Sarah Hughes had been the commanding officer and de facto mother of Mobile Task Force Tau-5 "Samsara" for five years now, but every visit to their quarters still raised her blood pressure. Part of it was their simultaneous status as large children and cybernetic sociopaths. Part of it was the Foundation keeping them in arrested development and away from all human culture made after 1998.
And part of it was the porn.
At least they had good taste. The four of them were crowded around Nanku's bunk, examining a Playboy centerfold in her hands. They looked up as Sarah walked into the room.
“Captain Hughes,” said Irantu.
“Irantu,” Hughes said. “What are… whatcha reading there?”
Even they could pick up on her strained casual tone.
“Playboy!” said Nanku. “It is very… sensuous!”
“I see,” Hughes said. “Where did you get it?”
“Found it,” Munru said.
“Where?”
Munru, Nanku, and Onru's eyes flickered towards Irantu. A moment passed.
“In the latrines,” Irantu said. “Behind a loose tile.”
Hughes grimaced. Luckily, nobody she was talking to cared.
“Why are you reading it?”
The four of them looked at each other. Onru shrugged.
“Trying to figure out what all the fuss is about sex!” Nanku said. “Dirk Pitt always has sex with some… vivacious firebrand, but I can't write about it without knowing about it and Mr. Cussler never quite explains how sex works.”
Teaching a group of Terminators about the birds and the bees ranked slightly below feeding herself to 682 on Hughes' to-do list. She chose a different tactic.
“Tell you what. Why don't you just… give those to me, and I'll get you something special.”
“Something special?” Irantu asked.
“Yes. I'll trade you those magazines — all the magazines you have — for a present.”
“What's a present?” Nanku asked.
“It's something very nice that you'll like a lot!”
“And you are sure that we will like it?” Onru said.
“Absolutely!” Hughes said. “So why don't you just… hand me those magazines and uh, just forget about everything you saw in them!”
Tau-5 looked at each other. Again Hughes saw three pairs of eyes flicker towards Irantu. His face scrunched up slightly.
“Understood,” he said. They each got up and reached under their beds. Irantu pulled out three issues. From Onru and Munru's bunks came two dog-eared and worn copies each. Nanku retrieved a pair that were slightly sticky to the touch.
Hughes fought to keep the bile down as the pile of dirty magazines were proffered. “Thank you… very… much!”
“I look forward to this surprise,” said Onru.

Onru strode through the site's corridors with ease born of familiarity, following a path long since cemented in her mind. With a final turn, she approached the shooting range. It was her sanctuary — her only weapon against that beast called boredom. As long as she could make her way past the guardian of the gate.
She tried to slip by the armory counter, but it was too late. She had been spotted. “Oh hey, Onru,” called a voice behind the counter. “Nice to see you today!”
Onru stopped in place and pivoted to face them. They were beaming, standing there behind the counter in a bright red shirt with a nametag that read “Benjy.” Behind them were rows of shelves stocked with Site-30's prime armaments, stacked tall as a library and illuminated by bare yellow bulbs. Serving as the main entry point for this arsenal was a task that Onru would typically respect, if not for Benjy's immense… tenacity.
“Gonna let off some steam, eh?” Benjy continued. “Always glad to have a true professional tearing it up in there.”
Onru was completely still. “Yes.”
“What can I getcha?”
“I require a Heckler & Koch USP and 300 rounds of .45 ACP ammunition, as well as a private booth on the range.” Onru placed her ID card on the counter, and pressed her hand to a reddish scanner. It beeped softly.
“You're all verified. I'll get that for you right away.” Benjy had the audacity to wink before they turned about and scurried into the armory. Onru managed to relax her posture for a moment, before the clerk returned once again.
“Here you go,” they said with a smile, setting a box on the counter. “Section C's all clear for you. Have a good practi-”
The door closing behind Onru muffled the end of Benjy's sentiment. The range was hers. From her private booth, she looked out over the range: ninety meters of poured concrete and empty space, peppered with the grey silhouettes of several dozen humanoid targets.
Onru retrieved her weapon and felt its form along her fingers and palm. She slid the magazine into place and licked her lips as it clicked in. She leveled the firearm at a target, 50 meters out, with a head so tantalizingly absent of lead. The gun was part of her — an extension of her flesh, more so than any implant the doctors could graft onto her.
She breathed deep. Bang, bang, bang, bang. Four shots directly into the target's forehead.
She pivoted fifteen degrees to the left. Target two, 75 meters out. Begging for pain. Bang, bang. Right in the eyes.
As she managed the careful balance of metal and blood that kept her aim dead-on, her thoughts drifted back to the previous day, as her siblings fawned over pornography, as if it would provide them some great insight into “the human experience”.
Onru did see one benefit, however. It told her where the ego lies. Bang, bang. 90 meters out, two shots, fired with pinpoint accuracy into the target's groin.
Onru did not smile.
Forty-five minutes later, she slid the box of arms back across Benjy's counter.
“Did you get them?” Benjy beamed.
“Yes.”
“I wish more of the personnel had the kind of consistency you have. It's really astounding.”
Onru nodded and, as is customary, took exactly two seconds to process this compliment. Satisfying.
Benjy continued. “You know, I make it a goal to go to the range often, but I'm not nearly as-”
Onru had already disappeared around the corner.

Just before Onru opened the door to the bunk room, she paused. She could sense a fourth presence inside the room, but her internal biometric sensors were registering a mass smaller than that of a human. She paused for a moment, noticing an additional unfamiliar whirring sound. Then she slid her combat knife from the pouch in her leg and opened the door.
The knife flew into Nanku's stomach, slightly below her kidney. This was not Onru's fault. Nanku had chosen to raise the mystery entity to kidney level in the split-second that Onru had thrown the knife.
The entity barked.
Nanku looked down at the knife in her belly. “Don't worry, Onru,” she said. “This isn't an enemy. It's our gift!”
Irantu pulled the knife from Nanku's gut and tossed it to Onru. “Our present is a dog.”
“A dog?” Onru caught the knife blade-first and wiped it on her arm, making a mental note to clean it properly later. “What is a dog?”
“This is!” Nanku said. She proffered a brown furry quadruped with long metal legs and a stomach that was entirely transparent around the midsection, displaying internals more suited to an industrial food grinder than living organism. As Onru ventured closer, Nanku turned the creature to face her. It possessed a black back, pointed ears, and a long snout that split into thirds, which it was displaying as its tongue hung out. Inside were rows of rotating metal teeth that spun with a whirring sound. As she inspected it, it glared back at her with large, brown eyes.
Onru squinted into the dog's mouth. Its panting breath was hot on her face. “Are all dogs cyborgs?”
“No,” Irantu said, “just this one. The Captain said that it was an Indian pariah dog used to re-calibrate a robotic surgeon. It was scheduled for termination but she thought it might be good for us instead. To take care of it.”
“Hmm,” Onru said. “What is its designation?”
“Captain Hughes said we could pick one ourselves," Munru said. “I think we should call it Teeth."
“I think we should call it Aintu,” Irantu said.
“I think we should call it Eviscerate!” Nanku said.
They all looked at Onru.
She frowned. “Why must we take care of it? It was meant to be terminated.”
Nanku let the dog down as her eyes went wide. “No! Please, let us take care of him.” The dog nosed up to Onru, sniffing at her legs. She shuffled away.
“Dog! Come here,” Irantu said. The dog trundled up to him. He rubbed its snout and then ran his finger around the rows of teeth rotating inside.
“Onru, taking care of this dog will make us more likable,” he said. “I suspect, but have not had a chance to confirm, that Erica Kearney and her colleagues talked about our interactions with them and our sister.”
Nanku and Onru raised their hands.
“Killing her is pointless because she has already spoken,” Irantu said.
They lowered their hands.
“Now,” Irantu said, “according to Captain Hughes, in order to take care of this dog, we must train and… bond with it.”
“How do we bond with it?” Munru asked.
Irantu rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Onru raised her hand again.
“Onru, I doubt Captain Hughes would approve —”
“What about what I approve?” she said. “I do not want to be liked. I do not want to care for this irritation.”
The dog whined. Onru narrowed her eyes and growled. The dog fell silent, save the hum of its rotating teeth.
“I do not want to be near it,” she continued. “It is hideous. Its snout is fat and puffy. Its digestive tract is inelegant and overengineered. It makes that irritating gnashing sound with its teeth —”
“Gnasher!” Nanku said. “That's it! That's its desig — that's its name!”
“I like Gnasher,” Munru said.
“Gnasher is… acceptable,” Irantu said.
“Are you listening to me?” Onru said. “I do not want this thing. I will not be forced to care for it.”
“That is irrelevant,” Irantu said sharply. “We must work to be… approachable and friendly, to work with our fellow personnel more effectively. It is tactically advantageous to care for the dog, and we will do so. That is an order.”
Onru's nostrils flared. “Understood.”
She offered a salute and stomped out of the room. Irantu, Munru, and Nanku watched the doorway for several seconds, but Onru failed to return.
“She will adjust,” Irantu said confidently. He looked down at the newly christened animal. “Now, we must see to you.”

Irantu sat on the floor of the sparring room, holding Gnasher by the midsection. The dog was remarkably unruffled by this. Their eyes were locked onto each other's with equal intensity.
“Greetings, Gnasher,” Irantu said. “My designation is Irantu. I am your squad leader.”
Gnasher barked.
“I do not know what that means. We must establish communications.”
Gnasher was silent. Irantu thought for a moment.
“Bark once for no. Bark twice for yes. Do you understand me?”
Gnasher barked twice, spraying saliva in Irantu's face. He blinked.
“Good. Now that we have established a baseline for communications, we can begin your training.”
Irantu set Gnasher down and wiped a hand across his face to get the spittle off.
“To wit, Captain Hughes alerted me to three primary cybernetic augmentations. Your prosthetic legs are capable of telescoping out, your mouth can split open, and your digestive tract is a large grinding apparatus protected by polycarbonate. Am I forgetting anything?”
Gnasher barked twice. Irantu picked him up again.
“Ah, I had forgotten. Your mouth is full of rotating metal teeth.”
Irantu contemplated these augmentations. “To the best of my analysis, you are an eating machine. I suppose your skillset is best suited for waste disposal.”
Gnasher barked.
“No? Why not?” Irantu said.
Gnasher sniffed and looked up at him with pleading eyes.
“Admittedly, you are a very… aesthetically appealing animal. I am fond of your fur and your eyes, as are Munru and Nanku. Perhaps you can be our… mascot as well.”
Gnasher's tongue slathered itself across his face. The corners of Irantu's mouth turned up. “You are also an excellent negotiator.”

The next morning, Onru was at the foot of her bed, sharpening her knife. Combat training had dulled it more than she liked, and every millimeter of dullness meant adding precious milliseconds of stab recovery that could instead be spent stabbing.
Over her knife's edge, she saw a shape sitting at her feet, looking up at the knife.
“Dog,” she said. He blinked.
She moved her knife, and his eyes followed. He leaned in closer.
“Do not touch my knife.”
He was undeterred.
“Dog. If you try to eat my knife, I see two possible outcomes: either you destroy my knife, or it pierces your brain and kills you. Since the former would annoy me, and the latter would annoy my squadmates, do not touch my knife.”
He leaned in closer. Onru watched with clinical disinterest. If this was the path that Gnasher chose, she would let him face the consequences.
Gnasher brought his face right up to the knife's sharp edge, but stopped short by mere millimeters. His stubby black nose twitched. He was smelling it. His nose followed down the blade, towards the hilt, and onto Onru's hand. She felt its moistness on her skin.
Without thinking, she held out her other hand, palm up. He turned to it and placed his head on top, resting its weight there.
She blinked.
Onru closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and withdrew her hands. She needed to shoot something. She left her quarters and let the door slam behind her.
At the other end of Site-30, Benjy was waiting at the counter. “Onru! Nice to see you again. What can I getcha?”
She nodded. “Heckler & Koch HK233 with forward grip and a drum magazine. 200 rounds of 5.56 NATO.”
Benjy nodded and skipped back into the shelves. They returned a moment later with her box. “Now give ‘em hell.”
Onru took the box and entered the range, straight to her usual booth, private as always. She stroked the rifle's metal with irrepressible relish. In a single motion, she slid the ammo drum into place and switched the safety off. She felt its balance, the perfect distribution of its carefully machined internal mechanisms. It was the perfect tool. In the hands of a professional, it felt lighter than air.
She aimed it downrange, straight at a target's head, 75 meters out.
Bang, bang, bang… The shots continued apace. There was a straight line between Onru and her target, an invisible beam that was now full of speeding lead. She kept firing until the last round left the magazine.
She analyzed the target. Full of holes, but not enough. She saw new chunks of concrete debris lying on the floor. Some of her shots had missed.
She placed the empty drum onto the counter and swiftly replaced it.
Bang, bang, bang… Again. More shots firing wider than they should. Fewer holes on the target. She squinted at her rifle. The range was correct, the zeroing was perfectly-tuned, the grips were level.
She left the range, box in hand. “This rifle may be defective.”
Benjy looked up from their book. “Oh! Defective how?”
She set the box on the counter. “I experienced an unexplainable loss of accuracy.”
“Okay. Gotta have the best tools for the job, right? Leave it here, I'll take a look at it.”
Onru nodded curtly. “I'm sure you will.”

Gnasher looked up at Munru expectantly.
“Up!” Munru said.
There was a sound like a window-shade dropping. A moment later, Gnasher looked down at Munru expectantly. He now stood on silver stilt-like legs at an impressive three meters tall.
“Forward!”
Gnasher tottered forward hesitantly, then more quickly as he became more confident on his stilt legs.
“Down!”
On cue, Gnasher's legs lowered with the same windowsill sound. He gave a startled yip and landed on the ground.
“Good dog,” Munru said. “Do you want food?”
Gnasher's eyes widened and he started panting heavily.
“Follow me.”
A few minutes later, the two of them stood in front of the doors leading to the Site-30 cafeteria kitchen.
“Listen carefully,” Munru said.
Gnasher looked up at him with big wide eyes.
“We are going to take snacks from the kitchen,” he said. “Captain Hughes will not let us drink Capri Sun. She says it interferes with the… biochemistry of our tartarotrophic engines. I am tired of being told what I can and cannot eat. I want Capri Sun. Technician Barlow's birthday party was yesterday. Therefore there must still be some Capri Sun in the kitchen. Do you follow me?”
Gnasher let out a low bark.
“Excellent,” Munru said. “This is what will happen. I will distract the cafeteria workers. You will locate the Capri Sun. It is spelled C-A-P-R-I-S-U-N. Locate it and exfiltrate to this spot with the beverages. Understand?”
Gnasher barked again.
“Good. Let us proceed with the operation.”
Munru shoved the double doors open and strode into the kitchen. The chefs stopped in their tracks and looked at him with surprise. Gnasher trotted into the kitchen and started nosing around.
“Do not be alarmed,” Munru said. “We are… investigating a situation. Continue about your business. This is official Mobile Task Force Tau-5 Samsara business. Do not ask questions. Do not… stray from your duties.”
He wandered about the room briefly, taking in the shiny chrome tables, utensils, and the frightened chefs struggling to cook with the massive cyborg looming over their shoulder.
Then he heard a sound like a clogged coffee grinder. Gnasher had raised himself up to table-height and was tearing into a roast turkey larger than he was. His snout was split into three segments and had nearly engulfed the cooked bird whole.
“Gnasher!” he said. “Bad dog!”
The sound went from coffee grinder to wood chipper as the turkey vanished deeper into Gnasher's maw and the turbines in his belly spun to life. Munru seized him by the abdomen and pulled him from the table. Gnasher clamped his mouth around the bird for dear life, dragging it deeper into his infernal machine.
Munru gave Gnasher's polycarbonate back two sharp taps. He immediately lowered himself to the ground, looking up at Munru with a pitiful expression. This was only partially defeated by the remains of the bird being sucked through his gullet like an egg down a python's throat.
“That is not Capri Sun,” Munru said.
Gnasher whined.
“You were told to locate the Capri Sun.”
Gnasher whined again.
“Hmm. You do raise a good point.”
Gnasher yipped.
“The similarities are… undeniable. I am indeed acting like Captain Hughes.”
Gnasher barked once.
“Very well,” Munru said. “I apologize. I should have let you finish the turkey. Please find my Capri Sun, and I will get you another turkey.”
Gnasher barked twice.
“Irantu was right. You are an… excellent negotiator.”
As Gnasher waddled off, Munru looked around the kitchen. The chefs were staring at him with disbelief.
“Official Samsara business. Sterilize the kitchen as necessary. You will not speak of this event. The safety of the world may depend on it.”

That evening, Onru was lying in her bunk reading a copy of Starship Troopers. Captain Hughes had said it would help her understand the Foundation better, but she found everything that wasn't shooting aliens to be intensely boring. She just skipped through to the action scenes. As she tried to imagine what it would be like to stand on another planet and obliterate giant bugs, she sensed a squat quadruped amble into the room.
Onru lowered the book slightly and watched Gnasher trundle towards her bunk. His beady brown eyes were laser-focused on her, his tail was wagging with clock-like precision, and his tongue was hanging out. He stopped near the bunk ladder and looked up at her. She gave him a nod and then returned to the book.
There was a sound like a window shade lowering. Onru sensed, but did not acknowledge that Gnasher had telescoped up on his stilt legs to stand at her level. He took a few steps closer to the bunk. Then his two front legs receded up into his body and he toppled forward so that they were firmly on Onru's mattress. He squirmed forward a little more and then his back legs retracted.
Gnasher was smart, but not enough to understand centers of gravity. The little bump from his legs shortening caused him to begin slipping. He yelped and scrambled for purchase on the sheets. For a heart-stopping moment, he was suspended in the air.
Then Onru's hands were around his stomach, pulling him onto the bunk. She took a moment to observe how smooth his midsection was. It was soothing to the touch.
“You are a very stupid dog,” she told him. “You are lucky that Irantu has… mandated we take care of you.”
Gnasher licked her face furiously, his tail wagging with joyful intensity. His breath was hot and wet. She wrinkled her nose and set him on the mattress, using the book to wipe her face off.
The dog clambered around the edge of the mattress, sitting down next to Onru's head. He stared intently at her open book.
“You cannot read.”
He harrumphed and laid down.
“Do you know that you cannot read?”
He looked over at her with pleading eyes.
“You want to do what I do. Is that it?”
He licked her face. She did not blink.
“Fine.” She sat up and gripped his midsection. She held him out in the open air, and he doggy-paddled wildly before extending his legs and gaining footing. Onru jumped off of her bunk, and he lowered himself to ground level. “I'll show you what I do.”
She strode out of their room and down the hall. Gnasher happily followed. His tail wagged wildly.
“Oh, hi!” Benjy exclaimed as Onru approached the shooting range counter. “Great to-”
“The usual,” Onru interjected, before they could launch into some banal anecdote.
Benjy nodded, disappearing into the shelves, then returning with a metal box. The instant the box touched the counter, Onru grabbed it and set off towards the entrance to the shooting range, dog in tow.
“Wait, is that your dog?” Benjy shouted after her. “Are you taking a dog into the shooting range?”
“Not my dog,” Onru yelled back. The door slammed shut behind both of them.
Onru set her box down on the bench and retrieved her handgun. Gnasher watched intently from her feet.
“This,” she said while screwing on a suppressor, “is a Heckler & Koch USP Compact: universal self-loading pistol. It is utilized by many law enforcement agencies to maintain the peace. I use it to shoot enemy combatants in the head, and occasionally other places as well. This kills the combatants.”
Gnasher had shakily stilted his way on top of the bench, where he sat. Onru nodded and turned to her targets. She held her hands up, locked around the grip, finger over the trigger.
She closed one eye and took aim at the humanoid target, straight out, 50 meters.
Bang, bang, bang – a neat line of bullet holes drew from the target's stomach to its neck. She raised her barrel a fraction of a degree upwards, ready for the kill shot. She pulled the trigger.
The target's head was unblemished. She shot again: nothing. The bullets went wide. Onru fired two, three more times, still failing to strike the target. Her hands were shaking. Why were they shaking? Millimeters of unnecessary movement meant meters of lost precision at long ranges. Allowing the enemy to survive for entire seconds longer, providing them ample opportunity to kill her.
She shot again, and again, mindlessly emptying the magazine into the air around her target. She heard Gnasher whine miserably behind her, and felt a tugging at her pant leg.
She spun around. “What? What do you want?” she barked.
Gnasher released her leg and sat in front of her, looking up with flattened ears and dark, quivering eyes.
Onru reached down and pet him on the head. He mewled and pressed his face against her hand. She felt her throat tightening.
“Come on. Let's get you back to quarters.”

Nanku lay in her bunk, propped up against the baseboard, with pen and notebook in hand. Gnasher lay across her lap, eyes closed and snoring like a stalled chainsaw.
“I was talking to Dr. Cheng about it last week, when she was installing the radar in my brain, and she called it fridging! It's where women in fiction are consistently injured or killed for no good reason. I love Dirk Pitt but I love Summer Moran too, and she was fridged!”
Gnasher's eyes opened. He sniffed.
“I don' — I dunno. I like Summer but not like how Mr. Cussler writes her. I really dislike her romance with Dirk, I dislike romance in general. How do you love someone like that? I love my siblings, I think. I trust them with my life. But I have known them for all my lives. I would never kiss them. That is just odd. Sex too. I feel like we tried to have sex before but could not figure it out and in any case it was just strange. It was nowhere as enjoyable as killing people.”
Gnasher wrinkled his nose. Nanku rubbed his head and he licked her hand.
“What do you think of all this? Why do you think sex and romance and fridging are so important in writing?”
Nanku ran her hands along Gnasher's teeth. He obligingly nibbled on them, lapping up the spilling blood.
“I can't figure it out,” she said frustratedly. “I try to be like them. I call myself a Power Ranger and drink beer and read books just like they do, but I'm still not one of them. Just because I like killing people and feeling cool while I do it. They dislike that about me. It… pisses me off.”
Gnasher whined and bit the tip of her ring finger off. Nanku gently wiggled the rest of her hand out his mouth.
“You are a very smart dog. Would you mind taking a look at my current draft? It is the first chapter of my Pacific Vortex! rewrite from Summer's… perspective.”
She proffered the notebook to Gnasher. He nosed the first page carefully, wetting it. Then he bit it out and shredded it.
“That bad?”
Gnasher barked.
“I think you're right. I was planning to rewrite the chapter anyways. Here, let me help,” Nanku said. She ripped twenty more pages out and fed half of them to Gnasher. The other half went into her own mouth.

Onru squeezed the trigger again and again. In front of her were targets marred only by evidence of dumb luck and poor arms training. She dragged the magazine out of her rifle and let it fall to the floor with the others. Just as swiftly, she replaced it and let loose another volley of shots that found no purchase. Her chest heaved. Her arms shook.
This gun wasn't an extension of her being. It wasn't her tool. It wasn't anything to her. Just dead lead.
Onru drew back her arm and threw her gun across the range with as much force as she could muster. The clatter was inaudible beneath a shriek of frustration.
She stormed out of the range, box under one arm.
“Uh, how'd it go?” Benjy asked, with audible trepidation.
“Poorly,” Onru spat. She dropped the box onto the counter with a thud.
“I wouldn't worry too much about it,” Benjy said with a sympathetic frown. “I've had some terrible days at the range. Like, this one time, I brought my boyfriend…”
Onru just stood there. She held her hands out, clenching and unclenching her fists as Benjy's words washed over her. She watched as the hands responded to the instruction of her brain. Were they even hers anymore, if they could not kill?
“…so it was a whole thing. We never did find that fish,” Benjy concluded with solemn certainty.
“Yes,” Onru said, quiet. “Right. I should be going.”
“Oh, well, see ya next time,” Benjy shouted as she turned around the corner.
Onru reached the door to her quarters and threw it open. Her siblings were gone, likely to the meal hall. She let the door slam behind her and sat on the floor, arms falling to her sides.
A curious whine came from the end of the room. Gnasher crawled out from beneath Irantu's bed. He trotted towards her.
“Dog. If you lick my face, I will throw you at the wall.”
He continued, slower. He didn't move towards her face. Instead, he sat down against her thigh, then laid down along the side of her leg. He was still.
Onru regarded him carefully. Slowly, she reached out and set her hand on his spine. She let herself trace along it, feeling the fur against her skin. They were silent together.
Onru felt a profound sense of peace.
She blinked. Peace. Something clicked together in her mind, an epiphany bubbling to the surface of her consciousness.
She stood quickly, almost leaping to her feet. Gnasher raised his head and let out a muffled bark. She paid him no mind, striding back out into the hallway and straight to the gun range.
Benjy looked up from their counter as Onru approached. “Oh, hi, Onru! Didn't expect to-”
“Benjy,” Onru placed both hands on the counter. “I need smaller targets.”
Benjy reared back. “Uh… huh. How small?”
“Do you have anything…” Onru feigned ponderance. “Dog-sized?”

Onru lowered her handgun. The air was filled with sweat and burnt gunpowder. She looked out across the range, towards the squat, quadrupedal practice target eighty meters out.
Its flat surface was riddled with bullets. Not a single stray shot.
The gun was part of her again. Everything that had previously been spiralling out of control had now folded back in on itself. Life was no longer complicated.
Onru let herself smile, just this once.

At exactly 2:00 AM, Onru stopped pretending to sleep.
She slid from her bunk and spun into a three point landing on the floor. Her shock absorbers erased any noise. Her siblings were sound asleep.
She walked to the collection of pillows and mattress foam carefully nestled in the corner. Gnasher was curled up on top, breathing quietly. Onru poked his side with the toe of her boot.
He raised his head to squint at her, then shook off the grogginess.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Let's go.”
She held the door open for him, then closed it carefully behind her. The hallways were silent and nearly pitch-black, but her legs knew where to go.
The entrance to the shooting range was unguarded, and the armory counter unmanned. Just as she'd expected. She grabbed the handle of the range door and pulled sharply upwards. The pistons in her legs aligned, and the door's hinges slowly bent out of shape, enough for the lock to completely disengage. She went inside. Gnasher followed.
Straight to her usual booth. Straight to the gun she had stashed there. She held the handgun aloft and felt the weight of live ammunition inside.
Onru grabbed the sides of the booth and pulled herself up and over the barrier separating the shooter's position from the targets. Gnasher's legs telescoped up, and he followed her over. She strode down the range, past targets both fresh and destroyed, down to the wall.
She took a deep breath, cocked her handgun, and turned around. Gnasher was sitting at her feet.
“Let's get this over with, shall we?”
Gnasher tilted his head, tail raised in anticipation.
“First, we should get our stories straight. I was at the shooting range for late-night training. You escaped from our quarters and followed me here without my knowledge. You broke in and wandered downrange. Mistaking you for an escaped anomaly, I fired on you, and you were killed.”
The dog's eyes went just a little wider.
“Is this an especially believable explanation?” Onru shrugged. “Maybe not. But who will the Foundation believe?”
“Me,” she said, “or your corpse?”
She lifted the gun up, the barrel just inches away from Gnasher's head.
He stood up, tail lodged firmly between his legs. His eyes were locked on Onru's.
“You don't fool me. I know what you've been doing.”
He didn't move.
“You are sabotaging my operational efficiency. The Foundation depends on my ability to accomplish tasks as instructed, free of error. My failures in training put lives at risk. They put my purpose at risk. So why don't you react? Why do you celebrate my failure?”
Her voice echoed throughout the empty range. Gnasher whined quietly.
“You give me peace when I must prepare for war. You make me calm when I must be furious at myself. That anger fuels me. It is me.”
Her hands were shaking.
“Why do you look at me like that?” she said. “What do you see in me that makes you so desperate to be by my side? What have I ever done for you that is worth it? What makes me worth it?”
He just stood there. Everything but Onru was perfectly still.
“And why are you still standing here? You know what this does.” She nodded at the firearm in her hands. “You know what will happen. Why won't you run?” Her finger hovered over the trigger.
Gnasher's spine was straight. He looked at her with his unwavering eyes, deep brown, recognizable even in the dark. His damp nose twitched in the cold air. His ears were held back, flat against his head.
He looked down. Moving gingerly, he laid on the concrete, curled up, and shut his eyes.
Onru squeezed her eyes closed. Her legs felt weak, her head was light. She took a deep breath, and knelt on the floor.
She shook her head slowly, muttering under her breath as the gun slipped from her fingers. “Such a stupid dog.”

Onru stirred beneath her covers. She squeezed her eyes shut. Something was calling her, pulling her from slumber. Voices, getting louder — and a buzzing sound. She opened her eyes.
Her siblings were standing next to her bunk, talking to each other, craning their necks to look at her.
“What?” Onru said. She looked at her stomach and saw fur. Gnasher was cradled against her body, and her arm was wrapped around him. He was snoring like an electric carving knife.
Onru blinked. She looked back at her siblings. “Do not read into this.”
“But you are so cute together!” Nanku said. “We need to take a picture.”
“You need to leave us alone,” Onru said. She carefully bent her leg to avoid waking Gnasher and reached for her knife. She gently slid it from its sheath and pointed it at Nanku.
“Us?” Irantu said. “You explicitly stated, ‘I do not want to be near it.'”
Onru looked at Gnasher and then at Irantu. “You explicitly stated that what I want is irrelevant. So what we both want is to be left alone.”
Munru raised an eyebrow. As he opened his mouth to speak, Onru's knife entered his stomach just below the kidney. He put up his hands in mock surrender. “Point taken.”
Onru gestured with her free hand. “Leave us be.”
Munru was last out the doorway. He paused in the threshold, the blade still buried in his gut. “You two make a… picturesque duo.”
Gnasher sniffed once in acknowledgment and raised his head. Onru looked down at him. “You are awake?”
He sniffed again and yawned, then wiggled forward so that the back of his head was just under her chin. Onru thought about getting up and going to the shooting range. She wanted to put a few rounds in man-sized targets again. Then Gnasher licked her face, laid his head down and closed his eyes.
She decided to stay in bed.


« Release | Idea - Ideal - Ideology | Embarkation »

Eight boulevards converge at the base of the tower. Mountain winds race along them, fanning the bonfire. Close to, the heat dries his eyes. Flames snap and billow. The smoke tastes strange.
James looks up. Firelit shadows cavort on the hulking concrete shell. Above the tower, the sky is drenched in stars.
It has been almost an hour. Aurelio said that Varela would come. James wonders what the fire looks like from the workers' camp on the hillside. What it looks like to the hollow eyes of the half-built tower.
He hears footsteps. A man walks into the fire's glow, and James stands.
As they shake hands, James thinks: I expected him to be taller. More handsome, perhaps, but just that there would be more of him. This man - neat greying beard and dark eyes - is small beneath a wide sky.
Varela reads his expression. "You look disappointed, mi amigo."
"No, sorry - " James says, embarrassed, and finishes lamely. "I had heard stories."
The laugh in response is hearty. "Stories? And you blame me for not living up to them?"
Involuntarily, James drops his eyes. His gaze is brought back by a warm hand on his shoulder.
"No mas. You cannot control what you hear, any more than I can control what they tell you." Varela looks James in the eye, and James starts to understand.
Varela continues, smiling. "Now you can hear what they tell me about you. Aurelio says that you are working with Belén. He says you escaped from the police at the workers camp, and sent two SIDE agents off the road on the way here. There is a rumour that you killed two more in Neuquén."
James starts to deny it, but Varela interrupts him. "I don't care about these things. You told Aurelio that you work for a previous employer of mine. So you know I will have a question for you."
This time, James is ready for the challenge phrase. "Questions must be asked, even if there may be no answer."
"Does the black moon howl?" Varela is staring hard.
"Only in fear of the light of dawn," says James.
He does not expect the hard embrace that follows.
"It has been a long time, my friend," says Varela, "and many miles travelled. I am glad the Foundation survives. It is a dangerous world."
"It is," replies James, but his comfortable Boston life sours in his mind. Flickering claws gouge at the darkness. He is still mulling while Varela calls the others over.
They are around fifteen people. Students, site workers, a disheveled chemist. Aurelio grins, and introduces the young woman on his arm: Jacinta. There is an ex-professor from Comahue, an ex-Jesuit from the capital, a couple of indigenous Tehuelche. James loses track of names. Why are they here? He needs to speak with Varela alone.
Varela is dismissive. "These are the people I trust. The Veil is not for them."
The fire-lit faces are expectant. They are looking at him.
He asks, "Does the government here know about - about your previous work?"
The watchers murmur, in tune with the vibrating flames.
"No," says Varela. "The Foundation was small in Argentina. Almost no-one is left who knows about us."
"Good. At least, I think that's a good thing. It means that SIDE don't know your past. They want to kill you for who you are now."
James hears the force of this hit the group. Aurelio spits, and says, "Those sons of whores. Twenty thousand disappeared."
Varela waves for calm.
James continues. "And now they have something worse. Something I studied, before the Foundation was disbanded. Something the CIA took and turned into a weapon. The Foundation sent me to recover it."
His gaze is drawn ever upward. A cloud speeds past; the tower leans precipitously down. Towards him. Listening.
"It looks like a press camera. A Graflex Speed Graphic. Folding body, large flash. When the camera is focused on an object, and the flash goes off, that object stops being real. Well, it's more like- the object loses its reality and becomes an ideal."
"Like a Platonic form?" asks the ex-professor.
"Yes, or something similar," replies James, grateful for the show of understanding. "And because ideal forms are imperceptible by definition, the object essentially ceases to exist."
Jacinta tilts her head. "So it vanishes?"
"Yes, although it's more than that. If I use the camera on an apple, it stops having any physical form, so we can't see, touch or taste it. But the camera also affects the way we think about it. It stops being a particular apple, and instead becomes … an archetype. Generic. What I used the camera on is not 'an apple', it is just 'apple'."
James watches as they process this. He waits for them to realise. One of the Tehuelche is first, giving a low cry of horror. Then the ex-professor, then Aurelio.
"Holy Mary! SIDE is using this on people?"
Shock races through them. James reads their faces. How many people erased from existence? How many had they known? Friends? Family? Faces and names and lives, scrubbed blank.
He forces himself to interrupt. "We don't know how many people they've used it on – either the CIA or SIDE. The CIA's original plan was for targeted assassinations. Removing the most dangerous individuals. That stopped after what happened with Guevara."
Varela paces away from the fire. He turns to James. "When the man is too well known, even the idea he becomes is dangerous, yes?"
James nods; Varela still thinks like Foundation.
"After that, they lowered their sights. Some religious leaders, some particularly troublesome students." James thinks of Miguel's son. He swallows. "And union officials. That's why they are coming here. For you."
Varela has reached the apogee of his walk. James stares at his back. The older man is still, then laughs. Aurelio and the others fall silent.
"If your path is ordained, you cannot run from it," says Varela. The laugh is genuine, but his voice is weary. "Wherever your foot falls, that has always been the path."
James stares at Varela, framed against the dark. Varela turns.
"My friend, when I left the Foundation I tried to forget. I threw off my old life . But my new life led me here, to the same mysteries. And now the Foundation's path leads back to mine? What is there to do but laugh."
Varela's brow clouds. "But they are coming. We must plan. There are things here they must not learn."
"What do you mean?" James asks.
"I mean the reason we gather here," replies Varela. "The reason we light the fires and breathe this smoke. The reason that work on the tower is delayed, why it must never be finished." He starts back towards James. "Perhaps I should leave, lead them somewhe –"
A dazzling flash. When James can see again, Varela is gone.
"You stupid son of a bitch!" A new voice, from the shadows of a building, outside the firelight. Then, louder, "Shut up and keep still! We will shoot!"
Two men emerge into the light. The shorter one, wiry and greying, shouts, "Don't move!". An American accent.
The taller man looks down his pistol-sight. James sees the camera hanging from his neck.
The Tehuelche woman shrieks. More men appear from the other side of the fire. More guns. The knot of scared people draws tighter. The men surround them, but not too close. Establishing a perimeter. They say nothing.
The American is in charge. He strides up to James, and speaks to the group. "Before my idiot colleague jumped the gun, this was going to be simple. In about twenty minutes, you won't even recall that there was a man named Varela."
He prowls back and forth, hemming them against the fire.
"But now, we have a problem. Because now I know that there's something here, something Varela didn't want me to have."
James' mouth is dry. He holds up his hands. "Sir, I work for the Foundation," he says in English.
"Oh believe me, son, I know. You're the cause of this whole shitshow."
James breathes deeply, trying to slow the pounding in his chest. He needs to keep talking, try to de-escalate. "I want to help you. These people - you don't need to hurt them."
The American leans close, intimidatory. "You're the big hero now? You started to believe the shit they say about you? You and me both know you ain't that man. Ever since you got here, all you've done is run. Every time you ran, you led me closer to what I want. And you'll run again, given a chance."
"All I want is to keep the camera safe," says James, stomach roiling. "I don't -"
"You think we're different?" The man's lips curl in irony. "How many times did you use it? How many men did you -" He flicks his fingers outwards, into nothing. "You think you're here to help these people? What would they think of you, if they knew?"
All the air comes out of James. "Please," he says, "I will come with you and explain everything. You don't need them." It is all he has left.
"Bullshit," the American spits back. "Varela was just going to tell you what this place is. You're about the only one here doesn't know. You just run along, son."
He barges past. James feels discarded.
Switching to Spanish, the American raises his voice, "This man knows nothing, so one of you is going to tell me. Something in the tower, yes?"
Aurelio blazes forward. "Your mother!"
The pistol-butt cracks Aurelio's temple, and he falls. Jacinta rushes to catch him. The professor makes a sound between a gasp and a scream.
The American's face is red. He shouts, "Maybe I'm not being clear. Tonight is already a fuck-up, thanks to this poor excuse for an agent." He snatches the camera from his companion. "And I've had enough of this shithole country. So I will happily wipe you all off the face of the earth if you don't fucking tell me what I want to know!"
The American grabs Jacinta by the hair, yanking her up. Jacinta yelps. Aurelio tries to rise, but falls back. The group is magnetised, eyes following the American as he half-drags Jacinta and throws her to the ground. The camera is on his neck. His right hand clutches his gun.
"I don't count to three. I don't bluff. Either you talk now, or I choose a bullet or the flash."
James tries to move. The crackling fire twists the silence taut. The tower looms, mute.
An engine roars.
Echoes from the hollow concrete play games with the sound. The SIDE agents turn from street to street. There are no lights. They peer outwards, fire-blind.
The engine cuts out. They can still hear the car, moving fast, getting closer. Without the engine it remains a ghost.
An agent leans forward, squinting. He raises his weapon, assumes a shooting stance.
Headlights blaze, and the engine thunders to life. The jeep is fifty feet away, travelling fast. The agent fires blind, three shots. The jeep keeps coming. He starts to move, but the jeep is too fast. It strikes him at full speed, then crashes through the bonfire.
Chaos. Burning logs fly, trailing sparks and smoke. Someone screams. The jeep swerves, slamming into an agent on the other side of the fire. The chemist runs past James, trying to grab his arm. The jeep squeals to a halt. SIDE agents fire at the driver's door. The American releases Jacinta, who scrambles away.
A flash from the rear of the jeep. An agent falls, shot in the head. James glimpses the shooter: Belén! Another agent goes down. Aurelio strikes a third with a burning branch, Jacinta rushing to him.
The American runs toward the tower. He still has the camera.
James looks across the burning courtyard. To the frantic flight of Varela's friends. Belén, pinned down by gunfire from three agents still standing. Aurelio and Jacinta, wrestling with the other. The American, disappearing into the shadowed doorway.
James hesitates.


Originally written with SCP Illustrated for youtube, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G38gSbWaIQY
Title is a reference to the song "Dream a Little Dream Of Me"

▸ More by this Author ◂

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F.A.Q.

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The humans were more powerful than he'd been willing to give them credit for. They shot him, burned him, electrocuted him, and finally threw him in a box. If humans could handle fighting each other, they could certainly handle fighting him.
They solved world hunger. Brought about world peace. Cured every disease. Filled every need. And they grew bored with the crystalline cities they'd built for themselves.
The end of all things crept quietly along after them, unnoticed. When they stopped fighting, mankind faded away. He still hated them, of course, but the ease at which they went almost astonished him. Suddenly no one cared enough. Suddenly almost no children were born. A few metal tubes threw themselves violently off the planet. And then, quite suddenly, humanity died together.
He escaped his box not long after.
After the end, though, the damage they'd done to the world crashed into reality and the world died too. Plants withered away, then anything that ate plants, and then everything else. In a few thousand years the carrion eaters died off and he was truly alone.
At first it was a welcome change. Then he learned the hard way that eternity was only really worth it when things changed. Without any other life around, nothing really changed on a day to day scale. He'd wake up, look out over dead earth, oceans, or at the nearly unchanging sky, and then go back to sleep.
For endless eons he waited. He charted the stars by drawing in the death earth and felt a pang of joy whenever one of them died. But they were always being replaced. Over and over he'd see one die and another be born. Then again humans had done the same thing for a long time.
The sun had gotten larger and larger in the sky over time. It ballooned to fill the entire daytime sky. The oceans turned to deserts and the deserts turned to molten glass. The whole surface of the earth glowed a deep orange. He suffered through the worst of it for a few million years, perching on the few rocks sturdy enough to stand up to the heat. He screamed when he could, but no one was around to hear him.
Then the sun shrank into a tiny white point in the sky, larger than the brightest stars, but only just. The dead earth slowly cooled, though there was no atmosphere left to breath. He was alone with his own thoughts and, again, he began to chart the stars.
At first, it continued on as before. The charts began to cover more and more of the Earth. With nothing but time, he drew his constellations and calculations. Once, the stars were replaced as quickly as they'd died, but now maybe 2 died before another was born. Later still, 3. Then 4. The number kept climbing until there were only a few dozen stars left in the sky. The only record that the sky had once been filled with light was etched on continent spanning star charts across the surface of the dead Earth.
He realized, of course, that his fate was inevitable. Even after all the stars had gone, he would still be here. He would be the only thing left in an infinite darkness that would continue for eternity. He rested his head on the rock and gazed at a star, wondering for how much longer it would burn before fizzling out.
Then one day, a trillion trillion years after the last star had blinked out, SCP-682 squinted at the dark night sky. A new star had formed. This one was brighter than anything he'd ever seen before. It moved strangely, and quickly. Eventually it darkened and disappeared. A few years on another shooting star joined it and darkened again. Then another.
For millennia a colony grew above him. Larger and larger still, until it hung over him like a tantalizing treat, just out of reach.
Then they began to land on his world. He felt the rage return. His world. His home. But they deliberately avoided his drawings. Chose the few blank spaces between the constellations and calculations to dig out the earth. Then they placed boxes gingerly into the ground, covered them and drew new markings.
In a few months they returned, this time with another box. He approached their landing party this time, staying as hidden as he could. He looked, and they were humans. He listened to the ground for the vibrations of their speech, but the language was nothing he'd ever heard before.
Over and over, year after year, they came. And year after year he would go and listen.
Eventually he understood their language.
Today he'd woken up to another shooting star, again coming to his home. He made his way to the landing site and waited. The men and women followed the same pattern as always. He suspected they knew he was there, but they'd made no moves against him. Maybe one day he'd kill them. Destroy their ship. Or take it to the stars and end them once and for all.
But for all his petty fantasy, he knew that he would be alone soon enough. Time would destroy whatever he didn't, and in the end he'd just be bored sooner. So he let them have their ceremony.
The box was laid into a freshly dug hole, and a man in a slightly more shiny suit stood and spoke to the half dozen other figures.

"Mulnos The Rash. The spawn of two krelniks would have had more grace and kindness than you. You hurt everyone. With words or hands or tools, it did not matter. For this we are sorry.
Though we deserved better from you, so too did you deserve better from us. You died hungry and alone, in the between spaces. You scarcely had a bed, and no quarters to call your own.
I commit, now, your soul to the stars, the home of your ancestors. I commit, now, your body to the earth, the home of their ancestors. I hope you find the peace you deserved in life, somehow.
May the Starkeeper bless your passing.
May the Starkeeper bless your ancestors.
May the Starkeeper bless us all."

The humans covered the hole with dirt slowly, and then shuffled into their ship.
SCP-682, the Starkeeper, and the last witness to a dying universe, watched them disappear into the black eternity. He walked over to the grave, pawed at the freshly dug ground, spun in place atop it, and took a nap.


SPONGEBOB GET THE FUCK OVER HERE

Headachemanager 09/16/2013 (Mon) 15:15:02 #11847297

micael

micahel the killer….
michael was a kid who wore a grey hoodie and had a very sad look on his face every day because the kids at school always bullied him. they always took his books and pushed him on the ground and kicked his face and they kids are VERY VERY mean to him! he has bruises on his face and everoyne made fun of the bruises on his face!!
the onyl way he felt alive was when he drew… he drawed every day and every night and he never stoped because he loved to draw, he loved drawing skeletons zombies demons and monsters!! he also loved creepypasta so so much his favorites were ben drowned and laughing jack and slenderman and sonic .exe one day he was drawing and then a mean bully went up to his desk and took his paper and teared it up!! it was at that moment that he had enough of the mean bullies and he took his pencil and stabbed the bully in eye ball.
there was blood EVERY WHERE!! the bully screame but michael didnt cared.. he took out his secret knife and stabed it into the bullies chest and then killed him… "I AM GOD!!!" he said. it was at that moment he went crazy insane and his eyes went black with white pupils and he started laughing… the cops were called and he didn't even care so he tried killing the cops but the cops had a gun so they shot him and blood whent everwear! he is dead and he now is ghost so if you see drawings on the walls and hear scary music youre end is near…
rhis is my backsstory please be nice!!

rastamasta 09/16/2013 (Mon) 15:21:59 #12994754

The hell? What is this garbage?

Headachemanager 09/16/2013 (Mon) 15:22:22 #12994791

its my back story i worked VERY hard on it so PLEASE DONT BE MEAN!!

rastamasta 09/16/2013 (Mon) 15:22:31 #12995001

This place isn't for your shitty fanfiction… -_-

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 09/16/2013 (Mon) 15:24:38 #16954830

This is obviously a troll post.

Headachemanager 09/16/2013 (Mon) 15:24:39 #19123349

I AM NOT A TROLL I HATE TROLLS!!!!!

rastamasta 09/16/2013 (Mon) 15:27:11 #27301776

Ugh… *facepalms*

cocacola 09/16/2013 (Mon) 17:59:02 #30019365

and I thought I was a bad writer… O_o
Also, isn't this place for irl paranormal events/conspiracy?

rastamasta 09/16/2013 (Mon) 18:20:44 #37025498

Yeah, I dunno what this dumb kid is doing here.

icescream 09/16/2013 (Mon) 18:21:46 #39111778

WHAT IS THIS SHIT LMAOOOOO!!!!!!!

clockworkanomaly 09/16/2013 (Mon) 18:41:17 #42068117

simply epic story Headachemanager

Headachemanager 09/16/2013 (Mon) 18:41:17 #46188102

thanks anoamly, HE ACTUALLY LIKED MY STORY UNLIKE YOU ASSHOLES!!!!!
[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]

RustyLung 09/16/2013 (Mon) 18:42:00 #5080085

Jesus, the things people do nowadays to get attention, embarrassing.

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 09/16/2013 (Mon) 18:43:53 #59462977

No kidding, I'm surprised people fell for this obvious troll. We get these people every week and they always fool newcomers.
[THREAD LOCKED]

rastamasta 09/30/2013 (Mon) 15:01:35 #12845757

IMG_390210.jpeg

hello IDIOTS!!!!! its me AGAIN, you tihnk you could stop me just by bannign me? THINK AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
now, to tell more about mihceal
micheal the killer 2!!!
micheal was a ghost now, and he was ANGRY!!! he wanted to get back at all the bulies taht did him wrong…
one day while he was floatnig around and wlaking around he saw a man walking down the street and he could tell from how he looked that he was a BULLY!! micheal new what to do then… he took his knife anda then fallowed him home…
when he entered his housse, he sneaked up on him and then he turned aroudnea and SCREAMED AHHHHH!!! micheal tried stabbing him but he missed and the bully sayd "ahhhhh dont hurt me!" and micheal got even angerier when he saide that so he grabbed a lamp from his table and then samashed it into his head and his skull went "crakk!" and there was BLOOD everywhere!!!!!!!
mciehal started stabbing and stabbing the head until brain and skull parts went all over the place and then he started playing with the brain and skull aprts for fun and he started luaghhing hahahahah!! he decided to pretend the brain and skulls were like chess and he started playing chess with the parts because hes so insane and crazy
"that ideot deserved it" said micahel
ok finished! this is part two, PLEASE BE NICE THIS TIME! i will stop if you be nice BE NICE NO TROLLING!!!

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 09/30/2013 (Mon) 15:42:00 #18947829

For God's sake, not a sockpuppet account!

clockworkanomaly 09/30/2013 (Mon) 15:47:54 #19324415

yet another epic story by formerly Headachemanager

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 09/30/2013 (Mon) 15:48:55 #20648332

Clockwork, don't encourage him…

rastamasta 09/30/2013 (Mon) 15:55:44 #25364639

i dont play with sock puppets???? that is childish what does it haeve to do with my story!!!

cocacola 09/30/2013 (Mon) 16:39:11 #25044142

wtf :o
i haven't seen a troll use sock puppet accounts around here before, this is a first XD
i was surprised at first but seeing how the account was created recently, and the first and last posts are in the micheal thread, its def a sock puppet!!

rastamasta 09/30/2013 (Mon) 16:39:13 #28191552

again I AM NOT A TROLL!!!!!!! I AM NOT A SOCK PUPPET EITHER THATS STUPISD!!!!

icescream 09/30/2013 (Mon) 16:43:22 #30661466

LOL THE KID IS BACK WITH HIS SHITTY STORIES AGAIN HAHAHAHHAA

rastamasta 09/30/2013 (Mon) 16:43:25 #32337254

STOP CALLIGN THEM SHITTY YOU FUKING ASSHOLE
I HOPE YOU FUKING ROT YOU FCKING BITGH GO KILL YOURESELF
NO ONE WOULD EVEN CARE IF YOU DID IT ANYWAY BECAUSE ALL YOU DO IS SIT ON THAT COPMUTER ALL DAY YOU LAZY FAT FUCK YOUR PROBALY ADOPTAED AND YOUR PARNETS HATE YOU PROBABLY TOO
[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST]

RustyLung 09/30/2013 (Mon) 16:47:11 #34613410

Christ.

icescream 09/30/2013 (Mon) 16:51:59 #38161855

jeez :/ kid got butthurt

RustyLung 09/30/2013 (Mon) 17:05:11 #41456250

and yeah, Clockwork, no-guns is right, you should stop responding positively to posts like this. I'm getting a feeling that you're in on this.

clockworkanomaly 09/30/2013 (Mon) 17:29:57 #49941912

lol alright ill stop
[THREAD LOCKED]

icescream 10/30/2013 (Wed) 22:55:57 #18561623

micheal kiling a bully

GRRRRRRR!!! (starts gritting teeth and clenching fists while insanity sung by miki and kaito from vocaloid starts playing) STOP BANNIGN ME!!!! seroiusly! banning me is just showing how stupid and childish you bullies all are!! AARHGHHHH!!!!
anyways it is time for the next part of micheal the killer, this one is even creepyer and scariert then the secodn!!
micheal the killer 3: the wakining!
after micheal was finished playing chess with the body of that one bully he decied to look for more bullies to kil so he walk around some more around the places and he found a house that he knew from the bottim of his heart that there was a very mean bully isnide so he went into there and snuck aroudn like in the second stroy (rember that story it was pretty crazy lol) and he found the bully he ws looking for making some food on a pan and the pan was sizziling with oils like shhshshghshhshsh
when michael saw the pan sizzling he had an idea so he snuk up behind the bully and then he slammed his face into the boiling pan and then pulled his face back up from the pan adn throw him on the ground!!! he was scremaing his face skin looked like when you left a marshmellow in hte heat for too long but the brown parts were red instead of brown and micheal thought that so he took a bite out of the face and pulled skin off of the face so you could see flseh and there was some bone too which reminded micheal of the chess skull thing from second story but he decieded to do something different this time
he decidee to torture the bulyl which is something he naever tried before but always wanted to do so he looked for some kitchen stuff that owuld help him he could hear the bulyl sobbig which made him laugh and then he noticed he was getting up so he stepped on one of his legs and started steping hard and hard and then he took out his knife and stabbde the foot a bunch so he couldnt walk on it AND THER WAS SO MCUH BLOOD that micheal slipped on it liek a banana peel XD
but after that he got very impatient and decided this torture thing was too hard so he wanated to kill the bully once and for all so he started stabing everywhere on the bullys body till the blood was a big big pool and finally the bully stoppd crying and it was finally over after he stabed the neck sevn times
micheal really liked doing the killing and stuff cause hes crazy and awesome but he always felt very loneley doing it and it alwys felt like he only people he talks to is bullys and it makes him so sad :( but maybe one day michael will find a freind so if you meet micheal on the street maybe just be his firned and he wont hurt you
the end
thta took SO long to make omg!! i wokred really really hard on this one so PLEAESP LEAS PLEASE be nice this time for once!!

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 10/30/2013 (Wed) 22:59:54 #75461823

You again? Seriously, you're so fucking boring dude, stop posting this crap.

clockworkanomaly 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:13:01 #91118531

wait hasnt icescream been in this community for like, 7 months??

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:17:03 #13381764

Wait, what?

icescream 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:21:54 #66000000

i know what to do now

icescream 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:21:55 #66660000

theres a bully taht i ahve the MOST hate for…

icescream 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:21:56 #66666600

got u

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:23:01 #19486544

???

RustyLung 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:27:17 #55555555

thats my house

RustyLung 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:31:55 #66666666

BULLY

NONE OF U GUYS WERE EVEN A LITTLE BIT NICE TO ME!!!!!
im dun with this website im going to thee creepyasta wiki maybe they'll appricate my HARD WORK!!!!
FUCK OF AND DIE COCKSUCKING HATERS!!! BYE FOREVER!!!

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:49:16 #19761976

what the fuck???

clockworkanomaly 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:55:01 #65183199

if this is an arg this is actually rlly well done

im-the-one-who-has-no-guns 10/30/2013 (Wed) 23:58:13 #76742001

i stg it isnt

RustyLung 10/31/2013 (Thurs) 00:00:00 #00000000

Bye bye noobies!!

Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!
[THREAD LOCKED]

[URL_OF_PREVIOUS TITLE OF PREVIOUS]

But A Dream

SCP-5045


It was a particularly hot day in Site-55, as the climate control was under repairs. The typical lab coats and button-ups worn by the personnel of the GoI research lab had been traded in for t-shirts and shorts, a decision made in advance by the team lead. Despite them informing their staff that they could be out of usual dress code that day, they still wore their typical button-up, slacks, and labcoat with the empty right sleeve tied up in a nice knot. Researcher Rex found himself staring at his boss' unusual choice of outfit as they filed away paperwork.
"Aren't you hot?" asked Researcher Rex, fanning himself.
"Yes. Everyone is."
"Then why are you wearing that?"
"Because I can and because I feel like it."
"I'm just saying, I feel like you'd be more comfortable wearing anything else."
"I'd be more comfortable with you not bothering me."
"Sorry, boss."
Rex fanned himself with a folder for a moment before noticing something was off. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a bit, staring at the wall. Just then, the door to the GoI research lab opened, revealing a man carrying a cardboard box.
"I got a load of… uh… AWCY stuff for Doctor Everwood. Which one of you is that?" he asked gruffly, stepping into the office and dropping the box on the table the two were working on.
"Hey there, Bob. How's the heat treating ya?"
"Not as bad as some of the others. I did see someone trying to stuff themselves into the fridge on my way over here."
"Goodness. The heat really must be getting to folks."
"Hey, uh, boss?" Rex interjected.
"What is it?"
"Is it me or is the clock melting?"
"Very funny. It's not that hot, Rex."
"No, I'm serious. Look."
Dr. Everwood sighed and turned around to face where their subordinate was pointing. Their eyes widened. Much to their surprise, the clock did indeed appear to be sagging and drooping.
"What the hell? Looks like one of those surrealist paintings."

When people are hot, they sweat. When many people who are hot are brought into one area, they sweat more. Sweat produces an unpleasant smell. To say that the Site-55 auditorium was rancid within minutes of the meeting starting was an understatement.
The gathered crowd became unruly before the site director shambled onto the podium, wearing a sweat-stained suit and loosened tie.
"Hello, everyone. I'm sure you have all experienced the most recent anomalous effect to accost our fine Site."
"Just tell us what you plan on doing about it so we can all get out of here!" screamed Dr. Masterson, who was not wearing a shirt.
"Order! Order, damn it, order!" The director straightened his tie and cleared his throat. "Personnel will be collecting the melted clocks in approved bins shortly. We are investigating the cause of these events."
"Who cares? Just turn the AC on already!" shouted Researcher Carlson, who was desperately clutching a melting ice bag to her head.
"The site's climate control will be ready to work again in a few hours. Please remain patient and cooperate with us as we further investigate this latest anomaly."
"I swear on my life, if we stay in this room for another minute I am going to set off the sprinklers,"
"Yeah, we're sweating like dogs in here!"
"Actually, dogs don't sweat, we pant!"
"Shut the fuck up, Crow!"
"Hey, at least you get to take off your clothes, I can't shed all this fur!"
"Yeah it's hot but this fucking stench, oh my God!"
"Imagine how bad it is for me!"
"Shut the FUCK up, Crow!"
"Make me, you fat C.H.U.D.!"
Things were quickly unwinding into chaos and the director was having none of it.
"Fine," his voice boomed over the speakers. "Once you have turned in your affected clocks you may return to your work. In an orderly fashion, mind you!"
A large commotion was formed as various personnel clambered to be rid of their melted clocks. Sweaty flesh met sweaty flesh as hundreds tried to escape the dank smell which had overpowered the room. The site director doffed sweat off his brow and escaped into the wings of the stage.

Doctor Everwood grumbled, entering their lab with Rex in tow. "What a waste of time. Why couldn't they have just come to collect the melted clocks after making an announcement?"
"Beats me. At least we're not in that room anymore. It smelled like Dragoncon."
"Dragoncon? Wha- actually, I don't care. Worse things could happen. Do me a favor and sort through the crap that Bob brought earlier. I'll document it when you're done."
"Can do, boss."
The two worked in silence for a few minutes before Rex spoke up.
"Hey, boss?"
"What is it?"
"You mind if I take off my shirt? It's getting really bad in here."
"Not a problem."
Rex sighed in relief and removed his t-shirt, now only wearing his binder and shorts. The two got back to work.
"Hey, boss?"
"I swear to God, if you ask to take off another article of clothing we will have a problem."
"No, no. Look at this."
He held up a pocket watch in pristine condition.
"Huh. Wonder why it's not affected. Let me see it?"
Dr. Everwood glanced over the watch, their fingers finding grooves in the back. They turned it over to discover a message written in Spanish.

The Persistence of Memory
- S.D.
Are We Cool Yet?

More From This Author

More From This Author

Uncle Nicolini's Works

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SCP-7926 •

SCP-7724 •

SCP-4026 •

SCP-PL-274 •

SCP-371-J •

SCP-MYSTERY-J •

SCP-4056 •

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SCP-7149 •

SCP-7337 •

Tales/GoI Formats

Faeowynn Wilson's First Tamalada •

Gluttony Is Impossible •

(Too) Late Registration •

Before the Storm •

'Phoenix à La Mode' (KEN46/FRI98/PNX72) •

Ace Of Hearts •

SPC-446 •

Zetetic Bulletin: The Myth of the Wu Xing Iris •

The Case of the Bathroom Cheese Labels •

Aces Deuces •

Who Wants To Live Forever? •

Life Insurance Policy •

Classy Carlos Goes To Therapy •

The Corncrake Of Destiny •

Masquerade's End •

Other

uncle nicolini author page •

Sciptember 2022 Art Highlights •

Ode To The Unknown Author •


Broken Masquerade/Yggdrasil's Surveyor Hub » Snippets of an Unveiled World

L.S.,
Forgive me for doubting you. Your recruitment of Agent Hopper has been a great boon to the Library and ourselves. And it's thanks in no small part to their unique talent, variable as it is.
Their continued findings in this unmasqued branch of The Tree have been very eye-opening. I've taken the liberty of compiling them in one of our extra-universal documentation indices, attached below.

—Archivist Haven

Relevant snippet of first post-Veil press release from The Walt Disney Company, 24 April 2013:

… Magic is not just what our parks and films try to capture. It's a fundamental part of the world we live in. That is why we at Disney wish to finally pull back the curtain and introduce the Veteran Elves of the Light. Our partnership with them has lasted since Walt himself began to formulate the plans for Disneyland…

Excerpt from a United States Consumer Product Safety Commission email sent to retailers, 25 April 2013:

TO ALL RETAILERS — URGENT PRIORITY
All products made by or licensed from WONDERTAINMENT INCORPORATED are to be recalled from all stores, effective immediately, due to unacceptable consumer safety risks. Failure to comply may warrant a fine of up to $100,000 for each….

Transcript of advertisement run throughout the United States, starting from 23 February 2014:

VO: Attention. If you suspect you or a loved one have been amnesticized, you may apply for financial compensation. Amnestic administrations have been linked to decreased motor functions, recurring short-term memory problems, chronic insomnia, and increased risk of sensory loss. Don't delay. Call now at 1-800-555-AMNI to receive free consultation and pricing.

Full-page ad run on the New York Times, publication date 10 March 2014:

customers and readers of newyork times this is dado hello
dado is first of apologizing; dado is had to keep quiet while talking with efdeeay men about pharmaceutical ventures. dado is unfortunate to say that pills by dado are can not be sold anymore, even though dado is of good capitalist and offered to comply with regulations.
but dado is quitter? no. dado promise to help anyone who approach dado, with even freer shipping thanks because of new deal with mister bezos. also be of on lookout in supramarket near you; kell logs very receptive to dado pitch of serial.

Excerpt from the New York Times, June 23rd edition, 2015

"Look, mistakes were made in the past, I'll admit that," Anderson Robotics owner Vincent Anderson replied Monday to reporters. "We were stuffed behind the Veil. Suffocating. But we just passed a mandated anomalous business audit with flying colours, and I'm determined to start a new chapter in our company's story today."

When asked on the possibility of recovery of company property from the Foundation, Anderson said, "I'm not sure. Really, we'll have to wait for the courts to decide on that. But I'm focused on looking ahead, not backwards."

Anderson's statement was delivered ahead of the eagerly anticipated Friday ICC decision concerning the rights of sapient paratech anomalies…

Excerpt from an emergency bulletin issued by the Food and Drug Administration, 8 January 2017:

Citizens who have consumed food prepared at or served by an Ambrose brand restaurant within the last 48 hours should seek immediate medical assistance following the discovery of ectoentropic contamination within several locations. Citizens who begin to experience symptoms of calcification should contact poison control as soon as possible, and should avoid contact with further transmutative substances.

Excerpt from New York Times article, 17 March 2017:

…have reported feeling an urge to read articles published by Elenjepo Publishing upon seeing them, even if they are not something they would normally be interested in. Leading memetics researchers theorize that Elenjepo Publishing is using cognitohazards on their headlines to make consumers feel enticed to read them. Elenjepo Publishing has denied these allegations. The investigation is currently ongoing…

Headline of Reuters article, 25 April 2017:

Foundation ordered to disband, turn over all documentation of "Fire Suppression Department" by federal court
Independent investigatory board to oversee compliance with mandate

Thumbnail of video "Why Deer College is an Anoma-Leftist Failure (Part 1)", uploaded by user ATFGOwOC66 on 2 June 2017.
✖

Merrymaker chatlog excerpt, 31 July 2017:

CommunismAnarchismNihilism: i believe that smurf village is a patriarchal dictatorship.
TheWokeGod: Oh Mekhan not this again
bones: …
CommunismAnarchismNihilism: alright alright fine i'll shuddup
bones: You are not the target of my irritation, @CommunismAnarchismNihilism.
lesbian_gengar: what's going on?
bones: It would be better if I showed you.
bones has attached file:tumblremail310720171945UTC.png
bluntfiend: "Your accounts have been indefinitely suspended, pending our reevaluation of transhuman and/or extraterrestrial access to our services" Excuse me what the fuck?????
TrainerDP: Fucking Verizon
CommunismAnarchismNihilism: that's what i've been saying
bluntfiend has set channel to +m
bluntfiend: Shut the fuck up all of you, this is serious.
lesbian_gengar: @bones, is Lyris okay?
bones: I am unsure. I know that she received the same message, but she is unresponsive.
bones: Are you going to take action?
bluntfiend: What kind of question is that, of course we are! We didn't come out of hiding to have to deal with this bullshit!
bones: I will not stop any of you, provided you keep some modicum of restraint.
bones: For now, I request that you respect our privacy.
bones has disconnected
lesbian_gengar: …fuck.

Excerpts from CNN article titled "Verizon stocks continue to drop, outcry towards Tumblr decision reaches federal level", publication date 7 August 2017:

So far, the month of August has not been kind to Verizon Communications (NYSE:VZ). The company's decision to suspend two users on its microblogging subsidiary Tumblr last week has been harshly criticized as being transphobic and xenophobic, and the fury doesn't appear to be slowing down. Tumblr's user-base, the anomalous social hacktivist group Gamers Against Weed, and now Democratic members of the US Senate and House have all voiced their disapproval…

"…yet another harrowing example of corporate hypocrisy," commented senator Bernie Sanders (D-VT)…

…Official GAW accounts have circulated posts and image macros on the social media platforms Twitter and Void. Their contents lambast Verizon for the suspensions, alongside continued opposition to the net neutrality movement and past financial ties to Marshall, Carter, & Dark…

…the company's silence, even in the face of a continuous stock nosedive, has spoken volumes. Attempts to reach out to GAW for comment have been similarly unsuccessful.

Article headline and byline from video game journalism website Polygon, 15 February 2018:

Arcadia Fire
Nolan Bushnell is facing growing backlash after more ties to a Satanic cult existing within the company Arcadia prior to 1995 have been revealed. BAFTA has revoked Academy Fellowship, industry figures condemn.

Excerpt from a print advertisement distributed in European countries, 17 February 2018:

…loss or doubt? Do you ever feel as if this universe is just too vast to comprehend? Well, we here at the Eastern Church of the Five Tongued Leech believe that we may be able to help you with those feelings. Our goal is to become one with the cosmos, and to finally understand what it means to be a many-limbed organism. We promise to extinguish your woes and help lead you down a path towards a lifetime of bliss. To begin this journey towards your new life, call our toll free…

Posts from paranatural microblogging platform Void, 3 March 2018:

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals Void
⁂PETA

The Foundation exploits and tortures countless animals, whose only crimes are that they're not "normal". But because the Foundation funds ⁂wilsons-wildlife, these practices are swept under the rug. Join us in pulling open the blinds and showing the world their idea of "treatment".

ECHOES 300
HUMS 20

8:00 AM · 3 March 2018

Serpents Hand Official
⁂serpentshandofficial

⁂PETA Oh shut the fuck up, you hypocrites.

ECHOES 10M
HUMS 3M

8:09 AM · 3 March 2018

Official Reddit thread, 15 April 2018:

Hi Reddit, I'm Bill Nye, and I'm the lead of Roads and Hopes, which is a project that will hopefully — if I will — save the world. AMA!
submitted 9 hours ago by BillNyeOfficial
5 comments share save hide give gold report crosspost

⬆
7
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[–] Heynowyouranallstar 3 points 7 hours ago
Hey Bill. I have a question: I read over Roads and Hopes, and it looks promising. How do you think you'll be able to accomplish it with the SCP Foundation basically not letting anyone do anything?

⬆
⬇

[–] BillNyeOfficial [S] 4 points 7 hours ago
That's an excellent question. Site 57 recently reached out to me about Roads and Hopes, and said that it can be used for an emergency Plan B, in case they have an anomaly of theirs that proves to be more trouble than it's worth.

⬆
⬇

[–] Heynowyouranallstar 1 point 7 hours ago
I see. Thank you.

⬆
⬇

[–] BillNyeOfficial [S] 1 point 2 hours ago
Noting that I'm still taking questions!

⬆
⬇

[–] BillNyeOfficial [S] 1 point 23 minutes ago
Again, I am still taking questions!

⬆
⬇

Front page headline for online news outlet The Portlandsers' Voice , publication date 20 May 2019:

United States Supreme Court rules against companies barring non-human users from their services in landmark decision

Headlines from UnVeiled Pop Culture, week of 4 May 2020:

RUMOR: "Black Mirror" episodes inspired by SCRAMBLE gear, Maxwellist Mekhanites, Sommerfeld incident in various stages of development…
Banksy furiously denies connections to anart terrorist group Are We Cool Yet? in letter accompanying latest installation near GOC embassy…

Excerpt of Twitch's prohibited anomedia list, revision May 2020:

Pretendo-branded games and hardware
TotleighSoft corporation-branded games and hardware
Looming Over Bowdrick
"SAM"-affected games
The Seventh Door

Users streaming these games will receive permanent suspension from the Twitch platform.

Article headline from online independent music review publication Pitchfork, 9 May 2020:

Who The Fuck is
“Tyrannosaurus Flex”?
There's a 40-year-old musical conspiracy theory that's been blowing up my inbox. Tell me: Am I being trolled?
BY: FELICITY CHAMBERLAIN

Excerpt from Entertainment Weekly article "Foundation Makes Deal With Art-Preservation Societies," August 7th 2021:

"Yes, I had previously worked with the Foundation," says Dr. Madden, "as both a researcher on media-based anomalies and as a writer for the Pataphysics department. Most of the reason I stayed was so I could see anomalously-made art. They had a sort of monopoly on even the media without anomalous effects themselves, but thankfully that changes today, partially thanks to me." Both the Foundation and the many societies he helped (including the equally mysterious Public Domain Protection Service) can attest to that, seeing how any media deemed safe for public viewing is now uploaded online, considered to be open source. This means they'll be free to distribute, adapt, and more by anyone from a small YouTuber to a major film studio. These include recordings of the disturbing "RONALD REAGAN CUT UP WHILE TALKING" as well as some of the films made by an anomalous website the Foundation doesn't want to release to the public. Exceptions are made for films using another company's already-existing copyright, of course.

Selected titles from horror-comedy podcast "Last Podcast on the Left", scraped from audio streaming platform Spotify, 20 September 2022:

Antimemetics: You Can't See Me
GOCtrocities, part II: Splintered Cells
Site-120, Part I: Polishing a Turd
Parawatch: Facts and Fiction
Side Stories: Nobody's Perfect

Select posts made on Void, as part of the trending hashtag #whentheVeilbroke, 12 April 2023:

DC Official
⁂Deer College of Portlands

The number of applications we received more than quadrupled #whentheVeilbroke. For more statistics, visit deercollege.odyssey.edu/dc-unmaskeddecade

ECHOES 25
HUMS 101

9:24 AM · 12 April 2023

bluntfiend
⁂jude_k2

#whentheVeilbroke i was shitposting w/ ⁂jockjamsmixtape about thatcher when Bones muted everyone and linked us to the CNN live feed.

ECHOES 121
HUMS 299

4:20 PM · 12 April 2023

Rook
⁂paradmin

#whentheVeilbroke I couldn't down that bottle of Captain Morgan fast enough.

ECHOES 451
HUMS 2.1k

6:25 PM · 12 April 2023

Excerpts from a news segment on the opening of a new Moosphere, Incorporated production facility, 1 February 2025:

Consumer Reports recently announced that business is "going well" at the newly constructed Mindscape Megafactory here out of Bangalore, India.
Last week, I attended an exclusive press tour of the facility grounds. I spoke with factory manager Sanjay Lochan, who told me about the company's success in what they call the 'Mindscape' industry. "We fulfill about 1,500 orders daily, and have a current waiting list of 30,000 people," he says. "It's in high demand. We offer people a chance to become what they never would have been naturally. It's a surprising business model that would not have even worked ten years ago." This is, of course, in reference to the Veil protocol, which as you may know, was […]

Anonymous Moosphere representatives — who relayed messages through a company liaison, to avoid divulging trade secrets — told us they have five factories going up in India alone in the next eighteen months.
Their facilities use state-of-the-art paratechnology that's genuinely out of this world. "Aren't you concerned about consumer safety?" I ask Sanjay in private.
"Quite the contrary. People consent with their dollars, and they consent to cranial probes before we even admit them, and they light up in all the right areas," Sanjay tells me. "The truth is people enjoy it. They like it. And why wouldn't they?"
I can't argue with that logic, Sanjay! One process involves hooking oneself up with the pumping station, through which you can experience a prolonged astral projection for just under 18,000 rupees. Trials for a more permanent, long-distance experience — in a process known as "astral bridging" — are underway in a lab in Hong Kong. Moosphere Astrologists say they want to allow "[a] chance to explore nearby nebulae from the comfort of your own home!"

Overall, my talks with Sanjay were unexpectedly candid. Sanjay, my crew, and I laughed for what must have been hours. The ruckus garnered a few furtive glances from the otherwise focused line workers, who stood wide-eyed and taciturn at their stations the entire day. Talk about diligent work ethic! But, of course, before the tour was over, Sanjay brought me down to the R&D Wing to join my mind with The Lactescent Chorus–
「 Informational hazard destroyed. 」

Excerpts of the music-related magazine "Rolling Stone", 31 January 2027.

… Results of the new investigation and witness testimonies have proven that the car accident that led to the death of T-Rex singer Marc Bolan was orchestrated by the SCP Foundation…

Pete Doherty, lead singer of both The Libertines and Babyshambles, has been arrested at his home in Paris, France, and is currently under interrogation by the police for suspicions of Fifthist sympathies…

"Even if we are not and will never be a Hand-related band, yes, the discovery of the Library had been a great influence for us, since the early years," Radiohead's lead guitarist Jonny Greenwood revealed in a recent interview for Q. "When we had begun recording for 'The King of Limbs', we wanted, especially me and Thom, to make a record that would be able to capture the very essence of what this place is and the mystic parts of it…"

Excerpt from a Breitbart article "Millions concerned for job security - Anomalies optimise more jobs, leaving normal people behind.", 7th July 2027.

More than 2500 people have gathered in Hyde Park, Sydney after 'Lendlease' determines that a known reality warper is a suitable replacement for 150 workers.
The reality warper, who can instantly construct anomalous structures, was provided with the job by a Manna Charitable Foundation security net, and Lendlease agents spent several weeks determining whether he was fit for the job. On Tuesday he was allowed onto the construction site for '1 Central' (A skyscraper planned to be built on Central Station, Sydney, anomalously made invisible so as to bypass air rights laws) and 150 workers were made redundant as a result.
Following the news, a protest was organised, which is so far peaceful. Counter-protesters, mostly from anomalous communities, also arrived, and a small scuffle occurred near the Anzac memorial, resulting in one arrest. Breitbart reporters performed exclusive interviews on some of the protesters, showing that the people of the world are sick and tired of this anomalous menace.
"I don't want to sound insensitive but, is it fair to be removed from your job because you were bet- born different? Is it?" One protester said.
"These people think that they can steal our jobs! This is not the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last." Another said.
More headlines:
Secondary Oculus Flu outbreak confirmed in Libya.
Anomalous History to be Taught in French Schools, President confirms.