by AnActualCrow

Recommended reading music

Operation 326: "Disseminated for Our Own Safety"

There's been an information leak among the D-Class personnel across various sites. Knowledge of SCP-6400's existence has been rapidly spreading, and the Department of Human Resources has raised concerns regarding the psychological effects this may have on them. We've considered multiple approaches to curbing any attitudes that would disrupt the Foundation's workflow. While amnesticising all psychologically afflicted personnel is the most obvious solution, it would be incredibly costly and may not plug the source of the leak, resulting in D-Class re-adopting the same non-optimal attitudes. We have instead devised a solution that aims to be more cost-efficient and more effective in the long term.
Course of Action:
For recordkeeping purposes, SCP-6400 will be considered declassified.
Copies of "Black Box".Personnel requesting the name of the author will be given a generic name such as "James White" or "Muhammad Abadi." will be disseminated to all D-Class involved with the Foundation. It's unknown whether knowledge of SCP-6400's existence helps further the operation's objective. Results of this operation will be recorded for the future.

Black Box

Three weeks. That was how long they told Clancy he had to stay in The Box. They never told him why— claimed it was classified. They also didn't tell him that time itself would be locked up in another room, separated from The Box that now held the withering husk of a man. At first, his decay was physical. He hit his shin on the bench after what may have been 20 minutes or 20 days. Not on purpose, mind you, but because The Box's singular light bulb had burnt out long ago. None of the staff had bothered to replace it. And so he cradled his leg in the dark, feeling his pulse through his injury. The pulse confirmed that he was a man, a living human being that was above this degradation, this exercise in meaninglessness. And for what might have been a couple hours or a couple years, his pulse kept him occupied.
Eventually, the pain faded. Once again, Clancy was left with the nothing that slowly eroded his mind. So he began drumming on the walls. Tap, tap tap, two knuckles rapped against the cruel concrete. And when they felt like they were about to shatter, he switched to the next pair of knuckles. He didn't stop until his whole hand felt like it was made of glass and his skin was every shade of raw.
A slot at the base of the door opened. A Styrofoam food tray slid through. The man stuck his hand out— not for the food he wanted, but the harsh white light he needed. The slot closed.
The man felt for utensils in the dark. His fingers found what could only have been a plastic spoon, its handle sitting in the nutrient mush. It was only food by technicality, but the alternative was to starve— to regress into the nothing surrounding him. The man fed himself. It felt like mashed potatoes soaked in milk. It tasted… well, he wished it had tasted bitter. Or sour. Or something. It tasted like nothing, like his tongue was tricked into believing there was food in his mouth when it was actually empty. He dipped his finger into the mush just to make sure. It was as real as the walls of The Box, as real as the door and floor and ceiling and the command from his superiors that held him. Another spoonful. Another taste of unbearable nothing. Again. Again.
The decay went on. The man didn't know when he slept or when he woke up. No matter how hard he looked, the trays of mush seemed non-existent until his feet fell into them. Sometimes he didn't know himself. He would run his hands along, from his feet to his head, affirming that he was still there. That he was still human. He would touch his dry lips as he tried to say his name. Usually, all he could do was mouth out the syllables. But even that was better than when he tried to deduce why he'd been ordered to trap himself in The Box— to figure out what crime against nature would warrant this.
Sometimes he'd whistle a note or two. Sometimes he'd do a pushup before collapsing on the icy floor. Sometimes he'd wrap his hand around his wrist and think about how the gap between his skeleton and his skin was getting smaller and smaller. Sometimes this, sometimes that, never enough to stop the decay.
One day, there was something new. A window, circular and pristine, was now a part of the far side of The Box's wall. The man could see Montgomery. He could see the cars on the road and the faces in the cars. He could see the morning sun peaking out from behind the clouds. It was yellow and orange and so warm he could feel the heat when he touched the glass.
His eyes stung. His skin itched and peeled. He'd been staring for hours. This time, he knew: he'd started staring at dawn and stopped in the blue and purple hours of twilight. 12 hours, he thought to himself, I've been staring out the window for around 12 hours. He knew when he slept through the night and when he woke up in the morning. And when he put his open palm up to the glass, his fingers casting long shadows on him like cell bars, he knew he had to escape.
The first punch sent fire through his right hand. The second sent fire through his left. Red specks flew towards The Box's floor, catching fleeting sunlight in their descent. Another hit, another wave of pain staving off the ocean of nothing. Clancy's heart throbbed in his chest as he threw everything he knew was him into the window. Elbows, shoulders, legs. It was all him. Again. Again. Clancy's bones and the window's glass cracked in tandem. In one final thrust, one manic shoulder bash of a restored man, the window chipped. It disappeared in an instant, its place taken by cold concrete.
Before the man could feel his heart break, The Box returned to darkness.

Objective:
Indirectly inform D-Class personnel that disruption of our modus operandi will never benefit them. While other disciplinary methods (such as those described in "Black Box") have been somewhat effective methods of curbing unproductive D-Class behavior, they ultimately rely on external motivation. In other words, D-Class live by The Foundation's values to avoid disciplinary measures. Consequently, they act undesirably when they believe that they are not monitored. The proposed method attempts to intrinsically motivate D-Class to avoid uncooperative behavior. In other words, they will follow desired D-Class behavior even when unmonitored because they have internalized that rebellion will only cause them further harm. We will not need to police them if they police each other. We will not need to police them if they police themselves.


BeardedBully 12/18/21 (Wed) 21:04:57 #35967821

Hi, i'm relatively new to the forums, i always read them for entertainment and i really like horror stories even though i've never been much of a believer in esoteric stuff and stuff. i wanted to ask for help or at least some advice for this situation i've been dealing with these last few weeks. i already talked to people in different forums and chat pages like reddit but no one takes me seriously.

a few weeks ago (about two weeks at least) i moved with my partner to a new home as we both got jobs in a city close to where i used to live and it was more comfortable for us to move together to a new home to start a new life as adults and blah blah blah blah.

the thing is that as soon as we finished moving we decided to relax and have a barbecue in the backyard of the house. so far we had not had any problems, neither with the neighbors nor with the house itself. but still something felt out of place, i don't know. the vibes?? i don't quite understand how that works but my girlfriend mentioned it several times.

to give you some context, our new home is located on the edge of a beautiful forest. close to the house there are also large parking lots and large green areas beyond the forest behind the house. basically it is our huge backyard shared with the neighborhood.

the first few days living there we didn't have many problems since, well, at least i didn't often find myself at home. i am a doctor and we have been very busy lately.

back on topic, my girlfriend told me several times that she found things out of the place where she left them. at first i thought it was because (probably) she was too proud to admit that she lost things or just forgot where she left them.

or so i thought until it started to happen to me too. first with small things, the playstation joystick, the car keys or my socks for my slippers. then, it started to be bigger things and therefore annoying. a vase we had in the dining room changed places four times in one week.

the televisions started to fail, the internet too. we called the service provider to complain and got them to send technicians to check what was going on. they told us that the electrical box had sulfated fuses and that they had already changed them. a few days later, everything started to fail again, same complaint, same procedure and same problem.

all this wouldn't be much of a problem if it hadn't been for the fact that something horrible happened last night. We were getting ready to go to bed and we did our routine: we cleaned up, locked all the doors and turned off the lights downstairs (where the dining room, kitchen and so on were located).

we went upstairs, went to bed and i put on headphones with music to sleep. my girlfriend watched tv for a while until i fell asleep. after an hour or so, my girlfriend woke me up with a jolt. i took off the headphones and a little confused i asked her what was going on.

she signaled me to be quiet and we stood still in the dark. i didn't quite understand what she meant, but just as i was about to complain i was interrupted by some banging. on the first floor there was a very, very loud banging, as if the front door was being kicked in or something.

i immediately got up and asked my girlfriend to call the police. i put on a pair of pants and went downstairs to see what was going on. when i got to the stairs i found that the living room light was on. which was totally ridiculous because we always made sure everything was off, it was routine.

standing on the stairs, i looked straight at the front door leading to the street. the knocking had stopped but i was still on the lookout for anything that might happen. i yelled to my girlfriend to come down and join me but she refused.

i finished going downstairs to turn off the light in the living room and they started banging on the door again. like they were desperate to open it or something. i have no weapons, i had nothing to defend myself with so i grabbed a knife from the kitchen.

i'm not entirely sure about this part but i think it went something like this: i was about to turn off the light and when i approached the switch near the door i could hear someone turning the lock on the door, as if the lock was being removed.

i got really scared, i'm not the bravest person in the world but i still stood still waiting for something to happen.

the door opened by itself after a few seconds. and nothing else.

that moment was horrible and will probably be a trigger to move (again). i'm very concerned about the safety of both of us so right now i'm looking for another place in case something happens. these days i'm going to change the locks on the house too. oh, the police never showed up.

now, with the context. what do i do? i was told to talk to a priest because what happened is not normal, but i don't know how it all works. i was also told to put salt at the entrances of the house and to look for quartz stones to protect me from bad spirits. does anyone have information about that?

solarplexusclownglider 12/18/21 (Wed) 23:01:28 #66987523

good creepypasta. its kind of gone out of fashion isnt it??

CelticPumpkin 12/18/21 (Wed) 23:25:21 #24427475

I'm going to ignore the fact that there are no capital letters in your text, and I'm going to think that everything you say is true. Have you already tried putting black or gray candles near the entrances to the home?

It is often said that salt is useful to keep out spirits and all bad energies, but it is not infallible and energetic charges involve more complicated things than just pouring salt in your home to keep them away.

Regarding candles, they are capable of channeling certain energy in the same way that some minerals would do, citrine quartz necklaces are also useful.

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/18/21 (Wed) 23:45:30 #21047518

Oh, thread about energies. One piece of advice I can give you is that you and your girlfriend should vibrate high. Good auras are always the pillar to avoid bad energies in and out of your daily life and home. :DDD

rONIn 12/19/21 (Thu) 00:07:06 #38047575

You're not going to tell me that you really believe him. xD

CelticPumpkin 12/19/21 (Thu) 00:10:55 #24427475

Why not? If he asks for help, it's probably because he needs it. If he is an ARG or something like that, he is the one wasting his time. It doesn't affect me at all, and it probably doesn't affect you either, otherwise you wouldn't be here.

BeardedBully 12/19/21 (Thu) 00:20:20 #35967821

I'm back. In answer to celtipumpking I want to say that I still don't know how to use the computer very well, I'm old-fashioned but I manage to do something, my girlfriend is helping me and correcting me as much as she can.

We are going to try all your advice, we are scared but we are also trying to face the situation with the best possible attitude. I googled a couple of things and saw something that may help us. But for now we are sticking with the initial advice. Now I must go to rest, these are not very pleasant days.

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/19/21 (Thu) 01:11:14 #21047518

Best of luck bbys. <3

PyroHeim 🔥 12/19/21 (Thu) 05:04:33 #21047518

Finally an interesting thread. 👀

solarplexusclownglider 12/22/21 (Sun) 14:55:32 #66987523

what happened in the end? did they die or what's up?

PyroHeim 🔥 12/22/21 (Sun) 18:44:44 #21047518

idk, I'm still waiting. he said he was a doctor or something so they must be busy or probably got eaten by the boogeyman.

BeardedBully 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:00:21 #35967821

Things did not get any better.

We have a very, very strong feeling that someone is watching us all the time. We also get sudden chills and can hardly fall asleep. And yet, all this is not the worst of evils.

rONIn 12/22/21 (Do.) 22:10:12 #38047575

And why don't they just move house or something like that? I mean, it seems stupid to me that they look for a solution in internet forums COINCIDENTALLY ORIENTED TO PARANORMAL AND MYSTERIES.

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:12:00 #21047518

Shut your mouth, asshole. :D

bluehairtwins 🦝 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:16:13 #00330033

Shut up, the guy is trying to tell what happened to him.

PyroHeim 🔥 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:17:20 #21047518

👀

BeardedBully 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:20:22 #35967821

A while earlier my partner let me know she was on her way home, she was at work and I stayed behind to fix things.

I was struck by the fact that she was taking longer than usual so I called her a couple of times but she didn't answer her cell phone. Clearly I was concerned, but I tried not to pay too much attention to her because she had probably been delayed with something at work, which can happen.

Within minutes she sent me this image:

She told me that she was very scared and that it had been haunting her for a couple of minutes.

She is with me now. She is still very scared.

PyroHeim 🔥 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:21:44 #21047518

well. shit.

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:23:07 #21047518

Scary. ;;;

CultistPumpkin 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:30:05 #24427475

Sounds like you guys have worse problems than a couple of bad vibes.

I can only recommend that you get out of there urgently, seek help somewhere other than the internet. Perhaps a pastor at the nearest chapel might be of more help to you. Whatever you do, do it very carefully.

beholdthebananafury 🍌🍌 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:34:23 #44484432

for some reason they remind me of the guls, they're like some kind of corpse-eating demon or something. idk if it's a real thing but be careful anyway.

rONIn 22/12/21 (Sun) 22:35:55 #38047575

It is a bad photoshop, bad resolution. :pp

solarplexusclownglider 12/22/21 (Sun) 23:01:24 #66987523

now that there is a photo, i don't know whether to believe it or not. anyway, i dont know, be careful just in case.

BeardedBully 12/22/21 (Sun) 23:30:24 #35967821

We decided to go to my mother's house. None of us want to stay another night around here. Thanks to everyone for the advice. We will probably take a break from everything until we find out what is going on.

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/22/21 (Sun) 23:31:21 #21047518

It is probably the best choice. Good luck good luck ✨✨✨

CultistPumpkin 12/22/21 (Sun) 22:35:05 #24427475

I'll keep an eye out just in case. Good luck, cowboy.

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/22/21 (Sun) 23:36:28 #21047518

What happened to them? I have never in my life been so attentive to a thread hshshshsh

Bully said they lived near a forest or something. Do you think it could have been a monster from there?

beholdthebananafury 🍌🍌 12/22/21 (Sun) 23:37:37 #44484432

I spent all my time stalking this forum but from what I could see it looks like something very bad. I pray I never come across something like that in my life.

CultistPumpkin 12/22/21 (Sun) 23:40:05 #24427475

I'd say stop talking and wait to see what happens, I'll keep an eye out in case OP posts something again.

BeardedBully 12/23/21 (Mon) 03:33:33 #35967821

Hey. We arrived at the town where my mother lives, we were looking for parking near the subdivision where she lives, and…

solarplexusclownglider 23/23/21 (Mon) 03:34:02 #66987523

i am almost 100% sure that it is not edited

beholdthebananafury 🍌🍌 12/23/21 (Mon) 03:37:45 #44484432

what the fuck is with the thing in the back, is it the camera angle or is it FUCKING HUGE?

CultistPumpkin 12/23/21 (Mon) 04:20:05 #24427475

I hope I am not late. Don't leave the house for now, especially when there is no light. If I remember correctly I read a report about creatures like that, they have a horrible smell whenever they are near and they are not hostile but they are an omen of bad omen. Please, and I insist, take care of yourselves.

rONIn 12/23/21 (Mon) 07:02:24 #66987523

The only thing missing is for them to make a video, some famous youtuber or something like that, and you're done. Better ARG 2021.

solarplexusclownglider 12/23/21 (Mon) 08:30:22 #66987523

oh brother what a pain in the ass you are, go to hell

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/23/21 (Mon) 09:55:16 #21047518

I just woke up and came running to see if anything had happened. I hope OP is ok. :(

CultistPumpkin 12/23/21 (Mon) 12:25:05 #24427475

Yes… Me too. I want to imagine that everything I read are conspiracies or rumors, they were very ugly things.

PyroHeim 🔥 12/23/21 (Mon) 16:33:44 #21047518

Not to be the annoying killjoy, but if it's what I think CultistPumpkin says it is, then OP probably isn't the best guy in the world. The faileas are entities of misfortune and ill omen that haunt people with corrupt souls or something like that. Here's a report which talks a bit about that: http;//www.paranormalfilesandcryptids.net/9847_gaélic-shadow-disgrace.

CultistPumpkin 12/23/21 (Mon) 17:32:45 #24427475

I didn't want to say anything, but…

bluehairtwins 🦝 12/23/21 (Mon) 22:32:43 #00330033

Bearded didn't post anything, can you let me know if anything happens? By private chat please.

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/23/21 (Mon) 23:41:22 #21047518

I'll let you know, no drama. I'm also pending :(

solarplexusclownglider 12/25/21 (Wed) 19:00:44 #66987523

👀

rONIn 12/25/21 (Wed) 22:23:11 #66987523

The champion seems to have run out of ideas.

PyroHeim 🔥 12/25/21 (Wed) 22:55:11 #21047518

I don't think so. It looked like something serious, and compared to other things I saw, I don't think it's a fake.

CultistPumpkin 12/29/21 (Sun) 17:30:00 #24427475

Well, I have news.

bluehairtwins 🦝 12/29/21 (Sun) 17:31:00 #21047518

👀

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/29/21 (Sun) 17:32:10 #21047518

👀

CultistPumpkin 12/29/21 (Sun) 18:00:01 #24427475

"Said occurrence took place on or about the 05th day of the present month. Local authorities report that the accused subject carried his victim, his wife, for two weeks before he was properly apprehended. The detainee was found at the home of his mother, who refused to cooperate with authorities in locating his whereabouts. News in progress."

"Experts affirm that the man suffered from mystical delusions, suspecting paranoid schizophrenia. In addition, he had 3 complaints of domestic abuse at the time of his arrest."

https;//www.newslocalinternational.net/&2(-_local-man-accused-of-murder-sentence-up-to-30-years

✨ KoreSephone ✨ 12/29/21 (Sun) 18:02:10 #21047518

My God… I can't believe it. I can't believe it. are you sure it's the same person from the posts?

CultistPumpkin 12/29/21 (Sun) 18:03:04 #24427475

Quite a lot, at least for me. If you look at the photos in the story, you'll notice that one of the places where the reporter is standing is almost identical to the place in the last photo he sent.

bluehairtwins 🦝 12/29/21 (Sun) 18:05:21 #21047518

I don't know what to say…

rONIn 12/29/21 (Sun) 19:43:11 #66987523

I just saw it on the news, the guy lived near me. I'm not sure how to feel.

PyroHeim 🔥 12/29/21 (Sun) 19:55:48 #21047518

I'm not quite sure what to say either.

beholdthebananafury 🍌🍌 12/29/21 (Sun) 20:02:02 #44484432

It seems to me that the smartest thing to do would be to say nothing.

🗿 IbarraWasntHere 12/29/21 (Sun) 20:04:00 #99989765

Banana is right. I've been monitoring this and just realized I should have closed it long ago. Get on with something else before you get in trouble.

 [CLOSED THREAD.]


Squidface is free. The world is filling with an ocean of black oil. Far below the surface, in the basement of a doomed Site-19, two people sort through a billion worlds in a desperate bid to escape.

"Hit it again."
There was a moment of silence. A brief pause, then chaos.
Through the graphene-reinforced glass, the view turned outward, then inward, folding in on itself. The entire room went dark, save for a few buttons and the pitifully-dim emergency lighting of the Site-19 Extradimensional Testing Lab. Not a moment later, a blinding fluorescence emerged, followed by a fusillade of free radicals bouncing off the shielded observation deck and back as the space within warped and distorted. As the machine stabilized, an impatient, dark-haired woman flipped manically through a small booklet, head darting from the pages, to the screen in front of her, then back again. After a moment, the woman spoke, her eyes trained downward at the machine and the book resting on its surface.
"Alright, we're looking at, uh, shit. D-USUSAS2-G. Dee-dash-you-ess-"
"What, you don't remember the codes you designed? Isn't this what you do for a living?"
"You remember your fucking codes, Campbell!", the woman snapped, still not looking up. "Oh, that's right, you don't have any! Maybe you brought some papers to push? Dee-dash-you-ess-you-ess-"
Outside the room, the sounds of gunfire emanated, cut short abruptly by some unknown force from the halls beyond the sealed chamber doors. Somewhere, past the airlock and the secondary shielding was the extinction of all life as they knew it—the End of Everything. Annihilation at the hands of an intangible malevolence, whose true configuration escaped them. It wasn't even designated, for that matter. The item was in Special Containment over at the one of the Anomalous Objects warehouses on the Site-19 campus. Low level anomalies—color-changing tennis balls, mugs that filled themselves with grapefruit juice, that sort of thing. It constantly leaked a black sludge that would fill its containment area, and this required daily cleanup. No one wanted to deal with it, so management made D-Class scrub the chamber and rarely looked back on the thing since. And now, it bled freely down the stairwells, through the corridors and ventilation ducts of the subterranean facility, an ever-growing river of putrid slime. As it did, it changed those around it, subtracting their consciousness and adding their bodies to the Whole.
"Dimensional, Unstable, Stationary, Unaided-" Dr. Amber Lombardi, Head of Extradimensional Affairs for Site-19, paused, losing her train of thought for a moment as the entire room shook. They were thirty floors down. Thirty floors beneath the surface of a doomed planet and they were all going to die—that is, if she couldn't commit a little treason first.
"Unstable, no go, hit it again." Lombardi was determined to throw away her entire career for a double feature, which is just a cute phrase some operatives used for a Foundation-funded second chance at living. It's a big no-no, unless you know someone who has enough clout to sign off on it and just so happens to want you around enough to do so. Thus, treason it is. Twenty-five years of service, spiraling the drain. The entire culmination of her life's work, possibly the greatest technological achievement in all of Foundation history, was sitting right in front of her. And now, she was using it to leave Site-19—And all of Earth—forever, in what should be called the greatest ironic twist of fate ever to grace a sentient being.
Of course, Overwatch would never forgive such a transgression, regardless of whatever letter is in front of the K in this scenario. She was expected to go down with her ship, her ship being a small segment of a giant, already-buried coffin made of concrete and steel. Instead, she chose to sidestep the chain of command and potentially compromise the Foundation's integrity using unauthorized, unpatrolled roads through the multiverse that were paved by her own hands—well, not exactly her own hands anymore. Dr. Lombardi raised her head from the monitor for the first time in a long while and peered across the chamber at the only other human who had a chance of escaping this madness.
That human, Sr. Researcher Aberdeen Campbell, was just as screwed if they didn't make this work, whether it be death at the hands of unspeakable horror or salaried firing squad. She was a desk clerk who, through strange and terrible happenstance, had Level Four Clearance that she hadn't needed nor used in years—until today, and never again. She and Lombardi were in this together now, equal partners in crime—only this was the first time Aberdeen had ever been in this department, the first time she'd laid eyes on a machine this complex, and, in the ways that counted, the first time she'd experienced the anomalous. That last part was showing the most, as the woman's face was a concerning shade of pale, eyes wide with a look of absolute terror seared into them. While Lombardi sat in front of a screen on the expansive console labelled OUTPUT CONFIGURATION:, she had delegated her cohort to lever duty, because anyone can pull a lever. And pull it she did.
Another darkness bathed the room, and another flash of light replaced it. The inner chamber turned on a gradient into a deep red, with the center of the accelerator rapidly transitioning from a dim, shimmering bokeh into dead brush and shale. The interior was now the exterior, and the screen updated once more.
"S-SSUPAH1-G. Spacial, Stable, Stationary, Unaided, Personal Area, Hazardous—no, no, we have to try again!"
A muffled slam drowned out her voice as a large body was thrown against the outer doors. The two looked up, for an instant, then caught themselves. They didn't have an instant to spare.
There are infinite worlds, endless whens and wheres. Yet, there was but very little time to get there.
With her hand on the lever, Campbell pushed forward once more and felt the cool metal retract back on its own. At the same time, the dual-spin singularities within the core of the machine rearranged themselves in another of a million-billion combinations. Their topology was the key to this transaction—two rotating black holes that could point to anywhere, anytime. The electromagnetic barriers that held them in place fended off most radiation that leaked from the two meshed rips in space-time, feeding the runoff into power sinks that made the device indefinitely self-sustaining. Of course, that didn't stop the Gateway from shaving minutes off their lives every time they reconfigured the manifold at its heart, and without actual four-value coordinates, all they could do was randomize the drive and hope for the best. Traveling back was not an option, as a copy of herself had informed her just a few minutes ago, right before violently disintegrating. Apparently she had said enough to convince herself not to try it in the first place.
Shadows and lights danced again. Inside, the view turned into black, speckled with points of white light. The center of the chamber became deep space, sensors indicating massive strain of force with warning lights and alarms—depressurization. The machine graced their ears with the sounds of bending metal.
"Oh—fuck, no, again. Flip it. Flip it now!"
Aberdeen flipped it again. And again. And again. All the while, the Idea crept forth, claiming minds like a child picking flowers in a field. As it did, it assumed form, first imperceptible, then slowly gaining opacity, ridges and corners, solidifying within the confines of three measly dimensions. The endless halls of Site-19, the Hub, ever so cherished, were filling with pools of dark, viscous tar. There, it would remain, perfectly preserved. The remnants of the dead would be lost to oceans of oily black.
Not long after, the whole world would drown.

TWELVE HOURS EARLIER

"Researcher Campbell. Campbell. Campbell. Aberdeen!"
A woman in a white coat raised her head with a speed that could have induced whiplash, jolted awake by another form that stood aside her desk, sounding slightly annoyed. In front of her, mounds of paperwork littered the area. She had been drooling on a grant request from RAISA for fifteen-thousand red ballpoint pens. This is what her life had become.
She glanced up, clearing the grogginess and last residuum of sleep from her eyes, to see Site-19 Director H. Wyatt leaning over her desk with a concerned look on his face and hands on his sides. The Director was gruff man, a natural consequence of carrying the weight of Site-19 for decades. This coarse nature beguiled those around him into curt disinterest, despite being rather benign, all things considered. Campbell didn't dislike the man, but she also didn't care for him enough to learn what the "H" stood for.
"Sorry, Director Wyatt. They have me on all sorts of meds after my transfer from Zero-One, still can't think straight. No medical leave though. Them's the breaks."
"Alright, well, if you need to sleep, do it in the lounge. It gives a bad impression to sleep at your desk."
"Yes, of course."
The Director was gone as soon as he had appeared. Turning back to look at her desk, Sr. Researcher Aberdeen Campbell let out an exasperated sigh and contemplated the downward spiral of her life once again. A few years ago, she had been assigned to the archives over at Zero-One, which was not a fun job to have, to say the least. It was probably the most boring place in Foundation ownership. Almost anomalously uninteresting, but not quite. That kind of bland, and this wasn't any better.
Site-01 had been going through a major change of structure at the time, with many thousands of hard-copy documents in deep storage that hadn't yet been transferred onto the servers, Aberdeen had spent nearly all her time working meticulously with little payoff, just like she did now, but without the extra time to pass out for an afternoon nap.
Even though all she remembered was life in a Foundation rube cube, Campbell was positive it wasn't always like this. She knew, deep down, that there was more to her story than mountains of cellulose and ink, with a bad case of carpal tunnel on the side. She had been reassigned to the archives after having been exposed to some sort of antimeme. Something she had been studying before, when she worked over at Information and Data Analysis. That's what they tell her, anyway. They also told her she had done a good job at it, not that it really mattered at this point.
That period of her life felt like a blur of confusion and headaches. It was a blur of confusion and headaches. Before that it was—Let's just say her memory doesn't get any better going back. Antimemes are some of the worst things that never technically existed.
Aberdeen furrowed her brow, then drew a slow breath. Pushing herself away from her responsibilities, the young woman decided on a much-needed caffeine boost, probably in the form of now-lukewarm coffee. Meandering out of her cubicle block and into the halls beyond, the humble researcher thought about the many times she had been in this exact place, tracing a path she knew by heart through the mostly-Euclidean hallways of Site-19, adrift in a sea of strangers.
In her own little world, mind wandering, free from the confines of the less-than-savory aspects of her life, Aberdeen found herself off guard at one of Nineteen's many connecting pathways. She traveled directly into the oncoming path of a stranger in a brisk stride, an older woman, whose thoughts were also elsewhere. Since there were no traffic lights in any of the four-way intersections of the complex, who was at fault could not be known.
The two collided in a show of scattered documents and apologies. Campbell didn't recognize the dark-haired woman, but she seemed to be in a little too much of a hurry. Then again, like traffic lights, no speed limits existed in Site-19 either.
"So sorry, I was distracted-" Aberdeen began, bending down to pick up the papers. Before she could, the stranger grabbed her wrist.
"It's fine, but, please. Let me." The middle-aged woman, short but possessing an air of authority, scrambled to grab the fallen stationary. As she did, Campbell was able to make out some of the contents, and her eyes widened.
"Woah- Is that-?"
The stranger cut her off with a sharp look and a hush, looking around briefly before turning back and speaking again.
"Please, have a little tact. What is your clearance level, young woman?"
Taken aback, slightly offended, Aberdeen responded with one of the few things she had left from her previous work experience, adjusting the lanyard around her neck to reveal an orange-red ID card previously obscured by her coat. "Four. Don't tell me, you're an oh-five. Or did they make level four-point-five just for you?"
The woman rolled her eyes, then glanced around once more. This time, she didn't wait to make eye contact again to speak.
"Yes, Site-19 just got its first Class-A wormhole generator—it's beautiful. And I'm not just saying that because I built it. Amber Lombardi, head of Extradimensional Affairs. No, not that Lombardi."
"Abby—er—Aberdeen Campbell, clerical jockey, pleased to meet you." She wasn't sure of another Lombardi, but the comment came off like something this one had to explain relatively often.
"Clerical?" The woman raised an eyebrow. "How does a desk worker like you, no offense, get L4 clearance?"
Campbell was offended, at least more so than she was before. "I used to do a lot more than push papers. I'd share the details but they're a bit hazy." She motioned to her head.
"Don't tell me, antimemetics? Don't they have drugs for that now?"
Aberdeen thought of the little orange pills. "Mnestics. Yes. Some of them have been shown to aid in memory restoration. I've been on Class-X for years now. This wasn't your typical antimeme, according to my debrief, but they insist I keep trying. Sometimes I'll get flashes of things, like scenes from a film where you can't make out what the characters look like or why they matter to the story—" She paused. Lombardi was looking at her like she had two heads more than the Foundation was used to.
"Ah, sorry, sorry. You probably don't want to hear about my problems. We just met."
Amber's eyes softened. "It's not that. I'm just—I'm sorry. That must be so hard."
"I'm getting through it. Listen, I was on my way for a cup of coffee, you want one?"
The woman shook her head. "Thank you, but I really should get over to Extradimensional. They're expecting a presentation on the new gateway, and this print job has lasted much longer than originally anticipated. Worth it though; the black is super glossy on that new machine. Also, the coffee on this floor is uninspired. Try minus-five's sometime."
"Uh, will do. I'll leave you to it, then." Campbell waved a good-bye and departed from the junction to complete her journey to the break room, abandoning Lombardi to her business while simultaneously pondering how much better the coffee can actually be three floors above.
As she did so, Amber continued down the corridor in the opposite direction, towards a row of frequently congested staff elevators. The woman opted not to take one of the quiet stairwells as some might; her stop was all the way down, and thirty floors on foot was draining just to think about.
She waited in queue for one to arrive that was mostly empty, checking her watch in regular intervals while envisioning a Site-19 with no foot traffic, where employees walked through portals to any floor and were never late to meetings.
The elevator was never completely empty, which was the dream scenario; typically she'd get a few prying eyes or strange looks whenever she'd insert her keycard and press the button for floor -38.
It came with the territory. Everyone wants to know about Extradimensional, no one wants to actually work there. No one except Lombardi, who had spent the better part of her life learning the math and physics of spacetime as she knew it, and the rest learning things they didn't teach you outside the walls of the Foundation—extradimensional thaumaturgy, which was not even magic, just a little-understood piece of consensus reality the Administration deemed too powerful for the masses. And they were right, of course.
The wall made a tone as another elevator car reached Dr. Lombardi's floor, and, to her surprise, she found it completely empty. A moment of harmonious bliss filled her mind as she boarded and authorized the destination, holding "-38" while also pressing the "door close" button at the same time. It was a trick she'd never got to use before, and the woman wasn't about to pass up an opportunity such as this.
A voice intruded from outside the doors, where a stranger in the halls beyond sprinted towards the woman and her newfound chamber of solitude.
"Hey! Hold the elevator please!"
She looked at the closing doors, and then to the button to open them, then at her watch. She opted against it. When the opening had reduced to a gap several centimeters across, Lombardi looked up and accidentally made brief eye contact with the man. The doors sealed themselves a moment later as the elevator started to move, her concern about the awkwardness fading with similar velocity.
She sighed and enjoyed the silence for the first and only time, the elevator ignoring the called floors below as it descended directly to Hell. Amber looked down at crisp twelve-point font on the documents in her hands and smiled to herself, thinking, Maybe things will be alright after all.

"Your turn, mate."
D-8102 grabbed the mop from his cellmate with a dejected glare.
"You know I hate you, right?"
D-0914 smirked and leaned back against the featureless wall behind him.
"Yeah, yeah. You hate all of us, and I don't really like you either. Still." His eyes motioned to the floor.
"Alright, alright."
D-8102 dunked the mop head into a wheeled bucket of gray-brown water and stabbed at the floor like it owed him money, trying to clear the clogged drain at the center of the cramped chamber. Sometimes you wished you could live another life, sometimes you wished you were dead. D-8102 was feeling a mix of both. He could barely make out his reflection in the puddle of black ooze, and he didn't recognize the bits of the man he did see, clad in orange, toiling endlessly until that unknown day where he gets gassed like the rest of them. Or so they say. He hadn't been around long enough to know if the sweet release of death via neurotoxin is actually something he got to look forward to.
"Squidface leaving you be?"
D-8102 paused his task and wiped his brow, contemplating.
"Not really. Why do you care?"
"I don't. Small talk."
The monstrous asshole affectionately termed "Squidface" existed solely as a lingering presence. The two could feel it in the air and hear it in the soft, indeterminate whispers that danced around their eardrums. It was nothing new to D-0914, who had been assigned to the task of lamp cleanup two weeks prior—practically an eternity. D-8102, on the other hand, was fresh out the pen. For your first interaction with the Unusual, ol' Squiddy was a bum rap.
Sure, there were plenty of worse things, things that would turn you into spaghetti but keep you ticking, things that dissolved you, slowly, over a period of a thousand years. Yet, something about that lamp was just rotten, and it wasn't just the rancid sludge it wept through nonexistent eyes. It was the persistence that really got to the two, and it got to everyone eventually. Not being able to shut it up or ask the lab goons for help made it all the worse. Sure, there were your fellow D's who would tell you that you were doing something honorable, making up for the shit you've done or some other altruistic bullshit. While it might be true, there was something particularly awful about quietly losing your mind and not being able to tell anyone.
D-8102 absentmindedly prodded the mop against the floor, listless. He looked over at the lamp, then away when it got to be too loud. He felt the otherworldly presence it was linked to, a being of terror and madness and black oil. He felt the hairs on his neck stand and pushed the presence away as best as anyone could.
"Hey, fucking watch where you're mopping—" D-0914 chastised him, his white shoes now covered in a sticky, dark paste. Attempting to wipe it off, he struggled to free his footwear from the tar. He pulled, and it gave way, but the man had over-calculated, throwing himself off balance. The prisoner fell, grabbing at the the nearby nightstand for balance. It caught him, and he began to right himself, but stopped, looking up in shock as the lamp tumbled from its place.
Transfixed, the two watched, almost in slow motion, as the lamp hit the ground, shattering, plunging the room into complete darkness, then silence. The whispers had stopped.
And then the laughing began.

« Author Page | Dark Ocean - I - Spiral the Drain | Open the Gate »


The funeral parlor was a beautifully empty sight. Mastercrafted coffins shone in the moonlight, the perfect stillness of the night air made all the more eerie yet all the more engrossing by the inherent ominousness and strangeness of the parlor. Not even the janitor was still around with how late it was, and he'd left the place spotless and ready for the viewing tomorrow.
The dress on the girl was one of the few reminders of the cheerful, happy ray of joy she'd once been. Despite her obvious lack of life, she mirrored the strange, absent beauty of the rest of the parlor in her favorite dress. A hint of what she was in life was there, intangible, in her face, her dress, her hands, but just beyond that barrier that didn't exist. It wasn't a sight of grim sorrow, but one of morbid beauty.
The man outside the window wasn't much in the beholding mood, though. He pressed a hand to the glass and stared, sadly, a tear rolling down his face and mixing with blood from the fresh wounds of the day.
He reached in the damaged coat, freshly wet from the mess that today had been, and pulled out a matchbook, splattered with the faintest bit of blood.
His lament was almost lost in the silence.

They'd found it in the bathroom, the walls smeared with fresh blood. The razor in the sink was covered in it, and they'd barely gotten a look at what else was in the basin when the power cut. She fumbled through her pockets, digging out one of the spare matchbooks they'd had lying around, and tried to strike a match.
The first one broke in her hands, too much pressure making it splinter and clatter to the floor. The second one caught while it was intact, and a dim light illuminated the bathroom again. A voice down the hall yelled about calling help between sprinting footsteps, and she nodded, leaning over the sink to figure out just what she found. The light from the matchflame danced over the room, making the blood even darker and shining off the metal.
It bounced off the razor, too.
She tried to react, but couldn't move quite fast enough. The knife got to her first, and the match sputtered out on the floor as she screamed and then didn't.

He sobbed and sobbed, crushing the matches in his hand as he paced and paced. He knew he couldn't go back tomorrow, it was the close family day, and they never liked him to begin with. But today had gone so wrong, and he couldn't have let it end like this. The viewing had broken down into a mess, and he hadn't even made it inside before the brawl knocked him out and shut down the parlor.
There she was. He had to just say goodbye one more time, but he couldn't get in. Maybe. His tears cleared as he remembered the spare set of keys by the shed. In, out, no questions, nobody's grave desecrated. It wasn't his fault, the fight wasn't his fault, she wasn't his fault.
So much for a clearer head.

The bathroom door held firm, despite their attempts to get in. Whatever had taken place within, it had left the door locked from inside. The dirt outside the door was scuffed up and disturbed, fresh from the fight, and the fact it'd been ten minutes without any noise was starting to unnerve all of them. She muttered for the others to hit harder, that she'd do it herself, but the mood didn't peak above quiet uncomfortableness. It was just uncertain. Unsure. Unknown. Unwilling.
Then the power dropped for a second, and somebody shrieked inside.
She grabbed the fire ax from its place on the wall and slammed. The wood splintered, and the lock gave out. One more hit, and the door swung open, the hall and bathroom flickering as the generator began to give out.

The shed door didn't give way so much as just plain old fell apart as he threw himself against it. The hinges barely functioned, and rusting tools shook off a coat of red as the entire outbuilding shuddered.
He looked around. Shovels, hoes, gardening and gravedigging implements covered in at least a few months if not years of disuse. The entire shed looked like it had just been forgotten about, and there was nothing that shone like it was well used or new in there at all.
No keys. Great. There went any chance of paying proper respects and sorrow. God, could he just catch a break now? Things were not stopping going wrong, and he just wanted things to go back to how they were, was that so hard, god dammit.
A stomp of frustration knocked even more rust off the tools, and sent a shovel clattering off a shelf to the floor. He spun around, jumpy and exhausted, and a terrible idea suddenly sprung into his mind.
The keys weren't needed, actually. Just the open door.

Her friend had been gone a while, and she was starting to get a little worried. The others waved her off, telling her it was just one of those flings that happen at parties, but she wasn't buying it. The guy had been a little creepy, maybe a bit too eager, but that could have just been some early alcohol talking. Even so, she was on a little edge.
She took a step outside, into the unfinished yard, the new bathroom outbuilding a dark blob a few dozen feet away. The cold air was refreshing, and helped clear her head a bit. Who knows, maybe it could have been nothing. It was feeling like a slow night so far, after all.
Then she heard a scuffle by the bathroom. Shapes moved fast in the dark, and the door slammed shut. Somebody else heard it too, and threw the switch on the generator for the full place. Every light in the entire project's lot popped on, and she waved her friends over, jiggling the door handle. The light wouldn't last forever, and they needed to get going fast.

The door handle wasn't damaged. The lock, maybe a little more so, but it was nothing that wasn't fixable. Besides, they'd never know, and if they did, they'd get it. They knew how important she was to him, and if they had a choice, they wouldn't let him suffer like this.
Regardless of what they planned, intended, or did, he was finally inside, and finally saw her up close. The reports and rumors hadn't lied, and the faint scar running along her throat the morticians had cleaned up was clearly the mark of a dead woman. Witnessing the moonlight upon her face up close, the sheer sadness of the moment almost overwhelmed how beautiful she was. He shook and stared, muttering to himself, and swung around on the last word, nearly knocking a pot to the floor as he spun in a sickly combination of rage, grief, and…was that envy he was feeling?
She was so beautiful right now, but—no. No, you don't defile a grave like this, no.
This was supposed to be her last place to rest, or at least the stop before it. She deserved respect.
She deserved to see the morning one more time.

It was a blessing that she'd had the foresight to make sure all the nails and spare tools and materials were gone before people started arriving, because with how many people had arrived, somebody would have almost certainly walked onto one. Considering how much alcohol was being passed around, the collective inability of everybody here to not find the construction tools stashed around the rooms was either a miracle or retrospective certainty, but they were having fun, so it didn't matter too much.
A tap on her shoulder, her friend trying to get some attention. Some active partygoer had already paid a visit, and there were lipstick smears over the both of them already. She smiled at him, gears of recognition turning in the back of her head. He looked faintly familiar, but she couldn't quite tell how. She had also seen almost all of the people in here before, though, so he could have simply been a student. Her friend tried to drunkenly stammer out some words, said she wanted to go and have some fun with him, her new on the spot date.
She chuckled, nodded, watched as the two of them walked off. She'd seen him before. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to.

He'd forgotten the roses back home. The matchbook would have to do.

She strolled across the unfinished and rapidly filling room, introducing herself, laughing, joking, filling the party with life. Her friends drifted towards her, happy at a familiar face.
He looked at her from the opposite side of the doorway. She was having the time of her life, but she was surrounded by people. There was no way he'd even get close to her. She's be far too busy enjoying herself to even acknowledge him.
One of her friends danced between the two of them. A little shorter, hair a little darker, but very similar looking. She made a kissing motion at him, smirking as she stumbled off. Already drunk. Great.
Maybe this night wouldn't be so bad after all.

They found her in the bathroom, the same one, walls stained with fresh blood and the razor posed in her own lifeless hand. Her dress was almost immaculate, except for the long slashes running across the back, and was doing more to hold her upright than what was left of her ribcage. A note was in the sink, written like a pen had been dipped in blood before the ink started flowing.
“I'm sorry for taking two. I didn't mean to. I swear, it was nothing personal. I just wanted one.”
They never found her spine. Or those of the other four.


Part Two >

A window shattered, and a masked figure ducked out onto the fire escape carrying a sack stuffed to the brim with pilfered goods. They quickly ran down the stairs into the alleyway below and through the shadows between the buildings. A few steps more and they'd vanish into the night.
They let out a yelp as a hard round object hit them in the back of the head. They turned around and saw a potato lying on the concrete.
"Hello there, criminal."
They looked back up and came face to face with a man in an orange mask, wearing a body suit in the same colour. A pair of antennae sprouted from the top of his mask, and an orange and black striped cape was draped across his shoulders.
"Kindly drop the bag and surrender, I don't want this to get messy."
The thief swung the bag at the vigilante and made a break for the sidewalk as the masked man recovered from the attack. He regained his balance and dove for the criminal, activating the hidden wings behind his cape. He grabbed the thief and leaped onto the wall of the house they'd just robbed, somehow scaling the bricks with ease. Their captive struggled at first, but once they saw how high up they were, they surrendered.
"Alright, you got me. Just put me back on the ground, please!"
"I'm afraid that won't be happening just yet. You, my friend, are going straight to the police."
He reached into his back pocket and fished around for a moment.
"Oh, I, ahh, seem to have left my phone in my car. I guess we'll have to walk."
The masked vigilante tied the thief's wrists together, and lead them out of the alley and down the road.
"Don't worry, my car isn't too far away. Oh, and once you're in jail, if it's not too much trouble, could you tell them you were apprehended by the Colorado Potato Beetle Man?"
"… What?"
"That's my name, Colorado Potato Beetle Man. You know, like the insect that destroys millions of potato crops every year?"
"I can't believe I'm being arrested by a guy in a bug costume."
"Hey now, the Colorado Potato Beetle is nothing to scoff at. It's one of the most destructive pest insects on the planet. Maybe they're less notorious than, say, locusts, but they're still a considerable threat to any potato farm. And now I'm a threat to criminals like you."

A phone rang. The coffee machine buzzed. Someone complained about the printer not working. Megan sat at her desk, scrolling through an endless line of police reports. The dull sounds of the office did nothing for her mood. Her eyes were just about to glaze over when something interesting drew her back. It was a short clip of security feed included in a mundane robbery case. Someone in an orange and black costume climbing walls and punching a masked thug.
This might be worth checking out.

The masked protector sat atop a tower, his cape billowing in the wind. An old police radio in hand, he watched and waited for evil to rear its ugly head. And he would be ready. Wherever he was needed, Colorado Potato Beetle Man would be there to save the day. Or night. Evil didn't sleep, and neither did he.
"Hey, orange guy! Get down from there!"
He'd been spotted. He leapt for the next rooftop, but in his tired haze he forgot to engage his wings. He reached for the ledge as he fell, flailing his arms for something to grab onto. He plummeted to the street bellow, landing in a pile of garbage bags.
"Oh fuck. Please don't be dead. Please don't be-"
"Ahhg… I'll be… hrk- fine."
He looked up from the garbage pile to see a dark silhouette standing over him, shining a flashlight in his masked face.
"You don't sound fine."
"Don't worry about a thing, ma'am. Super heroes are great at getting back up. I'm just a little tired right now, so I'm going to lie here for a while."
"Are you sure I don't need to call an ambulance?"
"Yup. All good here."
"Alright then, get up. You're under arrest for trespassing, assault, and a whole bunch of other crimes."
"What? I'm no villain, I'm a hero. I've been protecting this city where you cops can't!"
"Well I'm afraid the cops don't see it that way. And neither do I. Get up."
The caped insectoid hero struggled to his feet and lurched forwards, getting a better view of his arresting officer. She was wearing an FBI uniform, which looked strangely out of place in the dark alleyway which was already quite muddled by his fall. He stumbled towards her again, but couldn't keep his knees steady. He fell again, and this time it all went dark.

Megan was not having the best day. First human anomaly she'd caught in months and the guy just fell off a roof without using any super powers. She couldn't decide if she needed to bring him to a holding cell or a hospital, so for now he was staying in the the back of her car while she drove to work.
"Wha- where am I?"
At least he was awake now.
"You're in a police car, and headed for containment unless you need urgent medical care."
"Containment? Don't you know who I am? I'm the good guy, I prevent crimes!"
"You're a madman who thinks he's a super hero, and you just fell off a five story building when I caught you trespassing."
"I AM a hero, ask anyone. They'll all tell you that Colorado Potato Beetle Man has caught more criminals than most non-superpowered police."
She was so focused on the masked man locked in the backseat she missed her turn.
"I'm sorry, did you say your name was Colorado Potato Beetle Man?"
"Yes, like the insect that can decimate potato farms. Except I stop crimes instead of potatoes."
This was the dumbest criminal she'd ever arrested, but she'd be rid of him soon. Once they got to the station he'd be someone else's problem. Maybe if she was lucky, she'd even get to hand him off to the Foundation.
But it had been too long. They should be there now, but she was still driving. She must have made a wrong turn. Pulling into an empty parking lot, she began to turn around.
"Stop the car!"
She hit the brakes and looked back at the hero.
"What's wrong?"
"Didn't you hear that? Gunshots, coming from over there."
The costumed hero tried to point to the closed warehouse across the street, but his hands were cuffed behind his back.
"I didn't hear anything. You just want me to let you out."
"No, I really heard it, you're just too far away. You think these antennae are just for show?"
He waved the goofy looking appendages that sprouted from his head.
"Come on, what am I going to do if you leave me? I'm still handcuffed and locked in a car."
She let out a sigh and stepped out of the car, walking towards the warehouse. There wasn't much inside, and she was just about to head back to the car when she heard a voice. She duked behind a stack of boxes and listened.
"- I just don't get why they hired me if you guys have guns."
"Why does the boss ride around in a limo when taking a cab could get them there just as fast? You've got style."
"Style doesn't mean much to a dead person."
"That was just today, who knows who we'll be intimidating tomorrow. Maybe they'll get off easy, just a little shock."
The two voices got closer, seemingly headed for the door. Megan stayed perfectly still, hoping they wouldn't notice her. She was outnumbered, and her best bet was to stay out of sight and send in a report to the usual police.
Two men in leather jackets walked past her, then one in a dirty grey tracksuit with a messy afro. The last one paused for a moment as he walked by, and Megan held her breath.
"We're not alone here. I can feel the dust."
The two leather clad men turned away from the exit.
"You can feel dust? I thought you were Lint Man."
"Meh, it's close enough to work. I can feel them nearby, you two guard the door."
The guy with the afro, evidently "Lint Man", slowly crept across the warehouse floor, getting ever closer to Megan's hiding spot. She clenched her hand on her gun and inched away from him. There weren't many boxes left, and she was just about to run out of hiding space.
A gunshot echoed through the building, and muffled shouts came from the door. Taking advantage of the distraction, she jumped out and tackled the dusty man to the ground.
Over by the door, one of the thugs was on the ground and the other was trading punches with a fellow in an orange and black striped cape.
"Don't worry officer, I'm doing my part to uphold the law!"
She could deal with him later. Right now, she needed to cuff the guy who was covered in lint. And making weird popping sounds. That wasn't good.
A flash of light and Megan was thrown back, letting Lint Man stand up. The clump of lint on his head crackled with electricity.
"Why so surprised, cop? You never seen a super villain before?"
"No, but she's seen a super hero!"
Colorado Potato Beetle Man jumped across the room, planting his heroic fist across the face of the Lint Man. He received a small static discharge, but it wasn't enough to faze the masked protector. Quickly recovering, the villain let out another burst of charged lint and grazed the orange hero. He leapt out of the way just in time, before circling back around with a kick, knocking the dusty evildoer to the floor. He went in for another punch, but the villain caught his hand and gave him a nasty shock. The surge brought the hero to his knees, giving Lint Man the upper hand. He stood over the insectoid hero, bringing down his boot to the spotted mask. Again, he kicked the hero, this time applying a nice bit of electricity to the mix. He raised his boot again, this time sure to defeat the orange and black guardian of the night. But the hero wasn't alone.
A sweep of his legs and Lint Man went down, Megan standing over him. She quickly restrained him, before helping Colorado Potato Beetle Man to his feet.
"Good rescue there, almost as if you're a real hero."
"That's twice today you've been hit in the head, shouldn't you be unconscious?"
"Please, I'm a super hero. I can get hit in the head all day."
He stumbled forward, and leaned against the wall.
"Great. You're still coming with me, so please don't make this difficult and come back to the car."
The hero jumped up and quickly scaled the wall.
"Sorry to leave on such short notice, but evil never rests. Maybe you'll catch me one day, but for now, the people need a hero!"
He dove out the window into the night, climbing up to the roof and watching over his city. Somewhere out there, someone was in trouble. Someone needed help from the Colorado Potato Beetle Man.

Part Two >


FWD: Keeping Your Children Safe this Christmas North of 40 Degrees
From: Dr. Amelia Buck <pics.tenpics|kcuba#pics.tenpics|kcuba>
To: Dr. Anne Worcester <pics.tenpics|2retsecrowa#pics.tenpics|2retsecrowa>
I can't believe I'm reading this. I don't think I will ever get used to this. Especially after seeing "anomaly29.com" and "buzzfeed.com/skips" become a thing.

Keeping Your Children Safe this Christmas North Of 40 degrees
By Dr. Taylor Kaldahl (Former SCP-4666 Specialist, SCP Foundation)
December 22, 2021
It's our first Christmas since our cover got blown, and there's no skip gaining as much attention this week as SCP-4666. While your chances of being the unlucky one to get, y'know, chopped up and made into toys are pretty low, most parents aren't OK with "pretty low". Without further ado, my advice on SCP-4666 and how to not mess with it.
1. Shoot the dude!
You see, part of the problem for us is we can't get to the victims fast enough. There's nothing to suggest a simple 9mm to the skull isn't enough to stop it. It's not like the lizard is comin' down the chimney with old Saint Nick. Ideally you wound it and we contain it, but you do earn a free medal of honor from our friends in New York if you pull off this option.
2. Send your kids south of the line for the week.
Problem here is you're increasing the chances for everyone else. If you don't care that's okay, but it's not the recommended choice. Plus, explaining to your kids "I'm just sending you away from home for a Christmas so you don't get flayed alive by an eldritch mockery of Santa Claus" will make them ask why you live where you do in the first place.
3. Spend Christmas in a hotel.
Expensive and tricky but it works. Boring though, and Motel 6 on Christmas eve is still full of crazy naked guys who might still skin you alive.
4. Let us put a photo of SCP-096 in your chimney
Available on request.

Jesus Christ Anne, they get one crazy doctor to interview and post this shit. Or as they say in the 'Pataphysics department, "Pure LOLFoundation." Gotta keep churning out the clickbait.


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~Orientation 101: An Introduction to our Organization~

Welcome everyone.
Please take your seats. Note, if you experience any lingering transformation pains and need to leave during the lecture, please feel free to do so. A marker has been placed on your maps to allow the teleportation command to place you smoothly back in your beds. There is no shame in needing more time to recover, so please do not strain yourselves.

Allow me to formally welcome each of you to the Wandsmen. We are an organization dedicated to bringing the news and the truth to all those who seek knowledge, students of all that is and teachers to all who will listen.

We've been the Multiverse's best source of information and explanations for untold eons and even in these trying times we remain dedicated to bringing the true stories of the worlds we explore to the multiverse at large. The news is a vital institution in a universe as complex as ours, so we do our best to preserve and promulgate all the knowledge we can find so it is not lost to the void.

Now I know you must have a lot of questions, but please hold them until the end of the lecture. So to start-

12th Wandsman of Reedsing, we're not forcing you to be here. If you're just here to disrupt-

12th Wandsman of Reedsing! I have read your file. You did not find a lost map. You got told exactly what this was like from another Wandsman, and you had the chance to back out while the transformation was ongoing. You clearly wanted your map's power more than you wanted your old flesh.

Look, I can understand buyer's remorse. Believe me, I get it. If you need time to process or counseling…

And… he's gone.

What? No, following him wouldn't help. With any luck, he'll come back to our dimension when he's blown off some steam. If he doesn't… we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Moving on…

Look… I'm going a bit off book here, but after that fiasco at the start, I think it would be best if we addressed the elephant in the room.

All of you are probably quite anxious about your recent bodily changes. Know that every Wandsman in the multiverse has felt the sting of dysphoria from time to time.

When one takes up the map, their body shifts into a more avian form. Specifically, you take the quasi-humanoid form of a bird that you previously found repulsive. There are a few theories as to why that is. Perhaps the cartographers of eons past who enscribed the first maps and passed them down to us wanted to change our perspectives. Or perhaps they just wanted to teach us some humility before they granted the map's gifts…

Frankly there are millions of review articles written in our journals with different theories. No one really knows why it happens.

Regardless, your new form has many advantages. You will be able to understand others with greater acuity, your bodies have been strengthened, age is a thing of the past, and most, if not all of you, have been granted the gift of flight.

If you've shrunken down to the size of a Canary, fear not. It just means your body has been granted the elusive power to explore the strange and twisting wonders of time. You can slip through cracks in reality which us larger Wandsmen may never even notice, and even have cartographic potential.

Or perhaps you were lucky enough to end up like me. I know, I know… it can be strange talking to someone so large, but we mighty Rocs have the strength to lift up a thousand libraries if needed. Some of the multiverse's stories require great force to unearth, and we Rocs help provide it.

Even those of you with middling sizes are commonly granted unique and curious abilities ranging from an instant understanding of language to echolocation. You may think your form a curse, but it is truly a blessing!

…

I suppose I can't say that with a straight face and be called a seeker of truth.

Still, fear not, things like "beauty" are ultimately a matter of perspective. Remember: you all took up the map because there was something in the infinite halls of knowledge that you wanted to see far more than you wanted to recognize the person in the mirror.

And before you ask, there is no cure, no going back that we know of. Yes, people have tried. Most of them aren't with us anymore…

Know that you are surrounded by those who suffer in similar ways. And one can, over the years, adjust.

You can even find love. My husband and I have been writing articles together for over six hundred years, and the eons of time we still have before us make me very happy I took this shape.

Now, know you all joined because you had a desire to explore the multiverse and tell your tales. We will get to that. But before anything else, we have to establish some safety rules. Your new bodies are hardened against many hazards, but one major unusual threat to your safety in this line of work is the theft or exploitation of your name.

There are two major strategies when protecting one's name. One is to simply never give it out, or give it only to those you trust most in the world.

I follow this method, so you may call me the Third Wandsman of the Wanderer's Library. By now, you should all have been assigned a title and a number based on your place of origin. This title has been thaumaturgically hardened, so even the most potent name thieves cannot take it from you.

I strongly recommend this strategy during your first few centuries.

The other strategy is to promulgate your name to all who would hear it and add title upon title to yourself so as to strengthen the name's power. My colleague Ickis the Wayward, Wandsman of Kul-Manas - Walker of the Astral Plane, Sailor of the Celestial Sea, and Spelunker of the Dimensional Depths is fond of this strategy.

He claims it allows him to use his name as a sink for the backflow of his magics, but you'd have to speak to him about the details. Name magic may be powerful, but it is also quite dangerous.

However, there are many other magics that you may find useful to employ. Your mind has been sharpened by your transformation. So the higher physics of reality should be relatively easy for you to pick up.

I certainly encourage you to take advantage of our back issue library of ritual workings. We also run courses on magical studies for all Wandsmen who wish to partake of it.

What is Thaumaturgy? Something as diverse as magic does not lend itself to summaries, but suffice it to say it is a method of manipulating reality based on your ability to comprehend it. That is of course a gross oversimplification… But I fear the full details fall outside the bounds of an introductory lecture.

But no matter how quickly you master the arcane arts, do not get cocky. Magic will be an invaluable tool as you document the stories of other worlds, but you must not rely on it. There are many powers in the world you shall need to come to understand if you're going to survive this line of work. Thaumaturgy is merely a piece of the puzzle.

Obviously, the first and most important piece of equipment you will need to familiarize yourself with is your map.

The map you hold is a map of the Known Multiverse. Our cartography team is working around the clock to keep it up to date, but there is still so much to explore!

Obviously, by speaking the name of a place on the map you can teleport to it. As you gain more intimate details of the objects and persons in a dimension you'll even be able to "target" your precise destination. For this reason, among several others, doing your homework is important! Every century we lose something on the order of fifty Wandsman who thought it was a good idea to jump into an incredibly hazardous dimension unprepared. The lucky ones end up in solid rock faces. Don't be like them.

Another major map safety concern is that prolonged exposure to the image on any map can make those whose minds are not properly prepared suffer severe vertigo and headaches, which I'm sure many of you have already encountered while you adjusted to them during your transformations.

As for other field equipment, we have workshops and catalogs a plenty for you to assemble your equipment from, and I do know the Eighth Wandsman of Hui runs excellent seminars on the creation of magical items.

Generally speaking, basic resources are easy to acquire for smaller projects, it is part of your benefits package after all, but if you want to build something truly massive to aid in your explorations and the writing of your articles, you may need to request approval from the Editors.

Who are the Editors you ask?

Our organization is perhaps best described as a "Co-op". What this means is that our leaders and several key positions within our organization are elected, and everyone is considered to have partial ownership of our libraries.

This does not mean you can just take whatever you want from our stores or, knowledge forbid, destroy any of our books, but you can requisition things like lodging and necessities with relative ease from the company coffers so long as you do not abuse these privileges.

A few of the more notable roles within our organization are as follows:
Reporters: This is the most common role a Wandsman performs. These are those who wander the multiverse to record its stories. All Wandsman have at least some experience in this role.

Hawkers: These are the Wandsmen who sell (or, with approval, provide at no charge) our newspapers and magazines to all the inhabitants of the multiverse who have a chance to understand them. This is a difficult job, but a needed one. One must be both salesman and teacher to bring in the resources we need to maintain operations.

Raptors: "Army" is an inadequate word to describe them. These are the Wandsmen who uncover dangerous ruins and explore hostile dimensions. They will save lives (and thus minds, and thus knowledge) wherever they can and provide security for our organization. There are many entities and forces in the Multiverse that work against us. These are the brave souls who hold the line against such darkness.

Arbiters: Of course, violence is best reserved as a last resort. When interacting with other organizations or populations it is often in our best interest to take a more diplomatic approach to doing our reporting. Arbiters are elected for certain 'difficult' regions to sort of "smooth things over" for the local population.

Cartographers: This is a position that requires a certain… Attunement to the multiverse at large. Cartographers are responsible for mapping the various dimensions that surround us and pathfinding or tunneling ways between them. This job requires a great deal of magical knowledge to execute, as well as certain… additional transformations that many find distasteful. It's rare to see a cartographer with less than a millennium of experience.

Canaries can be a minor exception to this. They often find themselves sent out as scouts into strange new dimensions and locations of temporal distortion. However they can carry very little with them on such voyages, and the multiverse can be a dangerous place for birds so small.

Editors: Now we get to the meat of the discussion. Once every 500 years, an election is held for the editorial board. The next one is coming up in 86 years and you're already seeing some campaign poems get floated around.

The editors are in charge of day to day operations, approving story assignments and directing the flow of our resources. At the end of the day they're in charge… though between you and me they listen to the cartographers a bit more attentively than the rest of us…

Sorry, I shouldn't be bringing internal politics into the classroom. At least not yet.

Also, let me assure you, there are no "Grand Cartographers". I have been here for Millennia and I haven't seen so much as a feather of them anywhere. No one knows who started our organization. If you want to join the legion of Archeologists trying to figure it out, be my guest, but trust me on this… I spent a good century of my misspent youth trying to find them, and the farthest records back we have stretch only 3.7 billion years. Not even my old home had records of them. It gave the librarians quite a scare when I asked.

I know it's in all our nature to try and make sense of every mystery, but all I got out of those decades of digging was a few ghost stories and a nagging headache. Trust me, don't waste your time.

“The entire Hytoth is coming to an end! Drop whatever you were planning on scribbling about and do something to stop it!”

Now now! Settle down everyone! Panic will not help us. Believe me, we've tried it.

“Blast it WL3, have you been reading the Gazzette lately!? The Demiurge alone-“

Yes Third Wandswoman of the First Hytoth, we are well aware of the situation. Frankly, you didn't need to burst into our orientation meeting to explain-

“Suji, please… I know it probably won't happen in the next five seconds, but they need to know.”

Well… I suppose that's fair.

Listen well hatchlings… Things are not great. There are many organizations in the multiverse that seek to end it. A book is worthless without minds to read it and neither can exist in a world that doesn't.

There are many researchers in our organization that claim time is running out for just about everything.

We are… scholars for the most part, not warriors. But it is unquestionable that right now the multiverse needs saving and we have a responsibility to be part of that. Whether we choose to do that by forging alliances between those who call this place home, warning the people and the gods so they can prepare, or even charging into battle ourselves…

There will be nothing to learn and nothing to explore unless we keep it safe.

"Thank you."

You're welcome. Are there any further questions?