twitter @north_doctor
North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North

Clenching on to his face.
Watching the grey take over his eyes.
Hearing no sound in his heart.
My vivid nightmare.
Waking in sweat, cold as snow.
Tears run down my face.
Scared to look at my lover.
In fear of seeing crimson.
A glance over my shoulder.
Hearing the calmness in his breathing.
Resting besides his warmths.
Returning to the realm of the endless.
Sweat atop my forehead.
Crying out with tears.
Unable to get the proper rest.
My dreams haunted by a river of red.
Feeling the touch of his hand.
Returning to a state of calm.
Seeing the smile on his lips.
All was good in my world.
Returning to our occupation.
Heading towards the Site.
Ash smothers out the sun.
The sounds of war nearby.
We hurried towards the battle field.
I wanted us to turn around.
Feeling my dreams come true.
Staring at my nightmare.
Watching an Insurgency commit Chaos.
Retrieving our weapons from the car.
I feared today would be my last day.
Yet, we both ran.
Rushing towards the Site.
Providing aid to our co-workers.
Fighting back our common enemy.
Watching as they withdraw.
I showed the world my smile.
My deepest fear, my dreams.
Nothing but lies to kill my spirit.
Standing beside him, seeing he was safe.
My heart filled with warmths.
Hearing the miseries of a friend.
Watching as she knelt beside her lover.
Clenching on to his face.
She screamed till her throat broke.
Watching the grey take over his eyes.
Hearing no sound in his heart.
My vivid nightmare.
Now her reality.


The man on the tarmac had been waiting for five hours. Rain usually has a tendency to make flying difficult, which is one huge reason why Hiroyuki Watanabe hated Seattle. To his relief the plane had finally come into view on the horizon. The jet bounced a few times as it hit the landing strip, before slowing down enough to brake a few dozen feet away. The stairs themselves needed to be driven over, which gave Hiro enough time to straighten his black overcoat which had been flapping wildly in the wind. He would have straightened his hair too if he had a comb.
"Not much longer now, Hiro," he said to himself beneath his breath, "Just another favor and then you can go home."
As the door slid open on the plane, a silhouette came out that made Hiro snort.
"Don't tell me you're the arsonist," Hiro said flashing a condescending look at Eugene.
Eugene was shielding his head from the rain, due to not packing an umbrella. He was shivering in the cold, his suit already half-drenched and he had barely taken a few steps out. His normally puffy hair was flattening against his forehead. He looked less like the kind of person who could blow up a whole MCD facility and more like a drowned rat.
"Ah, hello!" Eugene said through chattering teeth, "A-are you the contact?"
Behind Eugene came the four clones, each of which were holding at least two suitcases.
"Weissman clones? I thought the arsonist was trying to stick it to Marshall, Carter and Dark," Hiro asked aloud, walking towards the stairway.
"They're not mine!" Eugene spat out, finally making it to the bottom, "And d-do you have an umbrella?"
Hiro rolled his eyes and reached into the bag slung around his shoulder. Rifling around, he pulled out a single black umbrella and tossed it to Eugene. It missed. Eugene fumbled with it on the ground before finally getting it open and holding it above his head.
"Thank you," Eugene said meekly.
"Where's the arsonist?" Hiro said, looking beyond Eugene.
Eugene laughed nervously, "Ah, ha, um… he's right here."
Eugene pointed to himself. The clones all finally descended the stairs and surrounded Eugene, forming a protective barrier of flesh on his right and left. Hiro stared at the rat man in front of him and quirked an eyebrow.
"Well then," Hiro said with a sigh as he turned around to the car, "Come on then, I've got a favor to follow through on and I intend to be done with it before Midnight."
"What's the favor?" Eugene asked, hurriedly following behind.
Hiro stopped and looked at Eugene like he had just insulted him, "This one, you idiot. I wouldn't be standing out in the middle of this shitty weather if anybody else but Nobody asked me to do it."
"Ah, hah, quite…" Eugene said meekly as he made his way into the sleek black car parked a little way away.
The clones remained quiet for the most part while they were loading up the luggage. Hiro loaded himself up in the driver's seat, staring at the group from the rear view mirror. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. 10:48 PM. He pulled out his map, looking at the address and thinking about how long it would take to get from here to there. He predicted about 45 minutes. He hoped he was being generous.
With a slam of the trunk, Eugene and the clones hopped into the back seat. Eugene gave Hiro a thumbs-up. He started the engine.

The scene of the streets of Seattle was a calming contrast to the buzz of thoughts swarming Eugene's mind. His fingers tapped against the arm rest and his stomach gurgled. Despite what would normally be a picturesque scene, Eugene still looked as tired and paranoid as he had for the last two weeks.
"You're thinking about something, aren't you Gene?" Rupert asked.
Eugene snapped back into reality, turning away from the window and towards the voice. He looked around the back seat, his eyes darting around as if Mr. Carter himself managed to sneak in. He sighed a sigh of relief when he saw it was just the clones.
"Please don't vomit again. You just ate on the plane," Robert added.
"I'm not going to-" Eugene was interrupted by another large stomach gurgle.
Hiro looked behind him in to the back seat, "Open a window if you want to puke, I'm not cleaning up those seats."
"I'm not going to vomit!" Eugene shouted back, eyes going wild.
Hiro tutted and turned forward to the road. Eugene turned back to the clones. They all had the face of worry that one would see on a mother looking at a child who just skinned their knee. Eugene rubbed his eyes and tried to compose himself.
"Everything is fine, I promise," Eugene said with a tired smile.
"No it's not," Roman said, "You're a horrible liar. We've all seen it."
"I'm not that bad," Eugene retorted, "I managed to get into the estate, didn't I?"
"Only to get held up at gunpoint," Roman added.
"Aren't you all supposed to be supportive of me? You know, Assistance Clones?" Eugene snapped back.
"We're trying to be supportive, Gene," Ramona said, "But you're keeping everything in. Talk to us, and we'll assist you."
Eugene tried to keep a stern face, but it only made him look like he was constipated. He broke his obvious charade and exhaled, looking away and out the window once more. The orange streetlights looked hypnotic, as if they were trying to lull him into the sleep he was so desperately craving right about now.
"I'm still worried about Mr. Carter," Eugene finally relented.
"Of course you are," Robert said.
"Marshall, Carter and Dark are a global business. They could have eyes anywhere," Rupert added.
Eugene turned back to the clones, eyes squinted, a look of incredulousness on his face.
"And despite that, you've escaped them so far and managed to fly across the country to live in a safe house, where we will all be secure forever," Ramona said, gesturing around her.
"I mean…" Eugene said, his face relaxing, "That's true…"
"But something is still bothering you beyond that," Roman said, leaning forward, "What is it?"
The sentence was punctuated by another stomach gurgle. Eugene moved his hand to roll down the window, but retracted it, instead opting to just do a few deep breathing exercises. They weren't helping.
"I feel like no matter what I'll do, I'll inevitably either get caught by Mr. Carter or… become Mr. Carter," Eugene muttered.
"What do you mean by that?" Robert and Rupert asked together.
"I mean…" Eugene fully turned around to face all of the clones, "If I hide and live the rest of my life in safety, they'll eventually find me. If I try to fight back, like I did with freeing you lot, I'll pile on all of this immoral, awful shit that'll eventually make me as bad as he is."
Hiro snorted from the front seat, "Kid, I don't know what you've been through, but burning down one building isn't even close to what MC&D have done. Unless you go full hyperdrive into the immoral shitheap, you're going to be fine."
"He's right," Ramona said, reaching to put a hand on Eugene's shoulder "And what's more, you think that you're doing awful things, but they're for good reasons. You won't have to worry about being as bad as he is, because at the very least you are-"
Before Ramona could finish her sentence, a speeding van had struck the car from the side, sending it flying end over end into an office building. Airbags triggered, forcefully shoving Eugene and the clones together in a heap. Hiro hit his head on the steering wheel, spraying blood on the windshield. As the car settled, Eugene could only hear the ringing in his ears.
Eugene moaned out in pain as he felt the dog bite wounds on his arms opening up again. As his hearing slowly returned to him, he heard the repetitive thump, thump, thump of an impact against metal. Eugene realized that his body was particularly warm, and opened his eyes achingly slowly. Wrapped around his head like a mother holding a child were the arms of Robert and Rupert, cradling him from the crash. They were alive, and they were far healthier than he was.
Eugene turned his head to the source of the thumping, and saw the Roman and Ramona too were alive, scratched but uninjured. In one final heave and thump, the two clones worked together to kick off the door of the car, providing an opening for everyone to escape. Before Eugene could say anything, Robert and Rupert had already unbuckled his seatbelt and escorted him out of the wreck.
The clones all stood tall while Eugene fell to his knees, coughing. The mysterious van had just started unloading its passengers, all armed to the teeth with their weapons trained at Eugene. The clones formed a barricade between him and the bounty hunters. Eugene's stomach gurgled once more.
"Please, go away!" Eugene shouted at the hunters, clutching at his stomach.
"No can do, mate," an anonymous voice shouted out, "You've got a price on your head if we take you alive. We don't need to take the sexbots, though."
A gunshot rang out, hitting Roman square in the shoulder.
"No!" Eugene shouted, reaching out to him.
Roman looked down at the bloody hole in his shoulder, and then back to the hunters. His face was stony, refusing to show any emotion. This gave a few of the hunters pause. This gave Eugene a glimmer of hope.
"What do you want us to do?" the clones asked Eugene.
Eugene looked up to them all and then to the hunters. He would do anything to stay out of Mr. Carter's clutches. He wasn't about to give in now, not after so much.
"Give them what they deserve," Eugene commanded the clones, staring maliciously at the hunters.
The clones all walked in step towards their enemy like diligent soldiers. The hunters trained their weapons at the four of them, opening fire. Bullet holes rocketed through them, but their stride was never broken. Ramona reached one of the hunters first, grabbing him by his shirt collar and raising him above her. In one swift, brutal motion, she slammed him against the asphalt, crushing his skull into a bloody pulp.
"Wait, hold on…" Eugene objected, weakly trying to stand up, "That's a little…"
Roman grabbed the fallen hunter's weapon and trained it on the rest of the crew. As Roman fired, Robert and Rupert chased the hunters too cowardly to defend their mates. They wrenched open the door to the driver's side, pulling out the screaming driver. The pair stomped on the driver's neck, crushing it with a squelch.
"Wait… wait!" Eugene shouted, raising a hand towards the violence, "Stop!"
The clones all stopped as commanded, turning back towards Eugene expectantly. The clones were dripping blood, not all of it theirs. The two remaining living hunters didn't dare make a move, though they couldn't help but whimper in fear. Eugene kept his hand in the air, looking down to the ground. He vomited.
"Is there something wrong?" Ramona asked.
"Just…" Eugene heaved, "That's enough… please… stop."
Robert and Rupert took their foot off the body of their victim. Ramona dropped the poor hunter that she was rubbing into the side of the van. Roman dropped his gun. The rain was mixing with the carnage, directing a red stream to a nearby drainpipe. They all calmly walked back to Eugene's side, each putting a hand on his shoulder. Eugene shrugged them all off, backing away from them.
"Are you alright?" they all asked in unison.
"N-no!" Eugene said, eyes welling up, "I'm not!"
"Then let us-"
"Don't fucking touch me!" Eugene said, waving them away.
"Very well, we will do as you-"
Eugene groaned loudly, pulling at his hair. The hunters took this as an opportunity to get up and limp away, loading into the van and starting it up. The clones looked behind them as the van started to speed off down the streets.
"They're getting away, should we go after them?" Ramona asked.
"Stop listening to me! Stop doing everything I tell you!" Eugene spat out, burping as he felt more bile rising.
"But…" Roman tilted his head, "They were going to harm you, they were going to try to kill us."
"Did you not want us to kill them? To fight them back?" Robert and Rupert asked, looking at each other.
"This, this," Eugene gestured to the scattered corpses on the ground left behind by the van, then to the viscera-covered chests of the clones themselves, "This is what I was worried about!"
The clones looked back at the corpses, then back to Eugene.
"Why should you be worried? Those weren't good people," Roman said, "We gave them what they deserved. They would have done far worse to you."
"But… but…" Eugene fell to his knees and wailed into the open air, "I don't want to be a murderer! I don't want to be a thief, I don't want to be an arsonist! I just want to do what's right!"
Eugene took a moment to breathe, the clones just staring at him in shock. He pushed against the ground, standing back up and walking towards the car. Hiro hadn't moved. Eugene assumed it was because of the shard of glass embedded in his temple. Eugene reached through the car window, grabbing the torn remains of the map. He turned it around in his hands.
"Fuck… Completely bloody illegible." Eugene said, tossing the map into the wind, "Guess I'll just have to wander."
"Gene-"
"You don't have to follow me if you don't want to. I won't tell you what to do anymore," Eugene said, trudging off in a direction, hoping he'll end up where he needs to be.
After a beat, the clones followed.

"I guess this will do…" Eugene said, looking at the dilapidated warehouse in front of him, "Fucking hell how deep have I gone into this…"
The clones, despite being obviously faster and healthier than Eugene, kept a safe distance while following him. They were just as surprised to see Eugene ending his hike on this abandoned pier, standing in front of a monolithic building that smelt of rotted wood and seaweed.
"Gene…" Ramona said, daring to walk closer to him.
Eugene turned around, giving her a stink eye, "I said I wasn't telling you what to do anymore. You can go."
Ramona stopped walking towards Eugene, a shocked frown developing on her face. Roman, Robert and Rupert all stood behind, not sure what to say. When they didn't leave immediately, Eugene turned around fully, angrily staring down all of them despite being at least a foot shorter than them.
"Did you not hear me? I said 'You can go'!" Gene shouted, "I've done nothing but cause trouble, and now I've gotten you all involved in it! You'd all be a lot happier at a nursing home or something!"
Eugene was drooling and crying, but it was disguised by the storm. His face was beet red and utterly drenched in cold rainwater. The clones knew that he would catch hypothermia if he stayed outside much longer.
"We want to stay with you, Gene," Roman said cautiously.
"Why? Why?!" Eugene asked, the bags under his eyes accenting the tiredness in his soul.
"Because, like I was going to say," Ramona said, "You're a good person, Gene. Despite what you think."
"Would a good person tell you to kill someone? Would a good person put another person in a coma and then steal from them?" Eugene asked, waving his hands around like a madman.
"You didn't tell us to kill them, and they were going to take you to Mr. Carter," Robert said.
"And you didn't steal us from anyone. You saved us from being used by that man," Rupert added.
Roman, Robert and Rupert all took steps to join Ramona, standing solid with her. Eugene's breaths were labored and his entire suit was soaked. Damp hair stuck to his face, making it hard to see in the already dim light. His posture made him look like a rabid animal finally getting cornered by pest control.
"It's just…" Eugene blubbered, "So hard. I thought it would be easy… being good. I could make a company that does things the right way and make good products and… now I know that I'll just fall into the shitter just like everyone else. It's fucking inevitable."
"Gene…"
Eugene didn't care who said it, he turned around and trudged towards the warehouse that would apparently be his new home for however long he had left. To him, it may as well have been his coffin. The clones followed closely behind.
"Gene, please, just listen to us," the clones all said.
Eugene flung open the door, causing the rusty metal handle to leave a sizable dent in the rotted wooden siding. He looked around, taking in the sulfuric ocean smell and seagull shit stains everywhere.
"Welcome home, Gene!" Eugene shouted into the rafters, punctuating it with a tired laugh.
Eugene collapsed against the wall, laughing to himself and clutching at his face. He just wanted to sleep, he just wanted to pretend this was all a dream and be done with it all. Go back to being a blissfully unaware apprentice who didn't have to worry about how he was going to die or what the ramifications of every action he made were. The clones looked through the doorway at him with a look of genuine hurt.
"Gene… We know that you're stressed. We know that you're tired. We know that you're hurt," Robert and Rupert said.
"Bloody fucking geniuses, you lot," Eugene said, rolling over on the musty ground, "Bet it took a lot of detective work to solve that out, eh?"
"But you don't have to insist on being alone. We're not here because you told us to be," Ramona said, walking through the doorway and crouching down by Eugene, "We're here because we want to be. You're our friend. And we see a spark in you that makes us want to be more than what we are."
Eugene looked over his shoulder to see the other clones following suit behind her. He groaned and turned back around, covering his face with his mildewy suit jacket. Ramona briefly reached out a hand to his shoulder, but retracted it. It wasn't the right time yet.
"We know you want to start a company to rival Marshall, Carter and Dark," Roman said, "And we know you want to do it in a way that's good. The right way."
"We're trying to tell you that sometimes… the right way isn't necessarily good. To do the right thing isn't always to do the good thing," Robert said.
"Like the fire. Or shooting Mr. Thoroughwood," Rupert said.
Eugene turned his head again, "Oh hey, you finally stopped calling him 'Sir'. Thank bloody fuck, too. Creeping me out."
"The point is, the company you make may not be the company you had in mind," Robert and Rupert say, "But we'll be willing to help at least be a company you can be proud of."
Eugene let out a coughing laugh, "Y-you still think we can start a company? Look at where we are! The fucking dregs! What can we build out of this?"
"We can start with what we know," Ramona said, "Sex. People expect Weissman clones to be used for sex, and we can use that as a weapon. Lure perverts into traps, liberate more clones, bring them here."
"More fucking robbery?" Eugene coughed out.
"Like we said, doing the right thing isn't always a good thing. Imagine how many others like us you could save!" Roman said, smiling and trying to get Eugene to smile too.
"Once we get the manpower, we can make the business! We'll handle the legwork, you can be the man behind the scenes, making sure that nobody goes too far," Robert said.
"After all, someone needs to be in charge," Rupert added.
"Oh fuck no, I'm not going to be the bloody CEO," Eugene said, sitting up to face them, "Look at where my decision making has gotten us. If anything, I'd settle for advisor at best."
"Then teach us business. We'll run it, you make sure that we run it right," Ramona said, placing a hand on Eugene's knee, "Now's not the time to give up. We might become corrupt in the future, or get caught and destroyed by someone more powerful, but right now we can make a change in the present, so let's work on that."
"Inevitabilities be damned!" Roman said, pumping a fist in the air.
For a moment, Eugene almost believed that maybe Mr. Weissman had been in each of those clones. The words coming out of their mouths had definitely evolved from the 'Yes Sir', 'No Sir' that he was introduced to. He cracked a smile. Roman clapped his hands together in satisfaction. Robert and Rupert looked expectantly at each other, and then to Eugene. Ramona just tried to be supportive.
"Alright. Fine," Eugene said, using the wall behind him to stand up, "I'll teach you all what to do."
"We'll fight the sex industry with their own weapons!" Roman cheered into the air.
"Hopefully by the time we're done we'll run the sex industry," Robert chimed in.
"People will either fear us or respect us," Rupert added.
"Maybe not… right away," Eugene said, waving their excitement down with his hands, "But we'll get there."
The clones all rushed forward to give Eugene a hug, crushing them all between their toned, wet bodies. This was the closest Eugene had ever gotten to an orgy, and probably the closest he'll ever get. They let go, smiles proudly displayed on everyone's faces.
"Hey, I just thought of a name, too," Eugene piped up, wiped hair out of his face.
"Oh yeah? What's that?" the clones asked.
"How does 'Inevitability Industries' sound?" Eugene said, gesturing as if he was presenting the name on a plate.
"That… is the least sexy name I've ever heard for a sex company," Roman said.
"Well, I like it at least," Ramona said as she turned to face Roman, "Makes us stand out. People will know the name once they hear it."
"I can see it working," Robert said with a shrug.
"Yeah… I think it'll grow on me," Rupert added with the other half of the shrug.
The five of them looked out at the damp, rotted warehouse that they would call their new home. They imagined it as an empire, filled to the brim with neon and latex and debauchery and rules. If a person didn't follow the rules, they wouldn't get to play. A flash of hope went across each of their eyes as it became clear in their heads one thing: their reign, above all else, would be inevitable.

Arson, Activism and Mustaches

Inevitability Industries

To Be Continued?