Cole 13 and Tstaffor

You can check out more of our works here:
Cole 13: Cole 13's Writing Hut
tstaffor: Tstaffor's Isolated Containment Terminal

Anonymous 06/20/2022 (Mon) 16:40:02 #05286786
This is terrible anons please help me out here

16 KB JPG

>be me
>be 17
>3/10 basement dwelling failure
>have smokin hot 9/10 goth gf totally out of my league
>its going well, been on like three dates
>my dumb-fuck brain comes up with a "unique" plan for a date
>goths usually like ghost shit
>go on parawatch
>lot of crackheads here performing satanic rituals or summoning ghosts
>probs all bullshit
>find a post that sounds simple

aliteralpoopdemon 06/16/2022 (Thurs) 24:01:46 #04410382

Want to summon a demon for shits 'n giggles?

The Correct Design

1. Get some salt. The higher the quality the better the demon.
2. Get candles, any will do.
3. Draw a pentagram with the salt.
4. Light candles at each of the 5 points of the star.
5. Sit at the center of your pentagram.
6. Chant Tawagoto Akuma three times in a row.
It may take a while for the demon to be summoned so dont get your balls in a twist lol

>parents out of town for the weekend
>invite gf to mi casa later that night and I go to walmart and buy shit
>we're sitting in my room on the floor across from each other
>i draw a pentagram on the floor in salt (got that kosher shit, its not cheap)
>im nervous as fuck so im holding my breath
>i light some cheap ass half used candles from bed bath and beyond we have below the sink
>its like 3 am by that point (witching hour aaaa so spooky)
>perform the ritual
>she refuses to chant with me
>…
>find out its cause she finds it legit scary
>megawin.png
>later in the night
>watching netflix
>full on creep out show
>she huddles in my arms
>"Don't worry baby. I'll protect you…" (¬‿¬)
>start to make my move
>i notice im about to blast ass
>uhoh.jpeg
>stand my ground
>the blast doors have given in and the stormtroopers have gone through
>much more than that
>mfw i shit myself
>she notices
>fuckingchristthepain.jpeg
>"Uh… sorry anon, it's getting a bit late. See you Monday at school!"
>sprints out past me
>fast forward to this morning
>dont see her anywhere in the school
>fuck i might have scared her off
>come back home, mom confronts me
>"Anon what the fuck did you do to your carpet?"
>ohshit.jpeg
>realize i let the fucking salt sit the entire weekend
>now there is a big stain on my carpet i cant explain to my family
>mfw gf left the school just because i made an ass of myself
>mfw i realize im a gullible shitbag who trusts people on the internet
what the fuck do i do now

aliteralpoopdemon 06/20/2022 16:55:12 #8711234

get fucked lmao…

Underworld IP address recognized. See linked Underwatch post?


A man‘s steps echo down a foggily lit alleyway. The streetlights become hazy yellow sparks as he rushes by them. His trenchcoat drags briskly across the pavement, like a swallow's tail. Their battle calls resonate in his ears; those horrifying gurgles of rage, omnipresent in the streets of Caraval.
He hears the door of her house clanging, the sound of its rusty hinges echoing through the night. He has to go. He has to reach her. He can't let them get in. He knows if they do, he'll be alone again. Alone as he always was.
In his eyes is a spark of fear. A spark of worry. He sets his foot firmly upon the ground, and makes a race for the hunters. His heart beats like a drumroll, his breath speeds up by the moment. Sweat pours down like hail on his brow. He leaps over worn walls and lush trees, swiftly slides beneath unassuming passersby like a chilling breeze.
From afar, his eyes catch a glimpse of their patrol. Their eyes divulge that they are ready to do their duty, cold lackeys of death as they were. The hunters approach her house slowly, their swords shining through the murk. He takes a rough turn, his feet sliding with a quiet screech as he faces them.
They turn around, spotting his figure in the darkness.
Their eyes meet —hunted and hunter, mouse and cat. He plants his feet to the ground, and takes off to the skies, finishing his trail behind them with a gracious leap. The distance between them is a hair's breadth, and he knows he has to finish the job quick.
In moments, the cold look in their faces is replaced by a mischievous grin, one that reeked of bloodlust and hate. They recognise him. They furiously draw their sabers at him, his body leaping backwards as their blades lightly graze his neck. An empty warning. Their bulks of muscle rush at him once again.
He fiercely clutches a man's arm, pulling him toward himself, leaping to the air as the man rushes to him. Before the hunter can react, he comes back down, grabbing his skull like an iron vice, and smashing it to the wall. It cracks with an eerie sound, the man's blood splattering in all directions. His body limps to the ground.
He softly brushes a hint of blood from his cheek, and looks onwards at his assailants, daunting them with a calmness he should not have.
They all rush at him in unison, a maelstrom of white and black and red all over. White for the glimmer of their swords. Black for their figures that fade into the night. Red for their blood.
She watches his struggle from the balcony, eagerly biting her lip. She shouldn't have let him come. It would all end in massacre, at the end. She'd never wanted him to be like this.
He shares a glance with her. He knows how she feels —but he knows he has to do it. She's worried for him. Of course, she would be. She always is. He reassures her, nodding to her that it'll all be fine. Deep down, she knows it will.
He elegantly evades their rushes, hurriedly glancing to her to make sure she's fine. In their eyes rests fear. They knew they shouldn't have pointed their swords at him. But they had no choice. Ever since they became hunters, they never had one.
The last man falls, his spine irreparably damaged. She still watches from above, her black hair rippling in the breeze, her hazel eyes peering into his soul. He looks back at her and gives her a soft smile.
He remembers when he first met her, when he first felt emotion.

She had a disease. It never bothered him. It never bothered any of his or her friends. Masses of fur would appear on her skin at times, and would disappear by the time the first ray of the moon peeked inside her quarters. She was reluctant when he met her, but bit by bit, she opened up. Even though for all the people she knew, he was the only one who accepted her as what she really was. Just a young girl, who wasn't living the best life she could have, all because of a tiny spin of fate at her birth. And he embraced her.
As far back as he could remember, his world was gray. A monotone shade of murk, dyed in ash. He lived in the slums, killing dozens just to get a penny and eat a piece of rotten bread. The talons of time had scarred his body well. He was an outlaw, and he didn't know how to live by the rules. But most of all, he didn't know who he was. A nobody. Always a nobody, just another kid abandoned by life.
When he met her, she was like a ray of sunlight inside the monochrome. His only ray of light, his only source of color. Through her, he came to realise who he was. Not just a nobody, another prosaic in a dark mosaic. He was a person, with feelings, with goals, with traits. He had a face, an identity. He wasn't a nobody anymore. He was a man, and his world was dyed in paint.
Then he hears the gunshot.

He sees her body drop down from the balcony, catching it with a leap. He stares at a hole where her heart should have been, streams of scarlet pouring out of it. He watches as Death pulls the curtain over her life, as the Moirae cut the last strings of fate. He watches, as he turns back into a nobody.
He holds her hand tightly, and mutters to her whispers of love and passion. He knows she won't come back. The tears run down hot on his face and end their descent on her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have never gone there. I'm sorry. Please. Please forgive me. Please." he mumbles hastily between his sobs of anger.
They didn't kill her. I did. I killed her.
It's all my fault.
I did this.
I. Did. This.
He lets out a bloodcurdling scream, its echo flooding Caraval's deepest corners. He knows he shouldn't have joined them. He knows he shouldn't have stepped foot in that husk of a building. He knows why they did it.
The Foundation is cold, and cruel. Cold, cruel, and merciless. They project their hate to the people they pick upon on the street, indoctrinating them in their violent ways until their mind finally shatters. Because their goal is to murder anything that isn't normal — anything they don't care about. They have long declined from mere guardians of society.
All to break him, turn him into a husk of his former self like they have done with so many others. Orphans. Abandoned kids. Drunkards. The dregs of society, that with a little more peril, would break. He was top brass. And he wasn't obedient. He never was. And those who aren't obedient to them perish, sooner or later.
He sits there, holding her in his arms as the carmine moon paints the clouds with its cerise brush, howling on its jewelled throne.
He had nowhere else to go but the church. He didn't go often. But if he would do what he was thinking of doing, he needed to. To confess his sins. Or to light a candle for the rest of the people butchered by them. A memoir, for those that had faded away.
He picks up her body, leaving the last shards of his grief behind, and embarks on a long funeral, the shapes around him turning into pieces of failed dreams, the shadows of the trees looming menacingly over him and swirling back to the dirt.
A funeral, to the terminus of her days.

Mr. Filia gently lays the veil upon her body, preparing her for her last journey to an afterlife, giving closure to the infinite possibilities she could've experienced.
Filia has much experience in this job. He was chosen to follow the foetid smell of death wherever it went. It hadn't pleased him at first. But after so many years of roaming the battlefields like a ghost, perhaps it was starting to seem natural to him. His actions were almost mechanical, as if he was programmed to do it.
“Bullet in the head. Just a bullet in the head.” the man mutters, between quiet sobs, sitting gloomily on a worn pew.
Mr. Filia glances at him, his green eyes seeming wise behind his glasses. The man feels vaguely familiar. Perhaps he'd seen him somewhere before.
“You seem to be quite furious.” remarked Mr. Filia, blankly staring at the man.
“I don't have a choice, Filia. They've made me empty again.” replies the man.
He sits up, and straps his trenchcoat back on. He gazes at the rainbow windows of the church, their surfaces reflecting a myriad of colours. They were not stained anymore. He'd told her they'd come here to get married, someday. He gazes back at Filia, watching him lay the veil upon her body. A veil that wasn't white, a veil not of love, but a veil of demise, a veil now dark like his life. Their closure wouldn't come with a kiss, or with celebration. It would come with their deaths.
Maybe they could've had children, watching them happily ponder and explore the world till the end of their days. Maybe they could've lived at the top of a wind-battered lighthouse and watched the ships come to shore. They could've stood at her balcony, watching the flowers of the bougainvilleas bloom. They could've lived a better life.
He grabs the ornate handle of the doors. They are cold. A sign that there weren't any other deaths besides hers. Nobody had walked in here for a long time, except Filia and him. His stare turns ice cold as the doors creak open. He takes a step outside, but the soothing tone of Mr. Filia's voice halts his steps.
“I would not advise you to go to them.” Filia says.
The man sighs, a fragment of a lone tear still bubbling up in his eyes.
“I have to, Filia. I can't let them go. Not anymore.” he replies.
He takes his weapon out of his pocket, arming it with whatever bullets he had left to spare, their insides loaded with all types of exotic explosives. He twirls it around for a little, and ends his recital, swiftly placing it back at his pocket with a slight, smug smile.
I've still got it.
Filia remembers him —a flash of memory plunges at his mind. An orphan. He'd seen him once while wandering in the streets, the look on his face giving off his desperation to survive, a perilous task in the slums. He had pitied him.
He walks away, his figure fading into the night's embrace.
“What is your name, might I ask?” ponders Mr. Filia.
The man turns around. He stares intently at Mr. Filia, his lips forming a soft smile, one in which Mr. Filia could glimpse a hint of agony, hidden behind an ethereal veil.
He laments on his next words.
She was half of my soul.
Now she's gone.
“I don't know anymore.”


Application for Amended Protocol for Contained Humanoid Security
Submitted by Carol Rodgers, Senior Manager of Site-17's Humanoid Containment Wing
Requesting: Reduced security for some medium-risk humanoid SCP objects and CPOIs1 and all low-risk humanoid SCP objects and CPOIs. This includes free movement to and from approved areas as well as socialization opportunities for said anomalies.
Reasoning: During my civilian career, I spent a good amount of time in United States prisons as a social worker as well as running my assisted living facility. There were a great many differences between the two, but most could generally be attributed to the differences between purposes of those facilities. While those prisons sought mostly to punish their inmates, care facilities simply facilitated and assisted the lives of those unable to function in society. However, in my time with the Foundation, I have seen individuals who have committed no crime treated like the most reprehensible of criminals.
Recent surveys with contained humanoid anomalies outline leading reasons of malcontent, listed here:

Removal from society at large.
Removal from social circles or family.
Lack of social interaction.
Perceived unfair, cruel, or otherwise poor treatment by the Foundation.
Difficulty in finding a meaningful purpose/job/area of study.
Lack of sexual opportunity.

While I understand points 1 and 2 are non-negotiable due to the Foundation's role, and sexual contact between anomalies is considered unauthorized cross-testing and therefore banned, allowing anomalies more socialization, interaction, and enrichment opportunities would raise the general well-being of the population of contained anomalies. The overwhelming majority of violent actions as well as breach and self-harm attempts are undertaken by anomalies who had been determined to be mentally struggling by on-site psychiatric staff.
Additionally, it is no secret that humanoid containment sites see a greater rate of employee transfer and general turnover than any other type of site, bar potentially lethal high-risk containment sites. Employee surveys have confirmed the leading cause of this is emotional distress due to perceived "unfair, cruel, or otherwise poor treatment" towards humanoid anomalies.
Reforming our humanoid handling protocols to be less detached from their needs should improve the standard of living for the anomalies we take under our care as well as raise the satisfaction of our employees.
I submit this request to the Board of Directors for consideration.
In good faith,
Carol Rodgers

Footnotes
1. Contained Persons of Interest, contained anomalous humanoids whose containment can be carried out with general containment procedures.

Site-17 Board of Directors Response to Application for Amended Protocol for Contained Humanoid Security, submitted by Carol Rodgers
0 For - 2 Abstain - 3 Against
Motion failed.
Majority opinion: A number of similar measures have failed in the past. These measures are far too lax to be integrated as-is. There is no reason to change our protocols now when on-site casualty rates are at a historic low.
Minority opinion: Such a motion has merit, but such an idea must be refined significantly before it can be passed in confidence.

48 additional messages removed for brevity. Contact on-site RAISA personnel for full correspondence.

Excerpt from Revised Application for Amended Protocol for Contained Humanoid Security
Submitted by Carol Rodgers, Senior Manager of Site-17's Humanoid Containment Wing
List of amendments included:

Full vetting of any anomaly, SCP or CPOI, before they can be granted priviliges, with additional processes for SCP objects.
The ability of Site-17 personnel to strip any anomaly of these privileges at any time.
Time blocks dictating possible activities for anomalies to undertake in designated areas.
Increased security presence and surveillance in all areas anomalies are permitted in.
Appointment of a Factotum selected by the O5 Council to oversee the application of this motion. (NON-NEGOTIABLE)

Site-17 Board of Directors Response to Revised Application for Amended Protocol for Contained Humanoid Security, submitted by Carol Rodgers
2 For - 2 Abstain - 1 Against
Majority opinion: The amendments are satisfactory and offer reasonable improvements from previous failed motions to offer humanoids more privileges. Motion will be rescinded if it does not produce expected results within the established timeframe.
Minority opinion: To relax our security protocols when they have been shown to function to a satisfactory degree is a mistake. Due to the nature of our operation, such changes should be avoided whenever possible.

September had realized something shortly after she settled into her role as a Factotum: there was a perception among Foundation staff that Factotums were second in power only to the illustrious O5s themselves. Which was a bit like saying White House staffers were second in power only to the President of the United States, but it seemed like none of September's coworkers were in any interest to set the record straight on that.
September conceded that her job interacting with Foundation personnel was a bit easier when everyone she spoke to just sort of assumed everything she said was backed up by the threat of something as terrible as it was nebulous, and indeed, she went to great lengths to cultivate a fittingly dignified persona. However, she also understood that this perception painted a target on Factotums for anyone trying to drive a knife into Foundation leadership. This was all well and good for most Factotums, as September understood that they only really appeared to talk to level 4 personnel in private meetings or appeared at a site seemingly at random and disappeared just as quickly.
They did not, as September did, spend all of their time at various sites filling very public administrative roles the O5s wanted eyes on. Which brought September to the disheartening realization that despite her competence, she was still probably very expendable to her employers. And, subsequently, the even more disheartening realization that there was exactly jackshit she could do about it.
But even so, you can learn a lot about the various ways to break the bones of an Insurgency mole coming at you with a combat knife. There is very little you can learn about how to console a secretary named Jessica who looks like she's about to bawl her eyes out from your mere presence when all you asked was for her to give you your interview schedule for your new assignment at Site-17.
September was honestly becoming a little bit worried by the absolute state of the desk jockey in a poorly ironed office suit in front of her, and decided to try and calm her down with her most non-aggressive "Jessica?"
"Eep!" Jessica yipped like a chihuahua and turned to September with terror in her eyes. "How… how did you know my name…?"
September clenched and unclenched her fists, doing her damndest to keep her neutral expression, and simply raised her hand to point at the name tag adorning the front of the secretary's desk.
"O-oh… yeah…" Jessica tried and miserably failed to laugh it off, turning back to her noticeably outdated computer. She was doing a terrific job of ignoring the louder-than-usual crowd of staff going in various directions, with each group of people off in a different direction to update internal surveillance systems, attend seminars for updated security procedures, present anomaly activity ideas to their bosses, or any number of things that needed to get done before a comprehensive overhaul of the wing's established procedures.
"I just wanted to know what my upcoming appointment is." September spoke evenly and in the most inoffensive tone she could manage.
Jessica clicked something on her computer and turned to her printer as it started making all manner of concerning noises and belching out papers. "I, uh, I heard about you coming from Carol - Dr. Rodgers!" Jessica spoke while turning her head over her shoulders to look back at September from the printer about three times a second. "I got your interview schedule, your list of anomalies to interview, your housing arrangements, a comprehensive list of the changes at the site, and a map of Site-17. In case it's your first time here. I-I couldn't print out all the dossiers you might need. S-Sorry…"
September looked at the stack of papers. It was an honestly impressive amount of information to have dug up and formatted properly in such a short amount of time.
"This was more than I had asked for. Thank you." September nodded to Jessica. "I should start getting ready for everything now. You were a great help."
"O-Okay… Thanks…" Jessica replied.
September turned and walked towards her accommodations, mentally cursing the amount of work she'd have to burn through before the proposed changes were to be officially integrated. Interviews with both staff and anomalies, to be completed posthaste. Once she was a good ways down the hallway, she turn back to see that Jessica had completely sunken into her chair out of relief. She looked like a liquid. And in spite of herself, September found herself inhaling…
"JESSICA!" she yelled in her most commanding tone.
This time, Jessica jumped so severely she got some solid air, and sat up in her chair like she had a metal rod in her spine. "Y… Yes…?"
At this distance from Jessica's desk, September let herself smirk.
"No-thing." September turned back to the hallway and continued walking towards her first appointment.

Interviewer: Factotum September
Interviewee: SCP-3009-C
Excerpt from supplemental interview following Dr. Erikson's psychological evaluation

SCP-3009-C: I'm sorry, I'm just - did I do something wrong? Is there a reason you're here instead of one of the normal guys? I, uh, don't mean to be rude, but it's usually just the same guy.
September: No, it's understandable. Nothing is wrong. I can see how you might become acclimated to your… routine, so to speak.
SCP-3009-C: Oh, well, that's good. But, ah, why are you here, then? I don't think they'd send someone new for no reason. Are you filling in for someone?
September: No, I am simply here as part of an oversight committee for a new program Site-17 will be instituting soon. Part of my job is to assess candidates for the program, of which you are one of them.
SCP-3009-C: Oh, jeez, what kind of 'program?' Look, I don't want whatever it is, okay? I can't even do anything. Promise.
September: I fear you may be misunderstanding this. It is not a program to make use of some kind of anomalous activity. It is an enrichment and socialization program for select anomalies.
SCP-3009-C: Wait… you mean, like, meeting other… people?
September: The program allows a limited level of freedom to choose to participate in various socialization opportunities during designated blocks. The papers I have here offer some more insight into what it will look like in practice.
SCP-3009-C: I… what? I'm supposed to be happy for this? I don't want to talk with… whatever else you have in here! I want to go home! If you can let me out of here, why can't I just go home?
September: Your containment here isn't up to me. I understand how you must feel-
SCP-3009-C: No you don't! None of you people do! You all act like you know me, but I'm just supposed to be happy about this?
September: I'm sorry. There isn't much I can do at the moment for you on that front, but this program is not supposed to be a replacement for your previous life. It is just meant to alleviate some of the stress of not being able to interact with others freely.
SCP-3009-C: Well, I just - That sounds nice, I think, but I just - I don't know. I don't know what other things are in here too. I'm not like them. I'm just me.
September: Other candidates are being vetted for the program, so you should be in no danger because of them. There are also extensive security measures in place in order to ensure everything proceeds smoothly.
SCP-3009-C: Sure, I mean, I guess, but aren't the things in here, like, weird? What happens if something bad happens anyways?
September: We… cannot plan for every conceivable contingency. And I can offer you no totally concrete guarantees. Your participation in this project is voluntary if you feel you do not wish to socialize.
SCP-3009-C: Look, I know I probably should and all. It's probably good for me to just talk. Talk to other people, right? But I mean - I'm not sure. I'll look over the papers you gave me.
September: Alright. Take your time. I don't need an answer or anything at this time.
Recommendation: SCP-3009 seems like exactly the type of anomaly this project was made for. It shows no discernable anomalous traits by itself, and Dr. Erikson has recommended it for the project, stating that it would benefit greatly from social interaction. It raises valid concerns about security as well. Care should be taken to make the project appear safe to the anomalies without making the security and surveillance presence seem oppressive.

September walked through the halls of Site-17's Humanoid Containment Wing, and although she was used to her own brisk pace from her tall gait, she admitted to that she was grateful that Dr. Rodgers asked to speak while walking. At least to familiarize herself with the facility, as this was to be her place of work for however long it would take for the radical new changes to fail or be deemed stable by the Council. And it wouldn't be befitting of her image to awkwardly ask passing researchers for directions.
Rodgers was on the shorter side, and her appearance evoked the midpoint of a mother and a grandmother, with a short, constrained gait, and greying hair dubiously covered up by mediocre hair dye applied with an even more unremarkable job. She waved at just about everyone who noticed her, and September noticed she made a point to know each of their names. Each of them was working on installing new security cameras, updating signage, or rushing documents from one place to another in a general commotion that September hoped was not the usual state of the site.
"What did you do before you joined the Foundation, September?" Rodgers asked without turning away from the hallway in front of them.
September stared forwards as well. "I am not at liberty to say anything regarding my civilian identity, nor am I to speak about my tenure at the Foundation," she responded. September considered this to be a somewhat self-important answer, as among Factotums, she was particularly unimpressive, doing little more than attending to whatever menial administrative task required the attention of the Council.
Rodgers chuckled slightly and shook her head. "I suppose that is to be expected. You know, I ran a care facility - a care home, right before I came here," she reminisces. "One of the kids I was looking after turned out to be what you people call a Type Green. I don't really know how all that works, but I think that things might have gotten bad if I wasn't able to talk to him."
September heard as much from Rodgers' file. She had read over a dozen personnel files and a number of anomaly files she didn't even want to think about.
Rodgers turned to look at September before continuing. "I was able to talk to him, able to help him, because I knew him. I didn't know a number or a file. I knew the kid who got scared by doors slamming, who loved macaroni and cheese, who wanted to be a biologist when he grew up, like his uncle."
Rodgers stopped walking and turned to face September directly. "When people came into my care, I took responsibility for their wellbeing. They weren't able to go anywhere else, and I had to appreciate the fact that I was responsible for them." She shifted slightly before continuing once more. "I don't think I can make a grandiose proposal to let everyone here out. Or anyone, for that matter. I don't claim to understand everything that goes on here, nor do I think myself powerful enough to actually hold any significance. I just think we need to appreciate the responsibility we have to those we contain."
September took a breath before forming a response. Regardless of her opinions on this matter, she was here to serve as oversight, and as such, was to remain neutral. "Doctor Rodgers, you should know that I have never once doubted your convictions in the matter. Your applications to the site's Board of Directors told me what I needed to know of your motivations."
"Ah, Carol is fine, really." The smile she offered seemed more fitting for a grandma handing out cookies.
September's demeanor remained unchanged. "I simply want to make sure you understand something moving forward."
"Oh, by all means, go ahead," Carol nodded.
"You are not the first person to attempt changing humanoid containment measures, nor are you the first to have such measures approved. The others had various degrees of success, but do you know what each had in common?" September spoke evenly, looking down at Carol with a neutral face and quarter-lidded eyes, and Carol paused to think about it.
"Each one failed, to varying degrees. One ended due to mismanagement, another due to budget bloat. One ended with a Mobile Task Force winding up as stains on the walls." Carol grimaced. "And each failure had someone take the fall. Sometimes it was reassignment or demotion. More than likely, their memories were wiped and they were dumped back to where they were. In some cases, though," September leaned ever so slightly closer to Carol, "they were simply executed outright."
Carol looked shaken as September continued. "These efforts happen infrequently for a number of reasons, but a major one is that nobody wants to be the one to fall on the knife when it fails. In fact, a number of the Directors had a good amount of prepared suggestions for when something like this came along, they just didn't want to be the one to bring them up. But, thanks to your very public applications for this motion, you have offered yourself up on a silver platter for them."
September stopped to take another breath before continuing. "In short, Carol, you have made it so that if this very risky venture fails, your head will be the one to roll. The method of failure there will determine how literal that expression will be." Carol looked frightened somewhat, but September internally commended her for how hard she was trying not to show it. She clasped her hands behind her back and straightened her posture asking, "since I have said what I wanted to say, is there anything you would like to ask before I take my leave?"
Carol took a moment to formulate a question before asking "do you have any suggestions for me?"
"Get in contact with the RAISA rep here and take a look at how you predecessors failed. You've got better odds than them by virtue of knowing what won't work and why." And with that September turned and left. It brought her no joy to scare someone so reminiscent of a idyllic grandmother, but it was important to say nonetheless.
As September strode through the crowds of rank-and-file workers that all moved out of her way, it took every ounce of self-control September had to not slouch in defeat as she considered all the potentially similarly disheartening interviews she'd need to do before Carol's little project went live.

Interviewer: Factotum September
Interviewee: SCP-4051
Excerpt from supplemental interview following Dr. Erikson's psychological evaluation

September: I can't say for certain who will be approved for the project. I can offer some recommendations, but the final decisions will be left to another committee.September: Well, I won't say much in one way or the other here, pending final approval. Do you have any thoughts or concerns on any of this? I can give you a moment to look through the papers.September: Are you sure? You could look through the papers I have you one more time. I have enough time in my schedule for it.September: I see. Well then, how would you expect to interact with other anomalies?September: How so?September: I don't know if that's the case. Some anomalies here have had drastically different experiences from others based on how their containment was handled.September: In theory.September: Regardless, some anomalies here likely hold a different view of our operation than yourself. I think it's something to keep in mind.September: I don't think that's necessary.September: Once again, I don't think that's necessary, but I won't dictate your social interactions.Recommendation: As far as a psychological standpoint goes, 4051 seems like a good fit for the project. It possesses a favorable outlook of the Foundation and is generally sociable enough to where it may spread that to others. Additionally, its inclusion in other forms of testing implies a certain readiness for staff to allow it into less controlled environments. However, the destructive potential for its (albeit easily controlled) capabilities places doubts into its safe inclusion. I will reserve judgement until Dr. Erikson can prove 4051's stability or potential instability.
On an unrelated note, I feel staff should make an effort to ensure anomalies are psychologically balanced before including them in testing or non-essential programs.

The break room in Site-17 Humanoid Containment Wing was a sight to behold. Yes, Site-17 was the Foundation's second-largest site, and the bigger ones usually had more money to reinvest into non-essentials, but the fact that this wing attracted the Foundation personnel who considered themselves to be the most outgoing and least inclined to dangerous work seemed to show. Somehow, in spite of the workload likely piled on each person working in this wing (or perhaps because of it), the break room was practically frothing with people. September considered that no matter if she was in the working area of the site or the break room, the whole damn thing seemed to be overcrowded. Not only that, but the room itself seemed ill-fit for a worldwide shadow organization. There was too much cushioning on each chair for a workplace. There was a gaggle of people perpetually surrounding a dingy pizza box for some reason. There was a twelve-year-old video game console hooked up in one of the corners.
Overall, not a very good spot for a meeting, especially with someone like a Factotum. Although September supposed the hallways were probably equally bad, security-wise, just more quiet. Not as many groups sitting around speaking in indistinct voices. September made a valiant effort to not consider how long it had been since she was eating lunch while talking with her coworkers like a normal member of the staff.
She couldn't really blame the person she was meeting with, though. Dr. Erikson had quite the hectic schedule, being the one charged with actually performing psychological evaluations on most of the anomalies. Well, she shouldn't blame him for not having the time to book a meeting room, but she did notice herself becoming more annoyed with the grey-haired man damn near sinking into his chair cushion each time she noticed one of those pizza-eating troglodytes leering at her.
September refocused herself on the middle-aged psychologist sitting on the other side of the obnoxiously low table. "So, Dr. Erikson," she started, "as I understand it, you are leading the process of evaluating candidates for the socialization program."
Dr. Erikson seemed to jump a bit upon being spoken to, leading September to question if he had actually just fallen asleep in front of a representative of the O5 Council. At the very least, he seemed quick to recover. "Oh, ah, yes. I volunteered for the job, as I've been working with humanoids for the better part of four decades now. Something as big as this, I figured you could use some of the old guard."
Right. Not like nobody else wanted to volunteer for such a job or anything. "As I understand it, you've been working almost non-stop since this project was approved. Why is that?" September decided to push him a bit.
"Look, at my age, you don't have a whole lot going on," he responded. September didn't think he looked that old. "Look, are we analyzing the skips or me?"
Seems like he got the message. "Of course. I'm only here to hear some of your overall thoughts on the project. Exact minutiae would just slow us both down when we have a lot to do."
"You're right about that." Erikson took a deep sigh that September empathized with. "Well, first of all, on a base level, I'd say that Carol is right in her reasoning for all this. Allowing even basic unstructured socialization opportunities would probably do wonders for a lot of the skips here. Most of them are still pretty much normal people from a psychological standpoint, and we're all social creatures."
September figured there had to be a hell of a lot of overlap between regular psychology and anomalous psychology, or else they wouldn't recruit straight out of college like they did. And it's not like anyone working here was particularly delusional about what exactly they were doing, hence the turnover rate. "Makes sense. So, do you believe your psychological assessments to be reasonable assurances of the mental states of the anomalies?"
Erikson shrugged. "I have some of my colleagues look over them, so the assessments should be sound. Even if many of the anomalies are upset in various ways, they tend to not be outwardly violent. And besides, Security Chief Park vetos any anomalies he thinks might be too dangerous."
Sounds about right. "So you would consider them to be reasonable assurances?"
"I suppose you could consider them reasonable," Erikson replied, "but I would take everything with a grain of salt. You can't predict everything. Some people might just be good liars. People are just generally unpredictable sometimes." Covering his bases, September thought. Smart.
September gestured forwards with one of her hands. "But surely a member of the old guard would be able to account for these things," she said, suppressing a smirk.
"Maybe, but things moving forward are going to be new," Erikson said as he gestured noncommittally. "Before, even if the stressors facing the anomaly were severe, we knew what they were. We essentially knew about every aspect of their lives because of their containment. Simply put, nobody on the psychology team has had to deal with, say, cliques or romantic frustrations or the like while working here. It's going to be a lot for us moving forward."
September's face twitched slightly. Any romantic aspirations were to be discouraged with the anomalies, of course, but she would save her breath forcing the Footloose Doctrine on the actual skips. "Alright. Is that everything?"
Erikson nodded after a moment. "I think so. Of course, none of us can really say for sure how any of this is going to pan out, but we can hope for the best, I guess."
"I am not here to oversee how you best try to hope for this to turn out well," September said in a noticeably more authoritative voice as she stood up. "I am here to oversee how you work to leave as few things as possible to hope. Understood?"
The man looked up at her, moderately spooked, and nodded his head. "Uh, yes, ma'am. I was just using that as an expression, you know…"
"Good. I should take my leave now. I expect we'll be working together again in the future. Good luck with your work." With that, September walked straight out of that too-crowded hall, seeing the crowd shuffing aside before she could even ask, hoping the smile she felt on her lips wasn't too visible.

Interviewer: Factotum September
Interviewee: SCP-2800
Excerpt from supplemental interview following Dr. Erikson's psychological evaluation

September: In short, as one of the selected candidates, you will be able to access various opportunities for socialization. How do you feel about all that?September: …I fear you may be misunderstanding me. This is not like your previous… conversations with cacti. This program is about anomalies interacting with each other.September: In a manner of speaking.September: I'm afraid anomalies are not currently permitted to apply for security roles. the details of the program are included in the papers I gave you.September: I don't think it wise to push your anomalous capabilities. It could result in injury, I'm sure.32 minutes of extraneous conversation removed for brevity.September: Daniel.September: I don't want to seem rude, but I have several more interviews like this one to complete. If you have nothing else relating to the program, I think I should leave.September: It's outlined in the forms I gave you.September: Some of the regular staff should be able to answer questions relating to what's outlined on the sheet. If you'll excuse me, I should be heading out.September: I understand. Which is why I hope you'll consider participating in the program moving forward. (Pause) Now, I should be leaving. Goodbye.Recommendation: SCP-2800 appears to be a prime candidate for the program. Anomalous traits do not constitute a serious risk to security personnel or most other anomalies. Psychological evaluations have determined it suffers from depression in spite of its cordial demeanor, stemming in part from an inability to help others. If given the opportunity to do so, it may see improvement. However, it should be noted that someone who strives to constantly please others may be overbearing in social situations.
Note to self: I shouldn't get ahead of myself in these interviews.

Out of all of the locations September had had these meetings, an operating theater was probably the least expected one, but somehow the most secure. There was precious little work to be done overhauling a medical facility for the upcoming program, and she appreciated the relative silence up it, aside from the strangely meaty sound of cutting and tearing. Of course, the smell of formaldehyde and iron were certainly noticeable here, but at least she was wearing a mask.
This was at least more understandable than having her meet in a break room. Her schedule had her meeting with Dr. Ben Palmer, one of the medical staff members who worked with anomalies, and despite the inflexible nature of her schedule it seems like something came up. She couldn't get a good view of his face from where she was, but his grey hair was certainly fighting a losing battle. He seemed permanently hunched over the patient, being on the taller side.
The woman on the table looked - well, frankly, she looked like absolute shit. Scarring up and down, clammy skin, totally bleached hair, hell, she even had some inscrutable tubes coming out of her spine. The fact that Palmer had disassembled her knee didn't help. It looked like he was just clearing some implants off of a corpse.
"I'm sorry about all this," Palmer said in between breaths as he carefully removed a broken servo from the artificial knee. "Were it up to me I'd reschedule, but as I understand it, you're fully booked."
September sighed quietly enough to not be heard. "Yes, you heard right. I apologize for intruding like this, I've heard how difficult this job can be." If she was being honest with herself, after that last meeting with Erikson she was just happy to see someone doing their damn job around here.
"I've performed operations on Eileen here dozens of times, it's no issue." September made a note that Palmer had referred to the anomaly with its name but also noted that she didn't particularly care. "But I hope I'm not being too presumptuous here in asking why exactly I was told to meet you," Palmer said as he looked back over his shoulder at September, holding a servo covered in an inscrutable mixture of blood and machine lubricant. "I just work with the skips here, mostly medical implants and surgery. I'm not a shrink or a director."
"I'm looking to collect a range of opinions from personnel, including medical staff," September responded. Not exactly an afterthought, as Site-17 had the largest medical wing out of any Foundation site. "You perform the most operations and examinations on anomalies out of any member of the medical personnel. That on top of your credentials and time at the Foundation made you an ideal candidate to speak to." September was getting sick of hearing herself prattle off the reasoning she was given for the interview, but it looked good to be informed.
Palmer straightened out his posture with an audible crack as he moved to dump the old implant in a metal tray and grab a new one. "Well, I'm afraid I won't have a whole hell of a lot to say after dragging you all the way here, unfortunately." Ah, at least he felt bad. "The new handling changes are more for the psychological health of the anomalies. Which is important, don't get me wrong, but I'm not all that qualified to speak on it. This-" Palmer gestured to the half-disassembled woman and the surgical tools surrounding her- "is more my wheelhouse."
"That's more than fine. It's my job to get a wide selection of opinions," September responded. "Just tell me what you think from 'your wheelhouse.'"
Palmer took a deep breath as he selected a far cleaner and more robust servo from another metal tray. "Well, it's my job to ensure the… continued well-being of the contained anomalies here. The anomalies here are my patients. The Hippocratic Oath still applies." A fairly sympathetic outlook, but not entirely unexpected from someone who willingly left a lucrative career as a civilian surgeon for this.
Palmer goes quiet for a few moments as he leans back down over the exposed joint. September decides to stay quiet rather than continue speaking. After a couple minutes of relatively little movement from Palmer, she almost considers speaking up, but he stands up and moves back towards his trays, with the servo now cleanly fit into the joint.
He takes a deep sigh again as he gathers up the parts of the knee he removed. "We don't give a lot of the anomalies we have here much of a choice in the matter." September found his tone to be more resigned than anything. "In a lot of cases, we're the only place they can go. Class 1 regenerators that grow teeth out of a paper cut need specialized care - people like me. Take Eileen here." He leaned back down and began reassembling the knee. "If we're just talking frankly here, she's a walking corpse of someone who was very much alive. She can't be out in a world where people would always think she's the person her body used to belong to. And then she's got… all these implants, and she can't heal from… anything really."
Another pause as Palmer reassembled the knee. "We have a responsibility to them. We're the only place that can ensure their wellbeing, which means we have an obligation to do so. That also means…" Palmer paused again as he appeared to be latching things into place. September didn't move. "…That we need to minimize the chances of anything happening to them. That includes potentially dangerous changes to protocol."
Ah. Seemed like a long way to get there, but September appreciated hearing him out nonetheless. "So you view the changes negatively as-is?"
"No, I didn't say that. I said dangerous changes ought to be opposed." Palmer looked back to make eye contact with September as he moved away from the knee. Good as new, if almost entirely metal and synthetics. "I don't know how the changes are going to pan out. I hope it's all the best for the anomalies, I do. But if breaches or dangerous things happening, I'll seek to oppose it." Not an empty threat, as September understood Palmer was one of the most respected members of the medical staff.
September nodded. "I understand. Thank you."
"Alright. I hope I gave you something worth coming here for," Palmer said as he moved around to disconnect the chord going into the woman's metal spine, before stopping abruptly. "Oh, if you've got a schedule to keep up with, I suggest you leave now. Eileen is pretty chatty - especially with new people.
What was she, a six-year-old? "That's fine. I'm here, might as well conduct her-" September hesitated as she caught what she said, before realizing it's not like her bosses were here. "Interview now. It would probably save time."
Palmer chuckled. "Hey, if you say so."
It wasn't that funny, was it?

Interviewer: Factotum September
Interviewee: CPOI-RED1-6703
Excerpt from supplemental interview following Dr. Erikson's psychological evaluation

September: Alright, one more time: You will have a selection of activities to take part in at designated parts of the day. You will be provided with a schedule. You will be informed if you are ineligible for certain activities due to special considerations. You will be permitted to interact with other individuals. What about this is confusing to you?
CPOI-RED1-6703: Well, uh, yeah, sorry about this, but I still just… I don't really get what you mean by separate activities? Will they ask me what I want and take the stuff here or something? Sorry.
September: No. The activities will take place in separate locations. You may return to your quarters if you do not wish to participate.
CPOI-RED1-6703: Wait, other locations?
September: Yes. We are not centering this initiative around you.
CPOI-RED1-6703: You mean I'll… get to go to… other rooms and stuff? Just, like, any time? Not just Dr. Palmer's office for maintenance?
September: Yes. This is what I have been trying to say.
CPOI-RED1-6703: Oh, geez, that, uh - I mean, that's a lot.
September: I fail to see how - wait, you can only remember an operating room and a cell from before your containment, correct?
CPOI-RED1-6703: Well, I remember the car they took me here in.
September: Uh huh.
CPOI-RED1-6703: So I'll just be able to get up and go to… other rooms?
September: Within the outlined constraints, but basically, yes.
CPOI-RED1-6703: Wow, yeah, okay, cool. But, you know, I don't really know that much about other rooms, right? It's a little scary.
September: Well, I understand that - wait, you're only concerned about the… other rooms?
CPOI-RED1-6703: I know what a person looks like since I have a mirror. But I don't really know what other rooms look like. Sure I have this one, but aren't there other types of rooms, like… a kitchen?
September: Yes, kitchens are real. They have stoves.
CPOI-RED1-6703: Stoves? I think I heard about those. How do they make things hot?
September: I… will ask that you be given a technical manual.
CPOI-RED1-6703: Oh, yeah, thanks.
September: Well, if that's everything, I should take my leave.
CPOI-RED1-6703: Sorry, sorry, just one more thing. Do they have lightswitches too?
24 minutes of extraneous conversation removed for brevity.
Recommendation: CPOI-RED1-6703 represents no significant security threat, as it possesses a generally favorable outlook on the Foundation and below average physical strength. What is more concerning is the scatterbrained tendencies of the anomaly couple with its nearly non-existent natural tissue regeneration. I would suggest assigning it some kind of minder, as I would not trust it to not place its hand on a stove or a fork into an electrical socket out of mere curiosity. Multiple times.

Although September told herself that it truly did not matter, she still found herself somewhat grateful for the fact that her meeting with Site-17's security chief was being held in a proper meeting room, if for no other reason than the fact that she was finally allowed to use one of those office chairs that probably ate up a good amount of budget that should have been spent elsewhere. And to get away from all those goddamned people.
Sitting adjacent to her was Security Chief Simon Park wearing a somewhat stripped-down security officer uniform, with a conspicuously empty holster, September noted. The man looked to be in reasonably good shape for a forty-something man with over twenty years in security experience, but September supposed that he wouldn't have been promoted to his position were he not so good at his job to avoid serious injury.
"Mr. Park, thank you for meeting with me," September said as she scanned over her papers one more time. Just a few more interviews and she'd be free to do… new and exciting forms of work.
Park nodded. "It was nothing. Besides, I know that when a Council member asks for you, you treat that invitation with respect."
September looked up to Park, adding "Us Factotums aren't exactly O5s ourselves, you know. I'll be overseeing this project for a while, so setting aside rooms like this might become tiring." Not to say it wasn't nice to be treated like it now and again, but it wasn't worth slowing down work for.
"Perhaps, but I know that you have a line to the Council. I would treat a phone with them on the line with respect," Park said, adding "and I do believe yourself worthy of respect, as well. Good to treat your coworkers and such well. It's strong teamwork that holds things together."
"I appreciate that, but moving forward, I do predict that our meetings may simply be made easier for both of us were they to be more like two coworkers speaking, as you said," said September. At least he had an attitude fitting for his job. Looking back to her papers, she added "I don't think this should take very long. I'm mainly here to get your thoughts moving forward on the record, including any reservations or recommendations you have." September looked at Park, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands together. "I understand that you have been one of the most influential and vocal critics of this project, so I am eager to hear your thoughts."
Park sighed and slightly readjusted himself to lean more forwards as he placed his arms on the table as well. "I don't hold anything against the anomalies we have here. I know some people here assume my position on this matter to be the result of some grudge against them, but that's far from the truth."
September scarcely moved. She was used to hardass security personnel with a grudge from one breach or another, so this surprised her somewhat. Not that she would ever let it show. "Please elaborate."
"I understand where Dr. Rodgers is coming from, I do," Park continued. "As the head of security, you need to appreciate them as people. They have human emotions, and they make human decisions. It's in my best interest, in keeping them and our colleagues secure, to understand that. The majority of issues I have with humanoids do come from malcontented individuals, so I do see where this proposal is coming from. I simply feel that giving the anomalies even this level of autonomy is too much of a risk overall."
"That is a common piece of feedback I've been seeing," said September. It was probably the most basic talking point against the project, but she admitted it still held weight, especially from the security chief. "As I understand it, your input has been instrumental in creating the current security measures for the project. Though if you have any additional input, now would be a good time to say it." At least she could push for something a bit more constructive.
Park pushed his glasses up. "You see, this project is going to go on with or without my input at this stage. It's my responsibility to make sure we are as prepared as possible," he said evenly. "However, anomalies are, by their very definition, unpredictable. One of the first things you learn working security in the Foundation is that it is impossible to plan for every eventuality. Best practice is not to prepare for them, but to minimize the possible ways things might spiral."
September sat back in her chair slightly. At the very least, his reasoning was more thought-out. "So in short, you think introducing any unnecessary variables constitutes an unidentifiable risk?"
"Basically. I understand that our current arrangements put stress on the anomalies and our staff," Park continued, "but our incident numbers don't lie. Our number of breaches and casualties are down significantly. And although it may reflect poorly on me to some to say this, budget efficiency or staff satisfaction are rarely things I consider when writing protocol. Safety is my bottom line, and this project threatens that. Even if it goes perfectly - which I hope it does - I do not believe the risk taken here to be sufficiently justified."
September considered the points Park had laid out for a moment. "What you told me will be put on the record," she said, "although there is little I can do as a neutral party to influence the proceedings of the project in the absence of direct orders from the higher-ups." She paused before moving to wrap up the conversation. "Is there anything else you wish for me to know?"
"No. I feel I've represented my view well enough without talking in too many circles," Park responded.
September stood up and moved to gather up her things. "I understand your reservations with the project moving forwards, but I trust that everyone at Site-17 can expect your collaboration moving forwards?"
"As I said, cooperation is necessary for things to proceed smoothly at the Foundation," Park said as he stood up as well. "I do hope that this proceeds smoothly. Being right brings me no joy when it comes with casualties. I will do everything I can to ensure this proceeds smoothly." Park reach over to September to shake her hand. "This includes opposing measures I believe to be unsafe."
Well, at least he was a team player. "I'm sure a lot of people here will appreciate that," said September as she shook his hand.

Interviewer: Factotum September
Interviewee: SCP-105
Excerpt from supplemental interview following Dr. Erikson's psychological evaluation

September: Hello. You may not have been informed of the purpose of this interview, but-September: (pause) I… do not believe I am at liberty to say.September: I am not here for any reason relating to any of your… prior engagements. I'm simply here to oversee a new initiative at this site. This interview is to inform you of it and ask for your thoughts.September: Alright. Here are some papers I prepared for you outlining everything. The project is an enrichment and socialization program for contained humanoids, offering some increased privileges and-September: …Are you done?September: The motion was put forward by the Senior Manager of the Humanoid Containment Wing, Carol Rodgers.September: She was hired about three years ago.September: No, it passed through the site's Board of Directors.September: I did not have any say in the voting process, nor can I change its results.September: The intent was to better address the needs of anomalies as well as staff. It's in the papers I gave you.September: As much as I'd love to debate the minutiae of Foundation politics with you, I'm only here to get a handle on your thoughts and concerns with the projects.September: I will request an information transfer to Commander Thompson.(Several minutes pass in relative silence.)September: I'm not sure I follow.September: The two are unrelated. This program's purpose is to raise the quality of life for contained anomalies and staff by-(Full conversation removed for brevity. Contact on-site RAISA personnel for full transcript.)
Recommendation: Simply put, SCP-105's inclusion in this program is almost entirely redundant with its increased privileges from its work with the Foundation. That being said, one Alpha-9 Commander Thompson wrote out and submitted a full complaint outlining her reservations about the project. She often likens it to the disastrous Omega-7 initiative and appears convinced that the project is similar in its intent to grow positive sentiment for the Foundation among anomalies in order to exploit them. Although this is a mischaracterization of the project, it raises valid points about security shortcomings of previous Foundation initiatives and the ethics of exploiting the contained population.
Any personal notes on its antagonistic demeanor are irrelevant for the circumstances of this recommendation.
Note to self: I should redact some of this later. How the hell does she know about Ten?

"So, all of your assignments at this time are complete," the computerized voice on the other end of September's phone repeated. It was allegedly an O5, but she figured it was probably just another Factotum filling in. A real case of the blind leading the blind. September idly wondered how much of the O5's security protocols boiled down to make work programs for paranoid old bastards.
September remembered to keep her voice absolutely level in any case. "Yes. All my interviews have been logged, and my recommendations made. I have no outstanding obligations for this assignment at this time." Probably a bit verbose, but September had the feeling these people don't care for any miscommunication.
"We noticed you made some more lenient recommendations that we were not expecting," the voice said in an expectant tone, clearly fishing for an answer. Although September was more curious as to why they didn't just do all of this themselves if they were going to give her shit for it.
She took a breath to make sure her voice was even. "Through my interviews, I came to realize that the psychological state of the anomaly was an underrated factor in determining risk alongside anomalous properties. And I would like to point out I would leave the inclusion up to the psychology team here rather than recommend inclusion outright." A somewhat toothless answer, but September was aware that she had to appear neutral even now.
A slight pause. "Understood. Do you have anything you need for your continued employment at the site?" September recognized this question as a diplomatic way of trying to wrap things up.
She stared blankly for a moment while thinking. She already had to go through a lot of interviews and paperwork for this job. Moving forward, as an oversight position on this project, she'd be going through paperwork, and more interviews, and paperwork, and meetings, and paperwork, and… paperwork… September did not want to do all that paperwork. Far better to have her own goon do it for her. And, she realized, she had already met someone working nearby who was already competent with paperwork at Site-17.
"Based on the predicted workload of the upcoming assignment, I would like to request that I receive an assistant from Site-17 who has experience with their filing systems.," September said. The minute administrative differences from site to site were a serious pain in the ass, but at this point it was so widespread that it would probably be more of a hassle to standardize everything.
Another pause. "Approved. It's up to you to select an appropriate assistant."
Of course they couldn't do a little bit of paperwork for her about a request she made explicitly because she has so much paperwork. "Understood. I appreciate it." Bleh.
"I'll ask for her to be transferred to you. Do you have anything else?"
This job did come with its share of perks, September thought, and a frankly undeserved amount of influence over the Foundation's droves of workers was one of them. She'll just scoop up some desk jockey tomorrow morning. "No, that will be all."
"Alright then. Good luck on your assignments." And with that, the voice hung up. Honestly one of the nicer goodbyes it ever gave her. Self-important prick.
September brought her hands up to her face, leaned back in her chair, and sighed deeply. Once all the air was out of her lungs, she peeked through her fingers to look at the pitiful studio apartment-looking housing she had been given. At least it was in the relatively secure Executive Wing and had a private bathroom. And fuck-all else.
Still looking between her fingers, she looked at the stack of faxed paperwork on her desk. The fax machine here was a truly loathsome thing, but her superiors liked to ask for faxes for some reason. Maybe because it was harder to hack, maybe because they were crusty old prunes who didn't own a smartphone. She was going to have to become intimately familiar with the thing over the next several months. Right now, September barely even had an idea as to the kind of shit she was going to have to work through during her time here. At least a significant portion of that was going to be her assistant's problem.
Even with the workload, though, September found she wasn't totally demoralized as she got ready to turn in for the night. All her other jobs have just been whipping some sloppy directors into shape or helping clean up after a major breach, but this one felt like it meant something. Running interviews with personnel and anomalies back-to-back gave her the distinct feeling that they weren't as different as everyone pretended to believe.
She considered her distinctly non-neutral opinion on the matter, and decided that grappling with that was Tomorrow's September's problem. She still had - September checked the room's alarm clock - a good ten, er, nine-and-a-half hours before the project went live. With six-to-seven hours of sleep, that left enough time to write up a campaign. September pulled out her luggage, and with it, a pristine set of DND books and guides, just about the only luxury items she let herself carry around with her. Once she had everything planned out, all she needed was a few people willing to play DND… with a newcomer… who held one of the most imposing roles in the Foundation… and was therefore entirely unapproachable.
Man, sometimes September really hated her job.

| Devil's Advocate Hub | Friendly Conversation »


Something's Fishy
Authors: Zygard and EvilAngel413.

▸ More by this Author ◂

{$comments2}

F.A.Q.

{$doesthisfixthebug}

It was the evening hours in the city of Arlende when the golden sun decided to go to rest, and the silvery moon was getting ready to wander lazily through the dark sky. Dressed in richly ornamented golden robes, Queen Mab paced the deserted corridors of the palace, echoing her very quick steps. Only a few minutes ago, she had finished giving a speech to the citizens of her glorious Empire. Orange sunlight illuminated her stern face through soaring, ornamented, and gigantic windows in the corridor. With each step she passed more guards in heavy armor, who bowed when they saw their ruler. Even though all these filthy animals calling themselves intelligent were far from her, the queen preferred to be on guard. There were her guards practically everywhere in the Palace. Except for one room to which the ruler was heading, to experience a moment of peace in a blissful bath. She crossed the thresholds of the unusually ornate bathroom, then closed the door behind her, not allowing anyone to peek at it. She began to quickly take off her robes, until to her surprise she noticed that the bath was ready for her. But what made her more surprised - there was a carp inside.
Despite her unflinching curiosity, she felt irritation growing in her chest. Who could be brave and yet unimaginative enough to mock her in such a way? With due grace, she perched on the edge of the tub, sweeping the marble floor with golden cloths, and looked at the animal, which, though carelessly, swam in an extraordinarily spacious tub.
"You are certainly not willing to answer me, who did this?" The Queen leaned back slightly, eyeing the aquatic animal with her head slightly tilted. The fish swung its tail three times, slowly swimming closer to the woman watching her, and tilted its head slightly, looming it slightly out of the water, although this should not be possible due to the anatomy of the fish. Even so, the thing that followed was so strange that it was forgotten.
"I would have answered with pleasure, were it not for the fact that I myself am not sure how I got here" a low-bass voice echoed through the room, bouncing off walls covered with jewels, precious metals, and carvings. Even with her knowledge and the eloquent manner in which she was able to talk, she was unable to say a word of her own.
They stared at each other for a moment, not quite sure what to do in this situation. Part of Mab wanted to call the guards, find and punish the culprit, and turn the carp into an unusual dinner, but most of her was tired and curious about this unexpected guest. Carp, on the other hand, felt confused, he did not know where he came from, what exactly happened and why he is now in front of the most distinguished Queen. On top of that, being in her bathroom. Despite being a fish, the carp was observant, he could see the tiredness on Mab's face caused by today. So he spoke.
"It seems to me that I am not a very large specimen, there will also be a place for the honorable lady" said the carp encouragingly and gracefully.
His voice was surprisingly soothing to the dignified woman, and his tone was music to her ears. Not belonging to an outstanding species, and as gallant as a catfish, it inspired her trust and a certain kind of sympathy for this aquatic animal. The queen moved a little closer, a delicate smile appeared on her prominent, velvety lips.
"Shall I not disturb the honorable gentleman? You know…" The golden fabric gently slid off her shoulder, revealing silky smooth skin. "I would not like to surround anyone with my presence."
Carp, despite the surprise and embarrassment visible on the fish's face, decided not to jeopardize his reputation as a gentleman. He humbly bowed his head and raised his mouth again.
"I would never dare to think of such a beautiful and dignified woman who, despite my appearance as an intruder, decided to treat me with respect." He bowed again, this time staying under the water. "It would be the greatest honor for me if Your Majesty would not mind." Despite the slight problems and the modulated voice, Queen Mab heard him perfectly. She didn't need to know any more.
She stripped off her robes, dropped them entirely to the floor, and carefully touched the water in the tub with her toes. It was pleasantly and soothingly warm, not too hot, not too cool. She submerged her leg fully, then another joined her, and the woman began to descend completely. The carp swam past her, glancing at Fae every now and then. The Queen had just noticed the lit candles on the rim of the tub, the light reflected from the richly decorated walls. For a moment she felt the slippery skin of a carp touching her legs, and despite the irresistible desire to kill him for such defamation, the warmth of the water and the general atmosphere calmed her down, so much so that the great queen smiled at the fish.
"Maybe you can tell me your name?" Asked Mab, reaching for a washing sponge made by Fae's finest craftsmen.
"Le Fishe, my dear lady" the carp replied, emerging with its mouth above the surface of the water, centrally in front of the queen. In fact, he didn't remember his name, it was the first thing that came to his mind.
"Where are you from then, Mr. La, Fish …?"
"Le Fishe" the fish replied calmly.
"Of course, please forgive me." A light blush rose on the cheeks of a woman who decided to hide her face behind a cascade of shiny, amber waves of hair. With every soothing movement on her skin and the calming, gentle whirlpools caused by this fish guy, she felt a blissful calm and relaxation in which she wanted to plunge herself up to her nose.
"But I still haven't heard the answer to my question." Gently, she leaned back, resting her head in a specially carved hollow. The carp immediately swam a little closer, taking care not to expose himself to the fiery woman's wrath and not to touch her accidentally.
"It is a land that is very remote and as cruel as it is beautiful. It is not a world where the weak will survive, and the strongest have to prove their strength every day." If he could, the carp would shed a tear, but even with all the absurdity of the situation, such an extreme was not possible, because it was a fish of the species Cyprinus carpio. Queen Mab, however, was not completely indifferent to the confession of her fettered companion. The news touched her icy heart, allowing her to experience something she had never felt before - compassion
"My dearest guest, would you then not mind staying by my side for a long time?" Mab asked a question, she was surprised by the carp's words, in the end almost all lands were conquered by her.
However, she temporarily decided to trust her unexpected guest. She was, after all, a being of great power and might, with her magic could not be compared to when thousands of armies fell by the light gesture of her hand. Le Fishe was not a threat to her, and perhaps there was a chance of becoming a useful companion. Mab took the sponge one more time and began to wash her body with gentle movements.
"It would be a great honor for me" Le Fishe responded to the Queen's proposal. He swam past her, occasionally glancing at her perfect body and firm, abundant breasts, but it did not escape the Queen's attention.
She, however, noticing the clear and hungry gaze of her freshwater companion, smiled slightly, and a dangerous gleam appeared in her eye.
"I see you are missing something, my dearest comrade" she accentuated it by squeezing the water from the sponge into her refined curves. If only he could, the carp would swallow nervously, however, constrained by its fleshy prison, only turned, lowering its gaze in confusion.
"I humbly ask forgiveness, my lady. Despite being a traveler and seeing so many wonders of the world, you are the greatest of them" he replied, still not daring to look at the queen. A surprise appeared on the woman's face first, then replaced by a gentle expression of adoration and contentment. The prominent apricot-colored lips formed a delicate horseshoe, the dark eyes, although cold and threatening, became tender and gifted with a tender look to the fish currently swimming in her tub.
Le Fishe paused for a moment, showing his mouth above the surface of the water, his eyes met the great queen. Despite the fact that they only knew each other for a moment, he felt something inside towards her. Touching her leg lightly, he swam closer. Mab reached out with her hand, for a split second Le Fishe thought that this was his end, that the queen would kill him with this hand. However, he was wrong - she touched him, sliding her hand gently along his side and giving him unimaginable pleasure. After a while she reached out with her other hand as well, moving the fish closer to her. She hugged Le Fishe gently against her velvety, naked body.
The feeling of the warmth and smoothness of her skin against his cold, slightly slimy scaly body was heavenly, her beauty up close was even more striking, and her touch, though firm, was also gentle and careful, for she did not want to hurt her guest. Le Fishe was stunned, he felt as if he had been enchanted, but was that not the case? This dignified woman, her grace and charm, all this made it difficult for him to form logical thoughts, he was unable to focus on anything else but the firm, soft lips. He couldn't overcome this growing urge, a fiery lust smoldered in his fish guts. Without a moment's thought, he took advantage of what nature had given him and, slipping slightly from the queen's embrace, approached her, joining his fish and her Fae lips in a kiss.
Surprised by this and at the same time impressed by the carp's courage, Mab drowned in a kiss. Her delicate lips became one with Le Fishe's slick yet graceful lips. Helping him to balance, the queen supported the fish with both hands. She closed her eyes and focused on the magic of the moment, leaving her sister, the Empire, and all the problems of her position far behind her head. Only this moment mattered.
Le Fishe, being in this blissful moment, did not feel it, but he began to change significantly. Thicker plates of bone appeared on his skin, and his body itself began to grow rapidly. The ornate bathtub in which they both stood expanded with it too, until it came to a stop at the size of a small pool. Mab slowly broke the kiss looking at the new, transformed Le Fishe. Kissing him carefully on the forehead, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him completely.
"You come from cruel lands, you were weak. But now by my side you will be stronger than any of your species could have imagined" Mab whispered to the armored fish Le Fishe was now.
Feeling the enormity of vital forces bursting his fish breast, Le Fishe felt invincible. He knew that nothing would ever threaten him again, and he would thank the Magnificent by protecting her, even with the last scale of his new armor, to protect her. Queen Mab pushed the carp slightly away from her, and the two lovers began to stare deeply into each other's eyes. Not wanting to ruin this beautiful moment, the fish warrior opened his mouth and said:
"I will be grateful to you until the end of my life, and when we both go into oblivion, I will be your guardian and guide. For this I take a vow of loyalty to you until the end of my life, Your Majesty" He concluded the solemn speech with a humble nod of the head, waiting for the blessing of his ruler. She gave him a gentle smile, gently setting him down in the water.
"Le Fishe of the Unknown Lands, I accept your generous gift and express my delight at your willingness to enter the thresholds of my personal army." She reached for a nearby layer of shimmering gold cloth and took out a delicate, ornate dagger made of sea leopard bones. She lifted it above the carp's head and closed her eyes to focus better.
"From today until my death and one day longer, you will serve as my right hand in the ranks of the military. I name you Sunovreth for you will be invincible" Mab said, then whispered some powerful spells.
The dagger the queen was holding in her hand began to change into all the known colors, the glow reflecting off the precious stones in the bathroom walls. A stream of energy entwined the Queen and Sunovreth, bonding them both for the thousands of years to come and be known as the heyday of the Empire. Mab came closer, then sat on the back of the fish, cuddled up to her companion affectionately, and plunged the dagger into the side of the fish, embracing it with her naked body. But Sunovreth felt no pain, he felt only the pleasure and joy of being with the queen. After taking out the dagger, he felt an overflow with energy that he had not had before, he rose above the surface of the water, holding the ruler on his back. Mab lay down on the fish and kissed Sunovreth tenderly on the head. The fish, despite having hard bone plates, was able to feel a kiss and blushed slightly.
"Together we will destroy many enemies" Mab whispered.

Research Overseer: Dr Ryszard Kot

The death of anomalous object 69-249 ("Zombie Dunkleosteus") occurred at 2:43 pm as a result of the separation of the subject from the body of humanoid 69-1. All anomalous abilities of the object with his death ceased to exist. Further examination of the humanoid corpse was recommended. At the time of death, the object's age is estimated to be around 275,000 years old… see more


Site Director Atlas sat at his desk, bathed in the soft orange glow of sunset, while he listened to the gentle pitter patter of rain on the roof of Provisional Site 109. Though the sound of the raindrops impacting the corrugated roof of the Mobile Operations Center was, in reality, quite calming, Director Atlas still felt a pang of anxiety whenever another draft of rain blew in.
At Provisional Site 109, the rain inspired something of a healthy fear in the hearts and minds of all personnel onsite. Though beautiful and quite calming, the precipitation held within itself its own danger.
After all, Provisional Site 109 was built around the location of SCP-6457, and the few researchers stationed there were ingrained with the knowledge of what the rain does. Everyone knew of the exclusion zone, everyone knew that they were safe outside of it. But still, with each raindrop came a new worry, a possibility that the anomaly had expanded and that they, too, would soon be preserved.
As Atlas sat as his desk, watching his terminal screensaver bounce from corner to corner, he caught a glipse of a female figure walking in the foliage outside the window.
"Valentina! You never told me you were going to visit! Where are you going?"
The female figure responded, a smile briefly flashing across her face.
"Going to take a walk. Could definitely stretch my legs and get some fresh air after a drive that long. Do you want to join me?"
"I'll be right out. Give me a moment."
Atlas stood up, feeling the ever-present flare of pain in his midsection. He readjusted his bandages, grabbed his boots, and hurried out the door. The sound of an object rolling alerted him to check the room one final time before he left. Though at first worried, as his eyes darted about the room looking for the culprit, they fell upon his pen resting in the dent on his desk. It seemed it had rolled in when he stood up. He quickly averted his eyes from the dent, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.
The rain was nothing more than a gentle drizzle outside the mobile operations center. Outside the door, Valentina stood, sporting a black peacoat, her blonde hair already soaked through by the rain. She turned, gave the director a warm smile, and turned into the thicket. As she navigated her way through the brush with an almost unnatural grace, Atlas' massive frame knocked brances out of his way as he limped along.
A branch, pushed aside by Valentina in her hurry, snapped back and collided directly with the bandaged section of Atlas' midsection. The sharp inhale, as well as the pained exhale which followed, alerted the woman to her mistake. As she turned, she saw Atlas on his knee, eyes betraying his state of suffering.
"Oh my god - are you okay?"
A short grunt from the fallen Director.
"Yeah, I'm alright. I'll be right behind you."
In reality, Director Atlas was far from alright. However, the pain of this moment was minor, compared to the incident which resulted in his transfer to this backwater site.
At least Val still came to visit me, he thought to himself. Not much she could need from someone like me, but I'm glad she still enjoys my company.
As Valentina pushed aside the last few branches in her path, the sea came into view. Thirty feet below the two, the sea churned and roiled, an inky mass of foam and spray. The roaring waves overshadowed the sound of the rain falling to the ground. However, the two could feel the individual drops impacting their skin, the wind sending needles into the cold spots left behind.
Valentina and Atlas both knew this location well. A gap in the perimeter fence had been left for scientific access to this part of SCP-6457, though the research program had long since been abandoned. None of the security personnel on-site, as well as the junior researchers, knew of this location. Due to its secluded and quite beautiful nature, Valentina and Atlas often used this as a place to ponder, relax, and discuss the ins and outs of the life they lived.
Today, though, no words were spoken between the two figures as they watched the sun set over the water.
When the sun finally sank below the waves, and the inky black began to overtake both the water and the sky, Valentina pulled out a small leather-bound notebook. She quickly flipped through the pages, and, having selecting one, ripped it out of the small journal. Shielding the delicate paper from the rain with her body, she folded the page into a small paper airplane. Atlas looked on with a mix of confusion and amusement as she withdrew this paper airplane and sent it sailing into the stormy sky. As it crossed that fateful barrier, the rain caught the small paper construction, and dissolved it before it had reached the ground.
"What's that about?" Atlas queried.
"That's between me and the sea to know, and you to wonder. I find writing down my thoughts and getting rid of the page to be a healthy way to cope. Heaven knows we all need that now."
Atlas pondered this idea. His mind drifted back to the desk in his office: the dent in the steel, the small rivulets of blood which had once filled it, and those lifeless eyes. He had enough thoughts to fill a whole notebook since he had been transferred here, thoughts which had never seen the light of day. Perhaps it was time to say something, to someone, even if that someone was the sea.
He picked himself up from the stone on which he sat, and turned back towards the site.
"The guest housing is still open, Val. I hope you'll stay awhile, I do miss you. It's getting late. I'll see you in the morning."
As the last remnants of the sun faded below the horizon, Atlas wondered what the next day would bring.
.
Part 1: Further Additions Upcoming


by Ethagon

Dragonslaying was once a divine duty.
The Catholic Church would send its best warriors to lay any of the hell beasts to rest. They cleansed the lands of dragons so thoroughly, they soon became the stuff of legends and nobody knew of their noble deed. Still, the dragons did not remain idle and the Royal Office for Christian Artifacts carried on.
But there came a time when the Church, and with it, the Office, lost some of its influence over the western world. Soon some of the dragon-slayings became known and with it came outcries for wasting resources for hunting fictional monsters. At first, the Office resisted, but in the end, they withdrew their efforts.
The dragons however did not. Free of their holy counterpart, they wreaked havoc on unsuspecting villages until anyone who cared knew that these monsters were very much real. Some might even suspect that the Office intentionally withdrew itself completely so that all its critics might see how dependent they are on the Church.
But this is not what happened.
Instead, boisterous adventures tried to fill the void the Royal Office for Christian Artefacts left behind. Soon they came together to build a new Order of Dragonslayers that relied on the virtues of science instead of help from the divine.
And yet, there were still too many dragons. Even this new Order could not prevent all dragon attacks and the number of unprevented ones steadily grew ever larger than it had been in the time of the Office.
Their attacks escalated until a whole city was destroyed by multiple dragons. They were barely any survivors and only one of noble blood. This lord was all too eager to hoard the remaining residents. The Dragonslayers were still arguing with him when he transformed into a dragon right in front of their eyes.
It remained unknown to them what caused this mutation until the Office decided to share its knowledge. The Fafnir-word, they called it, for it took the greed in the hearts of its victims and pulled it outward. The greater the greed, the greater the dragon.
'Well,' the Dragonslayers discussed among themselves. 'It stands to reason that if this is caused by a word then it can also be stopped by one. We just need to invent it.' But helping in this the Office refused. 'This word is a divine gift to reveal the sins that are kept close to the heart. The only action to be taken is to periodically cleanse this opened greed, but leave the word itself unharmed.' Outraged were the Dragonslayers at this response. How could they support an evil that could have been destroyed ages ago? The Dragonslayers swore to never go down this path and heed the Office's advice no longer.
Without the help of the Office, the Dragonslayers started the labour of constructing a word that could pierce Fafnir. They searched many corners of the occult to find something that would help. From exorcisms over prayers and "spells" to words of wisdom. Even one of the Schriftsteller decided to give his help to the construction.
Finally through skill, research and pure luck, the word was invented. They called it Notung and it was the first true countermeme of its kind, though it wouldn't be called as such until much later. For the first time Fafnir and not its off-spring was slain. 'This', the Dragonslayers said. ' is a Foundation that can be built upon.'
And it had to be built upon, as soon they discovered, that Fafnir may have been slain, but not defeated. Still, there were aspects of it, most minor and less severe, that coursed through the languages of civilization. With the main threat gone, however, the rest of the battle could be fought in secret and dragons entered the realm of myth once more. They took Notung and on its pattern, many more swords were forged, that could be ridden into battle to slay the hidden dragons.
Evermore did the Dragonslayers understand the science within these magical words. In the hope to forge better weapons, that they may defeat Fafnir once and for all, the Dragonslayers set forth to dive into this strange new science and make interesting discoveries.
The world, however, had other plans. Instead of new ore to forge weapons from, the Dragonslayers just found more dragons.
A pattern that makes all who see it a slave to its propagation infected large parts of the Order. The pattern is destroyed, too dangerous to research, but it was rediscovered again and again until finally the last instance was destroyed. Hopefully for good.
A hymn that consumes traditions of winter was discovered by chance. If the Dragonslayer's opinion of the Office hadn't been low already, the fact that they helped to propagate their own dragon would have sealed the deal.
A sect that spread lies about its five-headed dragon was swiftly dealt with and just as swiftly forgotten.
Many small threads found their way into the Dragonslayer's hands and were either archived for research or destroyed for their danger. But the production of new weapons was slow. They no longer had the herculean effort and resources that were offered to them for the creation of Notung. And aside from some strengthening poems of dragon-slaying, stolen from the Office, none of the new weapons were useful for long. They were too brittle, too weak. What the Order lacked was a method to test their weapons. Somebody to sharpen them on. But no solution that didn't risk too much or endangered human life was found.
Still for all the new research dragons still needed to be slain. And so they did.
Without better weapons it had to be the Order itself that needed to be grander. They perfected their art as much as anyone can perfect dragon-slaying. Soon all of Europe was covered by the dragonslayer's valiant effort against the insurmountable, but still hidden as the Order had decreed. In the public dragons must remain in myth, their death dealt in secret by the Order, lurking below the ground of society.
It wasn't long until they were joined by others. Or maybe what joined them had existed before, the Order had ever only focused on dragon-slaying after all. And in dragon-slaying, they noticed these others. Organizations that handled things that shouldn't be, things unexplainable by science and more recently also dragons.
There was much discussion in the Order, about what should be done with these others. 'Let them', most said. 'More dragonslayers means fewer dragons. New hands never hurt, maybe they'll even find new weapons.' 'They could never succeed at something we didn't achieve ages ago', others countered. 'They are not skilled in the art, what if they falter?'
It was decided that the Order would support most of these Organizations. To send a few knights, that give advice and stay as eyes for the Order. But one organization, they feared, came to close to failing in the art of dragon-slaying. With a heavy heart, the Order decided the best course of action would be to devour it whole.
Afterwards, they returned below ground, even deeper hidden from society than the other organizations, doing what they did best, dragon-slaying. So absorbed were they in their task, that they barely took notice of how the others build networks above and around them, finding themselves amidst a system that would one day be so much greater than the sum of its parts.
These other organizations, precursors they'd be later called, separated themselves more and more from the countries and religions they represented, growing their network ever tighter. An effort the Order was largely uninterested in. Still, they slithered into the cracks and build their cave in the ties these organizations made.
In their cave, they slumbered, brooding about new findings by the others above, ore that the Order would have been denied if they had no ears in this newfound cooperation. Research could finally begin anew, however limited it was.
Spain found an interesting Aztec prayer that the Order gladly gave their attention to in return for the knowledge of this new-forged weapon, unbeknownst to the precursors.
Sometime later all that cooperation reached its tipping point and the Foundation emerged. The Order of Dragonslayers, in its cave amid this vast network, helped to build this new organization, so that their weapons may become an intrinsic part of it. And while they never had a seat in the Council, they would always have its ears.
In this new global effort, resources seemed limitless and the former Order finally got the solution it had yearned for. D-Class. The effects of both weapons and dragons alike could now be tested and reproduced without consequence. Research exploded and the former Order prospered.
Dragons both old and new were slain en masse. The prey brought back to the cave and their corpses vivisected.
Only seldom did they leave their cave to help the Foundation at large. One such occasion was the Panopticon Crisis, although their part in the solution, The Frontispiece, was ultimately negligible. Far greater however was the price received from the crisis. New sections sprung up around the globe, as the world ushered from the age of proto-memetics to memetics, and the former Order folded itself in amongst the burgeoning new science of memetics within the Foundation, helping to usher in a new division that would later be known as the Central Memetics Department.
The Department grew and with it the Foundation. It grew so large that it discovered the forgotten fruit. To eat from this fruit, one head wouldn't do. A new department, a second head would be needed to savour the taste of the fruit. The second Memetics Department was a head made of counterconcepts. Or was it antimemes? It didn't matter, because the second head vanished as soon as it took its first bite. Only very little could be saved by the First Head, devoured again.
Dragons, as had once been their purpose, were not a problem anymore. The slaying had long since been standardized and even the once-mighty Fafnir had been reduced to entry NOO-666073 in the concept and cognitohazard repository that was the horde they were sleeping on. They had grown fat in their cave, barely moving only roaring to command the life of others.
The third head grew all on its own, of people both dissatisfied and curious. Central Memetics ejected them from their cave and they scattered around the world across all Foundation facilities as their very own Memetics Specialists or joining the Memetics Divisions of other sites. In the uninformed's eyes, they represented the whole of the Memetics Department. Unaware of the greater depths that tethered every specialist still, the central head they all dreaded to report to.
As the years went by, more and more insects surrounded the cave, pestering it to change its procedures. But noisy as they may be, the insects were far too harmless to require special attention. So they slept over it.
Only the insects did not cease, instead becoming larger and louder, their claims more outrageous. D-Class were supposed to be a moral failure? Memes should be explained? How dare they. There was a right way to do things and these fools had no respect for the power they build upon.
The Central Memetics Department soon found out, that this problem would resolve itself soon. The Impasse would, in the end, take most of the Foundation with it, they concluded. And they gave their house-made memes and cognitohazards a good chance to persist the longest, to tight were they bound to containment to simply vanish like all inferior sciences. Even if the central head would lose its ability to breathe fire, were they not big enough to persist no matter what? Yes, they could not fade.
Around its cave, the Foundation got to work and found its way out of the Impasse by the closest of margins. Their efforts culminated in a vote that the Central Memetics Department only heard about after the fact. Sure, the Council could only be bent so much before it broke apart, but this time it would not bend at all. Thankfully the dissolution of the Foundation was opposed by seven of thirteen overseers and everything stayed as it should be.
Unfortunately with the end of the Impasse came the return of the insects. They were not pleased with the outcome of the Impasse and added it to the noise of their prior complaints. Getting ever more persistent and bolder in pestering the central head in its cave. This could be tolerated no longer. No, maybe the point had come where the First must crawl out of its cave and roar in all its majesty to remind the world of its keeper.
And they still thought themselves Dragonslayers.


Mom! Mommy! I'm stuck please help me
The hole's squeezing my body.
Please help! I'm trying! Mommy!
Oh the walls, hurting my body.
…
Mommy? I am feeling hungry.
When will I get to eat mommy?
Why'd I have to be stuck in place?
Body's hurt, belly groans to eat.
…
Mommy, days I spent stuck in place,
More and more, I want to be fed.
Let me eat, I'm feel like I'm starved,
No need for happy birthday song.
…
Mommy! Mommy! I'm falling down!
The ceiling! Me! Please catch! Mommy!
Oh the pain. Where are you mommy?
I'm aching, I need you, mommy?
…
I'm wandering for so long now mom…
Why don't you answer, or look for me mom?
I'm starving the cake's not enough,
Only threads, stuck between my teeth.
…


Again.
From between the stars
A living empty.
Crawling with purpose.

A dream
Of a thousand worlds.
Like wet supple flesh.
Prepared for carving.

Denied,
It screams for release.
For the abattoir
To begin slick work.

A void,
A billion candles,
A trillion voices,
Abiding silence.

Release!
It writhes below.
More flesh for culling.
Simple surrender.

My love.
Green, blue, and beauty.
Ache to catch the world
Stretching forever.

Refuse
The skin that was mine.
Falling as I am
Still I miss the ground.

Again.

SCP-1959 during its brief containment at Orbital Site-2001. Its current whereabouts are unknown.