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DAMOCLES
INITIATIVE

Sic itur ad astra

From
O5-03 (Overseer, O5 Council)

Subject
Welcome to the Damocles Initiative

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Ladies and gentlemen,
Congratulations. As of this moment, you are now involved in the most significant human engineering project in unrecorded history.
Your task is to find a means to construct and launch a crewed interstellar spacecraft before the end of this year.
Attached, you will find briefing materials explaining why this is necessary, which should also help you determine the requisite performance parameters of the spacecraft. I won't go into more detail now, but suffice to say that this may be the most important project ever undertaken by the Foundation.
This is an Article 13 operation, which means you'll be working with a similar team from the Global Occult Coalition. They'll be providing additional expertise in thaumatology and esoteric paratechnology that will likely be useful.
All of you have been given Level 5 Damocles clearances, which provides Thaumiel access to all space-related anomalies and assets, and Restricted access to most other SCP objects; you are also entitled to request elevated access on any anomalies or assets that you believe will be useful for this project. Similar clearances have been provided to you for GOC files, and you are allowed and encouraged to exchange information with your counterparts.
I want a preliminary proposal from you all that I can present to the rest of the Council and the Undersecretary-General by the end of the day.
Godspeed.

O5-03

1 Attachment:
 ISHMAEL_BREAKAWAY_Briefing_O5.scppt

From
Dr. Jukka Piirainen (Senior Researcher, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Welcome to the Damocles Initiative

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Son of a bitch. I would've bet money that we'd already done aliens.

Jukka Piirainen, PhD
Assistant Director of Research, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Priorities

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Obviously, this is impossible. If it were possible, we wouldn't be the ones doing it.
Start with a review of all space anomalies in-system. And any vehicular anomalies we have in containment. Check out any perpetual motion machines, anything ectoentropic, and anything that might be extraterrestrial in origin — we might even have something from Alula Borealis that got written off before. Start thinking of ways to combine them. Don't worry about con procs or cross-testing protocols. Three is asking us to do the impossible, so the impossible is what she's gonna get.

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Priorities

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Already started — did you know we have a fucking moon base? Not that it does us any good — the pool has a fixed set of exit points. It might be useful for moving construction materials if we get to that stage, but otherwise it's a bust. Especially since it needs a human traveller to cycle between destinations — seems wasteful.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
Re:Re:Priorities

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Actually, it works with rats too. PLabs developed a breed of super-smart lab rats for use in cognition studies, and it turns out they can be used to trigger a bunch of different anomalies that would otherwise require a human. It's how we built the moon base.

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

From
Pierre Duval (Combat Epistemologist, PHYSICS Division)

Subject
Re:Re:Re:Priorities

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

I'm not sure that's actually any more ethical than just using human test subjects.

Pierre Duval, PhD, ThD
Warlock, United Church of Satan (Scientist)

From
Dr. Jukka Piirainen (Senior Researcher, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Re:Re:Re:Priorities

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Forget the moon base, forget the rats. I've been going through the GOC files — they have a goddamn PLUTO base. Crazy fuckers use apportation for resupply. The backlash must be horrific.

Jukka Piirainen, PhD
Assistant Director of Research, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory

From
Dr. Lilith Thornton (Professor, ICSUT Zurich)

Subject
Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Priorities

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

You don't know the half of it. Once, the backlash created a perfect doppelganger for each of the apportation targets. The doubles melted over the course of five minutes — screaming the entire time. Also, it set off an undersea volcano, and a whale died.

Professor Lilith Thornton
Chair of Multiversal Studies, ICSUT Zurich

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
Got something

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Found something in our files from PLabs — looks like they were trying to pull a Canvera 20 years ago. Take a look at this: they were gonna use a subatomic black hole to power a starship. They got as far as building the gamma ray reflector before ditching it in orbit around Herculina.

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

1 Attachment:
 Project_Daedalus_Overview.pdf

From
Dr. Jukka Piirainen (Senior Researcher, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Got something

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Goddamn. Can't fault their ambition. Shame it's not finished.

Jukka Piirainen, PhD
Assistant Director of Research, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Re:Got something

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Sorry, did you find another interstellar vessel lying around for us to salvage? Maybe orbiting Ceres?
They finished the superstructure and most of the drive. All we have to do is fit the internal systems and ignite the black hole.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Jukka Piirainen (Senior Researcher, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Re:Re:Got something

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Right, of course, all we have to do is create a black hole. Easy.

Jukka Piirainen, PhD
Assistant Director of Research, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Got something

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Tabby, I'm looking at these figures from PL, and I don't know if this is going to work. Look at the thrust profile, the acceleration is measured in centimeters per second per second. Canvera's Fifthists are burning out-system at almost a full gee. We'll never catch them with this, even if we could ignite the black hole.

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Re:Got something

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

That's an engineering problem. We can solve it later. Three wants a preliminary proposal, and so far retrofitting the Daedalus looks like our best option. Unless any of you have a better idea?

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Jukka Piirainen (Senior Researcher, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory)

Subject
Another "engineering problem"

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

What about Herculina's defenses?

Jukka Piirainen, PhD
Assistant Director of Research, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Another "engineering problem"

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

That's a tactical problem.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Pierre Duval (Combat Epistemologist, PHYSICS Division)

Subject
Re:Re:Another "engineering problem"

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

It's hardly even that. Prometheus' automated defenses don't target the Daedalus, so just keep it between you and the asteroid.

Pierre Duval, PhD, ThD
Warlock, United Church of Satan (Scientist)

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Got something

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Ship it. If we come up with a better idea, we can always pitch it later.

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Preliminary Proposal of the Damocles Working Group

To
O5-03 (Overseer, O5 Council)

After a great deal of research and discussion, we've concluded that our best option is to repurpose an existing anomalous asset. Prometheus Labs began to construct an interstellar spaceship in 1996, but the project was canceled and it remains abandoned. We believe that, with the combined resources of the Foundation and Global Occult Coalition, we will be able to retrofit the remains of the Daedalus into a suitable spacecraft for the Damocles Initiative.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
O5-03 (Overseer, O5 Council)

Subject
Re:Preliminary Proposal of the Damocles Working Group

To
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Approved. Do you have a plan for how this will be accomplished?

O5-03

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Re:Preliminary Proposal of the Damocles Working Group

To
O5-03 (Overseer, O5 Council)

We are ironing out the details right now.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Three has given us the greenlight

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Okay, how the FUCK are we going to do this?

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Step One: Identify the Problem(s)

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

How do we get to this thing?
How do we ignite a black hole?
How do we increase the thrust?
What other systems need to be installed?
How do we ignite a black hole???

First thing's first. It's too far out into the Belt to use conventional rocketry, and we'd run the risk of being shot down by the asteroid's defense grid. What are our unconventional options?

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Jukka Piirainen (Senior Researcher, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory)

Subject
Nature abhors apportation

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Just spitballing here, but maybe we could use the same method they use to resupply their PLUTO BASE?

Jukka Piirainen, PhD
Assistant Director of Research, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory

From
Dr. Lilith Thornton (Professor, ICSUT Zurich)

Subject
Re:Nature abhors apportation

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Apportation does seem like our best bet. The backlash shouldn't be too unreasonable. A few million gallons of seawater turned into blood, the occasional rain of frogs here and there, and maybe a small earthquake.

Professor Lilith Thornton
Chair of Multiversal Studies, ICSUT Zurich

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Next problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Alright, that's progress. What about the black hole?

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Next problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Pass. I've been thinking about the thrust issue. Could we lighten the hull using thaumaturgy?

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Lilith Thornton (Professor, ICSUT Zurich)

Subject
Re:Re:Next problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Probably, but there's a limit to how much we can lighten things before compromising structural integrity. You might be able to double the acceleration that way, but it sounds like that still wouldn't be enough.

Professor Lilith Thornton
Chair of Multiversal Studies, ICSUT Zurich

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
I hate to ask

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Definitely not. Even if we canceled the entire mass of the ship, we still wouldn't be close to a full gee of acceleration — the black hole is too heavy and doesn't put out enough power.
Do we know if thaumaturgy works on black holes? Could we use the same trick to reduce its effective mass?

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Let's not

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Before we open up that can of worms, there's a much simpler solution here. We use a smaller black hole, one that actually has less mass.
Less massive black hole = more power output and less mass to accelerate. If we can get the hull down to a hundred thousand metric tons, a black hole half that mass would get us 1g.

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
Great idea, small problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

It would also explode in four months.

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

From
Dr. Lilith Thornton (Professor, ICSUT Zurich)

Subject
Re:Great idea, small problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Wait, why? And how are you getting power out of it in the first place?

Professor Lilith Thornton
Chair of Multiversal Studies, ICSUT Zurich

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
Re:Re:Great idea, small problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Hawking radiation. Black holes radiate at a temperature inversely proportional to their mass. They get hotter as they shrink, and shrink faster as they get hotter. And then they explode.

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Great idea, small problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Yeah, that's a problem. Could we feed mass into it to keep it stable?

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Re:Great idea, small problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

How? It'll start out burning several kilos a second, and it'll only get faster as it shrinks. Even if we stop in every star system along the way to shovel a small moon into the intake, we'll never beat the fivefuckers there when their spaceship literally runs on the power of positive thinking.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
Screw entropy

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Isn't there a reference tag for stuff that creates mass out of thin air? There's gotta be something in lockup that we could use to feed this thing.

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Too hot to handle?

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

I'll look. In the meantime, are we sure that the drive system can handle a black hole that small? It'll be radiating at over 2 million billion degrees.

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
Re:Too hot to handle?

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

In what units?

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Re:Too hot to handle?

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Any units.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Too hot to handle?

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

I think we should be good? The reflector is electronium, so it shouldn't have any issues. The supercon blades might be a concern, but PL's docs say they're rated to withstand a supernova. So it's probably fine.
Yeah, we should probably test that.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Screw entropy

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Alright, I think I might have a solution for our mass problem — nutrition too, in a pinch. Take a look at this.

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

1 Attachment:
 L2-871.scptxt

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Re:Screw entropy

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Okay, this is promising. Any ideas on how we funnel the output into the black hole though? The mouth is going to be less than a tenth of an attometer. I don't think we can mash them up into a particle beam without triggering the replication.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Jukka Piirainen (Senior Researcher, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory)

Subject
Shrink the problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Anyone got a shrink ray?

Jukka Piirainen, PhD
Assistant Director of Research, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Re:Shrink the problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

I think Tom had one. Doesn't fit our specs, though. What about that funnel, what number was that?

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
Re:Re:Shrink the problem

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

This one?

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

1 Attachment:
 L2-786.scptxt

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Let it eat cake

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Yeah. If we set up a mechanism to sort the cakes into equal mass piles, we could run them through the funnel until they're subatomic and drop them straight into the hole. Free energy, and dessert to boot.

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Pierre Duval (Combat Epistemologist, PHYSICS Division)

Subject
Re:Let it eat cake

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

…Cakes?

Pierre Duval, PhD, ThD
Warlock, United Church of Satan (Scientist)

From
Pierre Duval (Combat Epistemologist, PHYSICS Division)

Subject
Re:Re:Let it eat cake

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Why in the name of Satan do you even have this thing? Do you know how quickly an exponential mass replicator could destroy the planet, left unchecked? When we find a threat like this we destroy it on sight.

Pierre Duval, PhD, ThD
Warlock, United Church of Satan (Scientist)

From
Dr. Phoebe Harlan (Senior Researcher, Metamaterials Workshop)

Subject
Re:Re:Re:Let it eat cake

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

We have an institutional inclination towards hoarding. Good thing, too — it's exactly what we need to make this work.

Dr. Phoebe Harlan
Program Supervisor, Applied Composites

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
About the black hole

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

And we're back to the problem of igniting a micro black hole. PL had machinery to do it, but it's stuck inside that damn asteroid. What's our solution?

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Tabitha Marston (Containment Specialist, Overwatch Command)

Subject
Re:About the black hole

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

It's a kugelblitz. We just need to get a lot of energy into one place at one time. Some extremely high power demolition. Isn't that the GOC's motto?

Tabitha Marston
Unattached Containment Specialist, Astrophysical Anomalies

From
Pierre Duval (Combat Epistemologist, PHYSICS Division)

Subject
You hoard cakes

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

If you took five seconds to stop assigning boxes to everything that ever spooked you, you'd realize that the Global Occult Coalition is a diverse and complex organization that does far more than just blow things up.
That said, this sounds like a job for the Gormogons.
An array of bomb-pumped lasers, augmented with thaumaturgy, is probably the best way to get the energy density you need. And when it comes to combining magic and explosives, they're the only real experts.

Pierre Duval, PhD, ThD
Warlock, United Church of Satan (Scientist)

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Let's wrap this up

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

Seems like we've worked out tenative solutions to the major issues, at least.

The GOC can use apportation to get our engineering teams out to the Daedalus
We'll use a smaller black hole to get more thrust, and lighten the ship as much as we can using thaumaturgy (as well as more conventional mass saving methods)
We'll use SCP-871 and SCP-786 to feed mass into the black hole at a steady rate to offset the mass lost from Hawking radiation
The Gormogons will supervise the construction of a thaumo-nuclear bomb-pumped laser array that will be used to ignite the black hole
Installation of remaining operational systems will be handled by on-site engineering crews; figuring out what systems will be needed for the mission, other than propulsion, is outside the scope of this working group

I think that's enough pre-production to start inking things out. I'll get to work on the schematics for cake sorting, shrinkage, and propulsion. A confection-based black hole feed system. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

From
Dr. Jukka Piirainen (Senior Researcher, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory)

Subject
Three's going to love this

To
gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD#gnikroW.5L|SELCOMAD (Damocles Working Group, Provisional)

So which one of you wants to tell Three that we've designed a starship powered entirely by cake?

Jukka Piirainen, PhD
Assistant Director of Research, Esoteric Propulsion Laboratory

From
Dr. Song Jin-ho (Senior Researcher, Experimental Fusion Laboratory)

Subject
Final Proposal of the Damocles Working Group

To
O5-03 (Overseer, O5 Council)

I've attached our full proposal below.
The good news is that we have a plan. We should be able to construct, power, and staff the ship, and the ship will be capable of reaching Alula Borealis at approximately the same time as our adversaries.
The bad news is everything else about this plan.

Dr. Song Jin-ho
Principal Investigator, MICROSTAR

2 Attachments:
 Damocles_Report.scppt
 Antoinette_Machine.scpng

« Harvester of Eyes || HUB || The Machine »
rating: +119+–x


In a distant realm, a junior researcher, known to others as Junior, died while shoving money into his pockets. While he was laughing and swimming in the Ocean of Cash, a few quarters lodged themselves in his throat.
At the same moment of this Junior's embarrassing death, something mundane was going on in a different universe.
Three losers sat in an office room deep in the caverns of Site-99.
One was making paper airplanes. His head was down on a desk and one eye closed so he could perfect the paper crease. The second was a quite rotund fellow and was pecking away at a slippery-looking sub. The third was online shopping. His eyes hugged the screen as he scrolled from one Rolex to the next.
"Hah…how nice would one of these guys look on me," he mused without looking up.
Neither of the two men responded. They didn't care enough to.
After a few hours of paper plane perfectionism, an abnormally lengthy lunch, and timepiece window shopping, the door to the office slammed open to make way for a young-looking man wearing sunglasses
He had a bronze tan and dirty blond hair that was tied back in a ponytail. There was a bit of scruff on his face, paradoxically he seemed disheveled but maintained. Like all the rest in the room, he wore a lab coat but something was a bit off. Underneath the white overcoat peeked a Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks.
"Where the hell is everyone!?" He boomed.
"The whole damn wing is empty. No lieutenants, no researchers, nothing! I just found a new pet and I wanted to show Castro." The man at the door eyed each of them.
With great effort, the online shopper stood up.
"Errr, good afternoon Vice Director. A portal to the Hell dimension opened on a mountain in Turkey. So all employees in the department were flown out by the Asian Headquarters," he said with passivity.
"Huh…so what are you guys still doing here?"
"We're junior researchers, so the boss told us to not touch anything and wait here. There was an alarm and everything. Weren't you here?"
"Uhh, no I actually was busy on a mission." The Vice Director uttered while looking away.
His clothes certainly didn't indicate any urgent operation. He turned to the sandwich-eater.
"There's an important meeting today and I come all the way out here, put my damn coat on, but the nerve of Castro. Not even freakin' here." Instead of dealing with the aridity of a board meeting, Castro, the director of Extraversal Affairs, decided to handle a demon lord.
No one said anything.
"It's our annual budgetary meeting. If you'd like to know."
No response still.
"Well anyways, one of you needs to come with me. It just so happens that both department heads need to show up to plead their case." The Vice Director sighed and looked down. He slapped his face with both hands and kept them there — thinking.
After a few minutes, the Vice Director shot up.
"Hmm, this might actually be a bit of fun. And I do have a new friend too…" the Vice Director continued as he walked up to the online shopper.
"Okay! You, by the computer, come with me. We'll have you…pretend to be me," the Vice Director grew a smile as he pointed towards the Junior Researcher.
"But why, sir?" In truth, the online shopper was a lazy bum. There was a reason these three were left behind when all the other junior researchers got a chance to go on their first mission.
"You think those two weirdos look like Vice Director material?" The Vice Director gestured back to the other junior researchers who kept working diligently at their tasks.
"Your new name is Duchamp. And I am going to be Director Castro, alright?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Vice Direct…" As the Junior Researcher spoke, Vice Director Duchamp came up close and put his finger on the researcher's lips.
"Shhh, I'm Director Castro, remember?"
Vice Director Duchamp smiled and winked, but no one saw. He was still wearing sunglasses.

Site Director Gallagher was very ugly. At least, that's what Duchamp told the Junior Researcher in preparation as they walked to his office. He had a robust stomach, a fake-looking toupée, and a fetid gaze that made the Junior Researcher's stomach churn.
"Say that again, Director Castro, you want how much?" Site Director Gallagher tilted his head downwards. His glasses lowered down his nose so his eyes could look straight at the department head. He looked at the two college-aged looking men wearing professional suits that didn't match their temperament.
"That's correct, Director Gallagher, we want 55 million dollars. And this is not including other overhead and maintenance fees."
Director Gallagher took off his glasses and got up from his chair. His down-to-earth stature accentuated his roundness.
"I don't know if you understand this Castro…And you probably don't considering how often you stay in those extra ‘worlds' of yours. But here in the real world, we have to think about costs. And your proposed budget makes your department one of the most funded. Even above critical infrastructure like transportation or AIAD…"
He shuffled back towards “Castro” and “Duchamp.” The latter of which stopped paying attention since the meeting began and started to daydream of high-end cars, watches, and clothes.
Out of the corner of the Junior Researcher's eye, he saw a hint of a movement. He turned his head and squinted to see some rustling behind a potted plant.
"Are you listening, Vice Director Duchamp?" Gallagher howled.
The real Duchamp placed his hand on the Junior Researcher's shoulder.
"He's a bit slow, don't mind him, Director Gallagher."
"…Umm, I think there's something over there," the Junior Researcher stammered. As he was speaking, something jumped out of the corner of the room.
It was quick but the Junior Researcher was able to make it out as it scurried up the walls.
It was a small creature, perhaps a half meter tall. It was wearing a dark gray cloak and from the hood emerged a contorted green face. Pointy ears were sticking out from ear sockets and a large, pointy, bent nose flailed alongside a forked tongue. Its skin was forest green and its cheeks were embedded with gold rings. It carried a brown burlap over its shoulders which was emblazoned with some unidentifiable insignia.
It bounced across the room, before flying through the air and snatching Director Gallagher's toupée.
"No!" Director Gallagher screamed. The goblin snickered and crawled up to a corner on the ceiling. Its body began to swirl before vanishing entirely. The only thing remaining was its laugh, which decided that it would hang out in this plane just for a wee bit longer.
The Junior Researcher was hiding underneath the Site Director's desk. Gallagher was on his knees. Duchamp was still sitting down with a blank stare on his face.
Site Director Gallagher ran to his office phone, but as soon as he picked it up Duchamp took it out of his hand.
"I know what that was, Gallagher. They are some kind of interdimensional creature that's been harassing our researchers recently. They are attracted to our reality when we break holes in it. But no need to mind them, they always take harmless trinkets and nothing more."
"Why in the world have you not contained them yet?!"
"They speed through realms.” Duchamp said while waving his hand. He continued.
“Later this week, we were planning on requesting advice for hunting them from the Multiversal Foundation."
Gallagher's bald head shone in the bright light.
"Was there anything important about that item the creature stole?" prodded Duchamp with a crafty tone.
"Suffice it to say, I need it back immediately. It is quite irreplaceable. Is it possible for you to get back now?"
"Normally, yes. But as you know there is an emergency in Turkey and we need all-hands-deck. We haven't been able to get new hires due to some constraints. If you follow me." Duchamp grinned as he continued.
Gallagher and Duchamp were face-to-face.
"Haha! I underestimated you, Director Castro. You're one sly bastar—fellow." Veins bulged around Gallagher's head as he suppressed his anger.
"I think we can come to an agreement regarding the budget provided you get me my item back," Gallagher belched accepting the blatant blackmail.
"Of course, sir, I'll have my best man on it. Right here, Vice Director Duchamp," said Duchamp as he pointed to the Junior Researcher still cowering under the table.

On the walk back, the two passed one individual. One lanky long-haired researcher who was smoking a pipe. She didn't look at “Duchamp” and “Castro” as they strolled past. Soon they reached a cluttered closet in an unknown annex.
“I don't want to do this," whimpered the Junior Researcher. Duchamp was fitting his head into the inter-universal transporter; oddly enough, it happened to look like a football helmet.
The Department of Extraversal Affairs had dozens of backrooms where old experiments rotted away.
"You think I'm like Gallagher, don't you," said Duchamp bluntly as he fiddled with the solenoids attached to the sides of the helmet.
"Obviously, I'm not like that idiot. I know how to reward my subordinates. You want a watch don't you?" The Junior Researcher looked up with credulous eyes.
"I stole a glance back in that other office. Brother, it's okay. After you're done with this small job, you'll be able to have all you want and more." The Junior Researcher's greed overcame him and he grew silent.
Though it was not like he had a choice on whether to go, either way Duchamp would persuade him.
"Okay, everything seems to be set. Here take this mask too. That little guy might've gone somewhere without air. And take this ear-piece too. Me and you need communication."
The Junior Researcher pondered, "Don't you mean 'You and I'?"
"Now, now. We don't want you to get too smart. By the way, I didn't catch your name."
"My name is…," as the Junior Researcher was speaking, Duchamp interrupted him.
"I'll just call you…Junior. That's what it says on your lab coat anyway. First name 'Junior,' last name 'Researcher.'"
Duchamp stood up with a smirk and headed towards the door. As he did, the suit he wore transformed. The suit faded away and the lab coat, along with Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks, blinked onto Duchamp.
As the vice director walked to the door, he put his hands together and then shuffled through a series of hand signs.
He opened the door and on the other side was a glimmering white beach and the whisper of the seabreeze.
"Good luck!" Duchamp traipsed in and the door closed behind him.
Junior walked to the door and opened it. He only saw the empty, run-down hallway of Site-99 waiting for him.
A few seconds later, Junior blipped out of the universe.
Follow Junior?


Thereven Memorial Gallery
Night Terror Division Exhibit

The House Poems were written by Agents Rhonda House, age 13, and Rich House, age 16, in the days following the Vanishing.
The House siblings were instrumental in rebuilding the Foundation under Contingency DEROH-13 following the loss of almost all of its personnel.
Their personal effects have been preserved as a testament to that harrowing time.

A Message from Rich House
My sister, Rhonda, was only thirteen when the Vanishing happened. Despite her eventual actions, and her abilities prior to the Vanishing, she was still quite immature for her age, as can be seen in her writing and prose.
She had a certain natural fondness for rhyme, but not necessarily for rhythm. The art style, however, was a conscious design choice.
We fared relatively well in the immediate aftermath of the Vanishing. But what followed took harsh tolls on us all.

My Mother
When I woke up on Saturday,
My parents weren't there to play.
Mom had promised she'd teach me how
To do some magic with a bough.
And dad would watch and smile and yawn
After waking early to mow the lawn.
They weren't there, which wasn't odd—
They often left because of their jobs.
And Rich, as always, had locked his door,
Watching anime and porn.
They weren't back by midnight's fall
So I went to bed, no cares at all.
On Sunday, still, I was alone,
so I made the day my own.
I ran and played and skipped and pranced,
And at the park my friends all danced.
I gorged myself on sweet desserts
Until they made my tummy hurt.
When I returned just past sundown,
Rich was waiting with a frown.
Through tears, he asked if I could say
I'd seen a grown-up all that day.
It's then I realized this was bad.
I started missing mom and dad.
I'm really starting to feel their lack.
I hope my parents will come back
—Rhonda H.

A Commentary by R. House
Our mom was big on poetry, always said that the written word was a kind of magic of its own, which in retrospect was kind of sus. I guess it should've been obvious that she was a thaumaturge, like Rhonda.
We grew up so fast.
I don't remember exactly what I did on that first day – it's been a long time, after all.
I wasn't watching porn. I swear.
—R. House

A Final Cry
The first sign that things were wrong
Was when the algorithms became
Repetitive
And my Youtube stream got stale.
The panopticon of a modern age
Grew empty and hollow,
A thousand windows into empty houses.
The music played at first
All the same,
And there were other channels to watch
But less and less with every day.
The content storm becomes a trickle
A thousand virtual worlds grew silent
And we were alone.
Truly alone.
Not just home
Not just us
But the whole world.
Now
My batteries die
And so does my hope
At the last cry of Mister the Beast
Rich House

A Commentary by R. House
I suppose I thought I was clever by leaving the crossed-out "Mister" in. Looking back now, it seems kitsch. Foolish. Yet removing it would be a betrayal of who I was. A final erasure.
Whoever Mister Beast was, whatever he may have meant to me before… he was a symbol of an era that's gone now, a time that can't exist any longer. The free internet back then was a wild west that we lost in the transition.
Rhonda was surprised, honestly, that I still watched him at my age, but in retrospect, sixteen isn't that old. Especially for all of our idols to evaporate overnight, leaving behind only digital ghosts.
Thirteen, indeed, is even younger.
—R. House

Sorrow
I don't know where my mother went,
I hope my dad is feeling fine.
Was this a murder sent by God
Or some secret hidden crime?
—Rhonda H.

A Commentary by R. House
We didn't talk nearly as much as we should have, I think.
In the immediate aftermath, all we had were each other. We were surviving off of a week's worth of groceries. But even then we didn't talk about our emotions. We were focused much more on survival. The first Mission of the Global Occult Coalition — I doubt anyone else alive even remembers who they were.
Our house kept getting power and air conditioning and heating, so I guess nobody was around to turn those things off – but nobody was around to keep them on, either.
I don't know how long we would've lasted if Director Thereven hadn't found us.
—R. House

Against Moloch
The words come easily
When I let them flow
And I don't damn the flood from my heart
Because I have so little—
I don't know.
And the fridge is almost out
And in the distance I hear hollow shrieking
Echoing from the streets
Is it like Fortnite out there, I have to wonder
Looting and smashing and ruining and killing,
I've never actually played, I'd have to ask Rhonda
I dreamed about this once
Fantasized, even
When I was mad at mom and dad
That they could just
Go away
Leave me alone
Let me control my own destiny
Let me build my
Own fucking fate
Take it into my own two damn hands
Without their "suggestions"
Without their demands
Without their outdated ideas
Of health and life and work and meaning
And now they're gone
And it's just me
Me and Rhonda
Against the whole damn world
And I'm not ready.

A Commentary by R. House
The worst part was the survivor's guilt. In reflection, I was an angsty teen and my thoughts were excusable, normal even, but I didn't know that then.
There was a lot I didn't know.
Fortnite didn't even have looting. I think Rhonda told me that. I didn't play it more than once or twice.
We were thrown into adulthood. I had been rushing towards it as fast as I could, but once it was thrust upon me, it was more than I could bear. Who among us didn't dream of being free to rule ourselves? Yet once it happened, once we had no more choice… we weren't ready.
I still don't feel ready, but I suppose that's imposter syndrome.
There were, of course, things I simply wasn't qualified to do. I was very lucky that my parents gave "The Talk" to Rhonda because I would not have been able to.
God, I miss them.
—R. House

MEMENTO MORI.

.


Emma was spending valentines day alone, and that was totally fine with her.
It wasn't as though she disliked the holiday. On the contrary, she found the notion of giving chocolates and affection to someone you care about quite appealing. And while she hoped most relationships would have more than one day a year where that occurred, she couldn't help but feel charmed by the thought of people giving it a little more thought.
But Emma was in a new city, surrounded by new people, working a new career — and old memories made rushing head-first into a whirlwind romance somewhat unappealing. There'd be plenty of time for dates and crushes, late-night phone calls and little notes tucked into books. For now, she was content to continue setting up her new life.
And so, she was satisfied as she flopped down onto the couch, a box of slightly-overpriced chocolates in one hand, and a remote in the other. Flicking on some cheesy movie, she felt a weight settle in her lap, and looked down at the wiggling form of Wurst, the now someone-older — but still ever-optimistic when it came to potential treats — dachshund that had accompanied her through their relocation to Site-184.
Holding the chocolates a little higher and promising him a more appropriate snack, Emma scratched behind his ears. Grateful for the reminder that she wasn't really alone. The welcome distraction led her mind to wonder what her fellow Fishing Council members may be up to this evening.

Sarah was oblivious to all except her aching muscles and still-dripping hair, which was plastered to her face in a black, icy mop as she stepped into the apartment. Typically, when she was doing fieldwork — especially if that included a marine dive — she'd shower and change when they got back to the site. But tonight, after engine difficulties extended what ought to have been a quick journey, she went straight from the boat to her car, and from the site to her and Jessica's home.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," she threw the words into the apartment, pulling off her coat. "The scuba went well, but then there were problems with the engine, they had to get someone else to sail out a meet us. And to top it off, traffic over the bridge was a nightmare. I—"
A hand took hers as another pushed the damp hair from her forehead. Jessica planted a kiss on her cheek, speaking in a familiar, reassuring voice: "Welcome home, love."
Sarah looked into the apartment. The soft glow of candlelight flickered from the kitchen island, where a series of platters and boards lay arranged, echoing the homely splendour of the scans of still life paintings Jessica would consult in the evenings. Sarah loved to watch her practiced eyes pulling apart their meanings: the slow smile that would spread across Jessica's face as she drew some line of connection between the image and the items she was conserving during the day.
"Oh no." Sarah let a small sigh escape. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. You did all this, And here I am, late and soaking wet, I—"
Jessica interrupted, laughing. "Sarah, it's really no trouble at all. This isn't the first date you've come to straight from the sea. And it better not be the last. Now. go take a shower. I'm just glad you're home."
"But the food!" Sarah began.
"Is cheese, bread, and some fruit. It'll still be nice and cold when you're done." Jessica's lips landed on Sarah's, linger there for an intimate moment. "Now go along, honestly it's all fine. You've reminded me to put the sparkling in the fridge."
"I love you," Sarah said as she began unlacing her shoes.
"I love you, too."

Henry Ivanon let his body go limp as he fell towards the couch. His wife, Lorraine tumbled, exhausted into the nearby armchair in their living room.
The two had just managed to cajole, bribe, and beg their two young children into bed; the ordeal had been taxing. "I cannot," Lorraine stressed the 'cannot,' "believe you told them they could have as much chocolate as they wanted. What on earth were you thinking, Henry?"
"How was I supposed to know they had been giving out cupcakes in school? Or that they'd even /have?/ that much chocolate, where did that come from?" Henry answered.
"It's Valentines day, literally all they do in school is give each other candy, candy that ought to last a week at least." Lorraine proclaimed accusingly while raising an eyebrow.
"Hey," Henry retorted. "I wasn't the one who told them about a magic baby that would make them fall in love, that was all you." The resulting baby-hunt had — in truth — completely derailed the initial attempts to settle everyone down before bed.
Henry and Lorraine glared at one another, each refusing to look away or back down.
Until they both broke out laughing at the absurdity of their situation. Henry pushed himself up and settled down on the couch to his wife, who leaned in against him.
"God." She murmured into his ear "wouldn't have expected us to spend the 14th like this a few years ago."
"Well, the night's not over yet." Henry smiled, leaning closer towards her.
"MOM! DAD!" a high-pitched voice tumbled down the staircase. "I can't sleep!"

Greg's gloved hands fumbled with the final screw in the cold.
With a few twists, he finished installing the Holy Mackerel's new radio — a Christmas present from himself. Smiling as he turned it on and flipped through the frequencies, settling on a familiar tune, Greg made his way to the exposed deck of the fishing vessel.
Sitting down he unscrewed the large olive-green thermos he had brought with him, pouring out its contents into the two waiting bowls. He pulled his gloves off and took one in his hands, the radiating warmth acting as a prelude to the forthcoming effects of stewed potatoes and haddock.
A few spoonfuls in and a little warmer, Greg looked out at the evening sky. The cold night air seemed to make the stars twinkle, amplified by their reflection on the water. Frost hung to the vessel's railing and the dock had been treacherous to navigate. Greg has taken great care to break up the ice with a handy shovel on his way down.
It was the first unfocused moment Greg had allowed himself today. It wasn't that he didn't want to acknowledge it was Valentine's day, but by keeping busy he could stave off the weight of what it meant.
He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a flask; the monogram glittered in the moonlight: another reminder. He signed as he unscrewed the top, brought it to his lips, and let the sweet-burning sensation trickle down his throat.
Standing, he cradled the other, untouched bowl as he walked to the railing before dumping its contents into the sea; a good-sized dram's worth of single malt followed from the flask.
He looked out at the gently shifting, heaving sea. Sometimes he really believed Mary was still out there, that she'd be coming back.
"With love, Valentine." He whispered to the snowy night air.

Fish Out of Water

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"A Stitch in Time Saved Mine" by: Doctor Fullham

♫ Doctor Fullham's Author Page ♫

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We ran out of time. Literally.
I floated… well, no, that's not quite right. That implies that I was actually… somewhere. Somewhen. I simply… was. Space was gone. Time had no meaning anymore. There was just me.
Was this what God had felt when he created the universe? This impossible, unlimited loneliness? This suffocating individuality?
I'd say I don't know how long it lasted, but again, that would mean that time had actually passed. It was both an instant and an eternity. All I can say is that at one point I didn't feel these connections, and at another point I did. Suddenly, the blackness around me exploded into an infinite string of colors and possibilities. Where once had been darkness, there was nothing but life… and time. Threads of brilliant material, swirling and infinite, reached out to me and wrapped around my fingers. I could feel the possibility like a heartbeat within each of them, and I felt an unconquerable ache to return to my own time. But that was impossible — that time was gone, never to be recovered. Clearly some higher power had seen fit to grace me with a second chance, and in but an instant I had gone from out of time to having access to more time than I could possibly fathom.
It was time to get to work.
Thread by thread, stitch by stitch, second by second, I began to create. Frayed ends of timelines cut off before their due became the beginnings of a new time — a new world. My new world. I would ensure that nobody would suffer what I had — that unfathomable loneliness. Orphaned threads of time were brought together into a beautiful tapestry, woven into possibilities for their inhabitants who would otherwise have been left in that eternal void.
So I worked. I toiled, endlessly, weaving and stitching and binding and crossing and hemming, determined to leave no thread apart from the others. To even try to explain how difficult it was would be pointless; you'd have to be me to come close to understanding it — and that's a hell I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.
But I refused to stop. Refused to rest. And I damn sure refused to fail anyone else's timeline as I had so thoroughly failed my own.
I was a scientist, once, before I became a weaver — back when I had a time to call my own. I was part of a team of theoretical physicists and mathematicians, studying the flow of time and how it could be explored and altered. We were the first to discover tachyons, those tiny little particles of time itself. Pure temporal energy, expressed as a nearly microscopic black dot in the fabric of time. We called them "time flies" because of the way they seemed to flit around in space as we watched them. After years of study and observation, we were able to create a machine that harnessed the power of tachyons in order to allow us to move around within our timeline with no limitations. Time travel. Something that had been firmly in the realm of science fiction for decades had finally become fact.
As it turns out, sometimes fiction should stay fiction.
We traveled back in time, originally in order to learn. We studied dinosaurs, we witnessed the births and deaths of supposed prophets, we saw the rise and fall of countless empires. We collected a wealth of information about the history of our reality that most could only ever dream of. But eventually, learning about it wasn't enough anymore. We made the single greatest mistake, the one that all of the science fiction about time travel cautioned against — we meddled. We altered our own history, thinking that the effects on the present and future could only be positive.
We thought we were smart. We thought that we had considered all the possible outcomes, and accounted for all the alterations we would make. But we went too far. We changed too much. After I made one last seemingly trivial alteration, when I was returning to the present, I saw just how much I had changed. I saw revolutions that were far outside of the history we knew. I saw technology that we had never dreamt of. And I saw war, and famine, and death. I saw weapons made with unfathomable technology that tore reality apart at the seams. I saw the end. And when I returned, there was no present left to return to — there was only that impossible void.
But despite all of our mistakes, I was gifted a second chance — a chance to start again. To redeem myself.
I will do everything within my considerable power to ensure that nothing like this happens in my new timeline. I'm going to start over.
And I'm going to do it right this time.


Good morning! I'm glad you could make it, guys. Coffee and donuts in the front if you want. Hope you enjoyed the view on the flight in. Take it in while you can, 'cause all you'll be seeing for the next month is cave walls and drywall.
Just messing with you.
Yeah, yeah, good morning. Make yourself comfy. Coffee and donuts. Calm down, there's nothing weird in them.
Hey— jackass, don't take two donuts. We're in the middle of a supply chain shortage. Just kidding, but you can't take two until we're over.
Hey, you, with the ski cap! You're the first guy to bring in pen and paper today! Someone paid attention to the email I sent out. Give that guy an extra donut, Mr. Reeves.
Why, yes, we are beneath Denver International Airport—more on that part later. For now… Mr. Reeves, hit the lights, and let's get this show started.
Before we begin: everyone, please silence your cell phones. Not only do you need to pay attention, nothing pisses me off more than to be interrupted by a Ludacris ringtone at full volume while I'm speaking. Not to rag on Luda or anything, but…
…Alright! Settle down, we're gettin' off track. Thanks for getting that door, Reeves. Ahem.
We are approximately… five minutes early, which is a good thing. You'll find that our department loves to be early—it's pretty much mandatory if you don't want people bitching at you. Anyways, let's begin.
For those of you who don't know me already, my name is Cole Fitzpatrick. I'm the Head of Personnel here at Site-122, and a pilot for L&T. That means I manage your managers. That shiny Cessna Citation Excel out there on the ramp is also mine. I'm going to be giving you an informational brief on the Foundation Logistics and Transportation Department—L&T, for short. This is an unclassified briefing, for the record, so feel free to take notes… if you also brought pen and paper like ski cap back there.
For the record, let me get one major misconception out of the way: we are not a punishment position, unless you treat it like one. Pay is… okay, and I'd say it beats being a lab nerd or getting shot at in the field.
Also, yes, forklift certification is mandatory for everyone. Don't worry, we'll provide lessons and certification courses if you aren't certified already.
The gentleman beside me is Billy Reeves, my assistant, and our slide operator for today. Be nice to Billy. Make sure to give him your tests when you leave today.
"Tests?" Yessir. You heard me say that right. At the bottom of your information packet, you'll find a short five-question exam that's mandatory for you to complete if you want to leave this room. Let's take five minutes to complete that test now.

QUESTION 1
What, according to L&T, is the quintessential lifeblood of maintaining normal functionality in the SCP Foundation?
A. Secrecy
B. Logistics
C. Force Projection
D. Containing Anomalies
QUESTION 2
Who is the head of the L&T Department?
A. Dr. Isaac Whitaker
B. Dr. Alto Clef
C. Dr. John Whitney
D. Dr. Anthony Stone
QUESTION 3
Which division of the Foundation handles the movement of Foundation operatives and assets across the world?
A. Logistics and Transportation
B. Mobile Task Forces
C. Transportation
D. Overwatch Command
QUESTION 4
Which division of the Foundation manages researching technologies to improve Foundation logistics?
A. Logistics and Transportation Department
B. Research Department
C. AIAD
D. RAISA
E. None of the above
QUESTION 5
What is the unofficial "sister site" of Site-122?
A. Armed Site-21
B. Site-120
C. Site-42
D. Site-19
E. None of the above

Took your five minutes? Great. Let's grade your tests. Next slide, please.
Question 1: "What is the quintessential lifeblood of maintaining normal functionality in the Foundation?" That's a mouthful. If your answer was anything but Answer B, you are incorrect.
Before you whine at me, yellow vest, let me explain why you're wrong.
Answer A is incorrect because secrecy is already a given here at the Foundation. Regardless of whether we're a bunch of spies in underground bunkers monitoring world comms chatter, or a multinational agency containing fallen gods and other nasty things—secrecy is a must-have. Answer C is incorrect because L&T is inherently non-combative in nature, so as much as I'd love to strap some Hydra rocket pods to my Cessna, that's irrelevant for my job. Answer D is incorrect for the exact same reason answer A is.
Even if we've made containing anomalies part of our entire mission statement, can the researcher at Site-69 out in the middle of nowhere even do that when he has no supplies to work with?
…Yeah, I thought so. That was a question, and your silence was enough of an answer for me.
A good friend of mine once said that the entire world runs on logistics—even the anomalous world. You'll find that assertion is very true when working here. Moving on. Next slide.
Question 2's answer is Option A. B already works for us and C and D are made up names. That old man whose hand you shook on the way in? That's Dr. Whitaker. Don't get on his bad side. Next slide.
Question 3's answer, as you might've guessed, is Answer A. Yes, I know, there's a litany of discrepancies and caveats here, so let me address them all.
In our book, Logistics also encompasses personnel, simple as. You can't have a Site without supplies or people, and you can't have people without supplies. If we just disregarded the logistics that came with running the Foundation and just winged it, we'd be worse-off than the Insurgency—even they understand the importance of strong supply lines. Its part of the reason they like ambushing our supply convoys.
Overall, yes, we handle transporting Foundation operatives and assets around the world, including anomalies, which is why all pilots and truck drivers in the room will find an NDA I expect filled out in their packets. However, on a case-by-case basis, the Mobile Task Forces or Overwatch will sometimes provide the transportation for themselves. Best not to question the latter.
Also, no such "Transportation" department exists in the Foundation. Not that I know of. Next slide.
Question 4 was a screwball. The answer here is Answer B. Technically speaking, T&L has no authority to conduct its own research, though we do maintain the Computer a couple floors downstairs. More on that later. We are neither a research department, nor do we deal with combat or containment. Our business is strictly logistics. Next slide.
Finally, Question 5: the unofficial "sister site" of Site-122 is Armed Site-21—Answer A. AS-21 is one of our primary clients, given the obvious supply concerns for a huge base like that, and it's the closest Site to us for miles. If they are sending out any low-risk objects to anywhere in the world, or are being sent some by another Site, we are the middleman in those exchanges. Next slide.
With the questionnaire out of the way, let me begin my introduction: What is Logistics and Transportation? Let's start with the first one. Next slide.
Logistics, as defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary, is, quote, "the things that must be done in order to plan and organize a complicated activity or event involving many people." That's just a broad term for managing the people, materiel, and facilities of the Foundation, and ensuring we are properly supplied in order to stay in regular operation.
Let's take a moment to think of the most logistically-intensive conflicts in history. Start spitballing names to me, guys. Hannibal crossing the Alps—good one, ski cap. World War 1 and 2, definitely, yellow vest. Korean War, yes. Ho Chi Minh trail—goddamn, ski cap, you're on fire. Gulf War for sure—I was there. Next slide, please, Billy.
The reason why I was asking you about these conflicts is to make you guys imagine the sheer scale one would have to consider in planning out such massive logistical operations. Every single one of these massive wars had people like you and I—the most infinitesimal unit in the logistical machine—ensuring that people and their stuff got to where it needed to be on time. In a way, the Foundation is also at war, and us containing anomalies is a logistical challenge in and of itself. We would not be where we are today if L&T did not exist, end of story.
For our Logistics personnel, your jobs are simple: get stuff from one place to another in record time, and keep tabs of all our stuff. Dr. Whitaker made that his mission statement back in '49 and has followed it ever since. The man's been around for so long that he's seen us grow from just a couple warehouses and Sites to the global organization we are today. Next slide.
In a way, Site-122 is the culmination of Dr. Whitaker's work. It was originally going to be much larger, but budgetary concerns meant we had to shrink it in size tremendously. Still, as you can see by the map I'm showing on screen, we're still a relatively advanced facility. Denver International Airport was built atop us in '95 due to concerns about secrecy, so, as you might imagine, people ran wild with conspiracy theories. No need for action on that—they help to keep people off our backs.
Now, there's a couple more caveats I need to mention: Obviously, managing the tens of millions of tons of supplies and hundreds of thousands of personnel of an organization like the Foundation is an impossible task on your own, which is why you Logistics boys will be working very closely with a friend of ours named Terry Sneed. Next slide.
That monstrosity of computers and screens you see on the projector right now is SCP-6307, a Thaumiel-class SCP we contain on-Site at Section A, five floors below us. Simply put, the ghost of Terry Sneed, a prodigy logistician who used to work for us back in the day, has possessed that machine. It now automates every single logistics-related concern in the Foundation nearly instantaneously, effectively doing our job for us, telling us what we need to do, and who goes where.
Half of you Logi folks will be assigned to maintaining it, since you might imagine how bad things would get if it starts messing up. The other half will be working here in either Low-Risk storage or High-Risk storage, fulfilling supply orders to other Sites and keeping inventory. Those of you with prior supply chain management experience might be sent to another Site to supervise their logistical operations.
In any case, you'll be briefed in detail on your specific jobs once you meet your shift leads. I'll be moving on, as to not waste your time. Next slide.
Now, Transportation. What is Transportation? If you seriously can't define what this is on your own, get out of this goddamn room and go retake third grade.
Our mission at L&T is twofold: making sure supplies are delivered where they are needed, when they are needed, and making sure people are delivered where they are needed, when they are needed. Dr. Whitaker has always argued that people are the most important resource in the Foundation—many of you might agree with him. It's fairly obvious why—no people, no Foundation.
I'd bet money on the fact that a number of you in this room right now assumed that the Foundation was an American organization before you joined. We are far from those days, my friends. Our business is global, and L&T's here to keep it that way. Next slide.
For the Transportation folks in the room, your duties are going to be a little more nuanced, and will vary depending on your profession. To my knowledge, a number of you in the room were formerly merchant mariners, airline pilots, military cargo pilots, or truckers; your duties here with us won't be too different than what you were doing in the Civilian world.
For the most part, it's going to usually involve receiving your contract—which usually entails picking someone or something up from one site—and then taking it to one of our designated drop-off points. These can be anywhere from a port in Shanghai, a warehouse in Kentucky, or an airstrip on a small island in the Pacific, so be prepared for anything.
Most of your contracts will come from here, and thus, you'll be operating from here, but don't be surprised if Site-19 personally asks you to stop by and pick up an anomaly to be shipped to Site-64 or something. Your jobs are flexible for a reason, and the larger Foundation likes to diminish us as simple deliverymen, so let us know personally if they give you any trouble.
I'll also warn you guys in advance that some peoples' supply requests are a bit too… irrational for my liking, sometimes. You'll understand what I mean as your first week progresses. Let the Logi folks handle that part; you just have to get whatever it is or whomever it is from point A to point B as quickly as possible. Next slide.
Alright. With that out of the way, I'll finish this up with a quick safety brief. If you have pen and paper, I would write these rules down; I'll be quizzing you on these throughout your first week of training.

#1: Never leave an anomaly, your equipment, or fellow personnel unsupervised.
#2: Always report suspicious activity to your supervisor.
#3: Do not use the heavy machinery in an unsafe manner or to assist in containment of an anomaly.
#4: Do not open anything that has DO NOT OPEN clearly marked on it.
#5: Always use Foundation-recommended routes; do not take any shortcuts.
#6: Notify your supervisor if you have any questions or complaints about other divisions.

Okay, with that out of the way, that concludes my briefing. When you leave, please pass your NDAs and tests up to Billy in the front, and make your way down to the A Wing for more in-processing, paperwork, and living quarters assignments. Thank you all for showing up on time, you can go now.
Feel free to grab an extra donut and, uh, some more coffee on the way out. You'll probably need it.


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Title: The Slow Bullet
Images: N/A
Music: Bullet - Saint Motel

More by The Great Hippo:

SCPs

– hide block

SCPs

[SCP-3034]
The Counting Station

DO NOT LET HER FINISH

[SCP-3035]
Science Bugs

case_of_the_mondays.png, case_of_the_mondays (1).png

[SCP-3054]
Cragstaff Sanitarium

You are sick. You are broken. We will fix you.

[SCP-3045]
bzzip.exe

HAMLET: I am no longer moody.

[SCP-3043]
Murphy Law in… Type 3043 — FOR MURDER!

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[SCP-3057]
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[SCP-2639]
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i need to know how many people i've killed

[SCP-437]
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That was a pretty crazy summer, y'know? Sometimes I really miss that place.

[SCP-3079]
300 Tricks: Stage Magic Made Easy

NOTE: No method for accomplishing this trick is provided.

[SCP-2753]
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High art carries high risk!

[SCP-2679]
The Many Graves of Jeannette Parslov

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[SCP-3074]
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Thank you for choosing Izatova Parking Center. Have a pleasant day.

[SCP-2571]
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[SCP-2419]
The Laughing Men

Throw them back into the incinerator where you found them.

[SCP-3143]
Murphy Law in… The Foundation Always Rings Twice!

When it comes right down to it, me — them — hell, even you — we're all just characters in that trashy dime-store novel called life.

[SCP-3089]
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[SCP-3117]
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[SCP-3128]
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[SCP-3138]
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[SCP-3241]
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[SCP-3561]
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Previous: You Can Say Hi

July 24, 1969.

TAPE 70/24
Page 377

APOLLO 11 AIR-TO-GROUND VOICE/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

monitor, but we can make out a fair amount of detail.
[04:13:22:28] LMP: Okay. Will you verify the position - the opening I ought to have on the camera?
[04:13:22:34] CCM: Stand by.
[04:13:22:42] CAM: [CDR moves down the lander's ladder, descending toward the lunar surface.]
[04:13:22:48] CCM: Okay. Neil, we can see you coming down the ladder now.
[04:13:22:52] CAM: [CDR pauses, then climbs back up to the ladder's first rung.]
[04:13:22:59] CDR: Okay. I just checked getting back up to that first step, Buzz. It's — not even collapsed too far, but it's adequate to get back up.
[04:13:23:10] CCM: Roger. We copy.
[04:13:23:11] CDR: It takes a pretty good little jump.
[04:13:23:25] CCM: Buzz, this is Houston. F two — one one-sixtieth second for shadow photography on the sequence camera.
[04:13:23:35] LMP: Okay.
[04:13:23:36] CAM: [CDR once again descends the lunar lander's ladder, arriving at the final rung.]
[04:13:23:38] CDR: I'm at the foot of the ladder. The LM footpads are only depressed in the surface about one or two inches, although the surface appears to be very, very fine grained, as you get close to it. It's almost like a powder. Down there, it's very fine.
[04:13:23:40] CAM: [CDR pushes back from the lander's ladder, easing down toward the lunar surface.]
[04:13:23:43] CDR: I'm going to step off the LM now.
[04:13:23:45] CAM: [CDR makes contact with the lunar surface.]
[04:13:24:48] CDR: That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.
[04:13:24:56] LMP: Wait. What?

TAPE 70/24
Page 378

APOLLO 11 AIR-TO-GROUND VOICE/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

[04:13:25:05] CAM: [CDR commences to slowly walk along the lunar surface.]
[04:13:25:12] CDR: And the — the surface is fine and powdery. I can — I can pick it up loosely with my toe. It does adhere in fine layers like powdered charcoal to the sole and sides of my boots. I only go in a small fraction of an inch, maybe an eighth of an inch, but I can see the footprints of my boots and —
[04:13:25:21] CAM: [LMP emerges from the lander module and descends toward the lunar surface.]
[04:13:25:23] LMP: Neil, can you repeat your previous transmission to me?
[04:13:25:28] CDR: — and the treads in the fine, sandy particles. There seems to be no difficulty in moving around as we suspected. It's — sorry, Buzz, come back?
[04:13:25:32] CAM: [LMP makes contact with the lunar surface.]
[04:13:25:38] LMP: Repeat your previous transmission to me.
[04:13:25:43] CDR: About the surface texture? I said —
[04:13:25:49] LMP: Negative. Repeat what you said when you touched down on the surface of the moon.
[04:13:25:53] CAM: [CDR stops moving along the lunar surface, and turns to face LMP.]
[04:13:25:55] CDR: I said, 'One small step for a man, one —'
[04:13:25:58] CAM: [LMP approaches CDR.]
[04:13:26:02] LMP: No, you didn't. You said, 'One small step for man'. You left out the 'A'.
[04:13:26:08] CDR: Buzz, we just landed on the moon. I don't think it matters whether I — and no, for your information, I — I did not leave out the 'A'.
[04:13:26:15] CAM: [A large figure can be seen approaching from the horizon, approx. fifteen meters from CDR's position.]
[04:13:26:17] LMP: Yes, you did. I heard you. You left out the 'A'.

TAPE 70/24
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APOLLO 11 AIR-TO-GROUND VOICE/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

[04:13:26:22] CDR: I did not leave out the —
[04:13:26:28] CCM: Neil, this is Houston. We didn't hear an 'A' down here.
[04:13:26:33] CDR: Houston, stay out of this.
[04:13:26:34] CAM: [The figure is now approx. ten meters away. It appears humanoid.]
[04:13:26:37] LMP: Look, we'll just do it over.
[04:13:26:40] CCM: Guys, this is Houston —
[04:13:26:42] CDR: Do it — are you — we can't do it over. It's done. We landed. My footprint is already there.
[04:13:26:46] CAM: [The figure is now five meters away. It can be identified as a bronze full-body deep-sea diving suit. Its design is notably bulky and antiquated.]
[04:13:26:48] CCM: This is Houston, come back, there's, uh, some sort of —
[04:13:26:54] LMP: We'll dust it out.
[04:13:27:01] CDR: What — no. No. For Christ's sake, no. This is history in the making. We have accomplished what no other human being has ever done — we have set foot on the lunar surface. We are not doing this over. There are no do-overs on the moon!
[04:13:27:17] CAM: [The figure is now directly behind CDR and LMP. It proceeds to forcibly shove both astronauts aside, and climbs up the lander's ladder.]
[04:13:27:20] LMP: What the —
[04:13:27:25] CCM: This is Houston, come back, Neil, come back. Are you alright? Come back.
[04:13:27:30] CAM: [The lander door closes. As LMP and CDR recover, the lander initiates its lunar lift-off sequence.]
[04:13:27:32] CCM: What the fuck just happened?

TRANSCRIPT OF A RECORDING OF A TELEPHONE CONVERSATION BETWEEN GENE KRANZ AND ███████████████████ ON JULY 20, 1969, FROM 4:21 PM (EST) TO 4:25 PM (EST)

KRANZ:
Hello? Hello?

█████████████
██████ ███ █████

KRANZ:
We have an emergency. Two of our —

█████████████
██ ███ █████ ██ ███ ███████ ███████████ ██ ███ ██ ███ ███████ ██ ████████████ █ ████ ██ ███████

KRANZ:
Fine. I don't care about your 'plan of action', though. What matters right now is that we've got two of our boys on the surface of the moon — and some goddamn lunatic just stole their module.

█████████████
███ ██ ████ ████ ████ ████ ██ ███████

KRANZ:
I… what? Did he — no, he didn't look like — why would you ask if he looked like a — are you saying ███████ are real?! And there's — there's one on the fucking moon?!

█████████████
████

KRANZ:
And you didn't think that was something you should have briefed us on before we went there?

█████████████
███

KRANZ:
Fine. Whatever. I don't care. How do we get our boys —

█████████████
█████ ████ ███ ██ ███ ███ █████ ████████ ██████ ███ ████ ████ ████████

KRANZ:
Okay. Good. Okay. Thank you. Thank you.

█████████████
███ ███ ██████ █████ ███ ██████ ██ ████ ██ ██ ██████

KRANZ:
Yeah, we can — but, we won't be able to recover it. And I don't think there's enough fuel left to — the orbit will eventually decay. I think — uh, one sec. Let me check.

█████████████
██████ █████ ██ ███ ██████████ █████ ███████ █████ ████ █████ █████ ██████ █ ████ █████ ████████ █████ ███ █████ ███ ██ ████ ███

KRANZ:
Jesus Christ. Okay. Okay, fine. I don't know how you're going to, uh — but — I guess that's above my pay-grade. And, yeah, I just checked my notes. We can do it, but the orbit won't be —

█████████████
████ ████ ████ ████ ███ ███ ███████ ████ ███ █████ ██████

KRANZ:
Yeah. I'll brief them personally once you've brought them back. And the orbit won't be stable. Whatever that thing is, it won't stay up there forever.

█████████████
███████████████ ██ █████ ███ █████ ████ ██ ████ ██ ███ █████

KRANZ:
You got fifty, maybe sixty years before it drops back down. And it's gonna drop hard.

█████████████
███████████

KRANZ:
Yeah, sixty years — give or take ten. So, y'know. Make sure you archive that somewhere.

Sixty years (give or take ten) later.

Somewhere in New Jersey…

It's 3 AM in a Waffle House.
Adam Saxon sits alone in a booth with his complimentary glass of fluoridated tap-water. He pretends to read the laminated menu while observing the restaurant's six other patrons: an elderly couple snuggling in the corner. A trucker at the counter, devouring a steaming pile of eggs, bacon, and naked waffles. A trio of exhausted teens in ratty clothes.
None spare Adam so much as a glance.
For this occasion, the retired intelligence officer wears his least conspicuous head: a blind man with sunglasses and a face wrapped in linen. Adam is particularly proud of the nose. He sets the menu down to quickly adjust it just as the door jingles.
Jeremiah August is a short, slender black man in a dark suit. His hair is trimmed down to a dense layer of short charcoal curls, and his face is full of piercings. Once he reaches Adam's booth, he removes his jacket and neatly folds it over an arm. He then gracefully slips into the seat across from the ex-agent who has called him here.
"Mr. Saxon, I presume." August speaks like a fencer. Each syllable is a jab; each pause, a feint.
Adam finishes tweaking his nose. "Yeah."
"Why did you call me?"
Adam leans back in his seat. The cushioning's plastic sleeve squeaks under him. "You're going to make me say it?"
"Humor me."
"I worked in the Foundation's counter-intelligence division for over twenty years, son. I know when I'm being tailed."
August lifts a pierced eyebrow.
"Really?" Adam feigns a sigh. "Fine." He gestures. "Elderly couple in the back. They're good. Too good. Nobody's that sweet on each other at this hour in a goddamn Waffle House. The trucker? Hasn't touched a thing besides his plate. No salt, no pepper. No butter, no syrup. Not even ketchup. I've yet to meet a night-hauler who doesn't drown his eggs in ketchup. And the teens? I look like I'm on my way to a casting call for The Invisible Man, and they haven't so much as snickered."
The eyebrow creeps higher.
Adam continues: "Not to mention that, for the past fifteen minutes, I've been pretending to read this menu — despite clearly looking blind. Waitress didn't even ask if I wanted one in braille. As for this water…" He nudges the glass toward August. "I'm guessing, what — some new experimental amnestic? Nano-tech, maybe. Something you think will work on me."
August looks at the glass, then back at Adam. He tilts his head.
"There's no ice," Adam explains. "They always add ice." He folds his arms across his chest. "So, yeah. That's why I called: to ask you straight to your face. What does the Foundation want with this old washed up field agent?"
August taps his lip-piercing against the front-row of his teeth, pondering. With a feline grace, he takes the glass, brings it up to his lips, tilts it back — and gulps it down. Once finished, he returns it to the table with a sharp clunk. Then, he plucks a paper napkin out of the nearby receptacle and dabs his mouth.
Adam stiffens. "Okay, so maybe I was reaching with the water, but —"
"Mr. Saxon." August folds the napkin and sets it down. Despite being the man's senior, Adam's chest constricts beneath the weight of that flat, merciless tone. "Are you familiar with the phrase, 'wilderness of mirrors'?"
He doesn't reply.
"Counter-intelligence officers are trained to recognize patterns and identify threats. Every shadow can hide a dagger; every smile, a plot — every cup, a dram of poison. In the world of espionage, perceiving agency behind seemingly random occurrences is what keeps you alive. But out here, in the wilderness? It's just paranoia."
"This isn't —"
"The elderly couple is just affectionate. The trucker just has terrible taste. The teenagers are just polite. And I doubt the waitress even cared enough to notice that you are pretending to be blind."
Adam leans back farther. His shoulders slump. "You mean that no one's —"
"Tailing you? No."
"So I just —"
"Called a senior Foundation official to a Waffle House in the middle of the night for no good reason? Yes."
"I — fuck. Jesus. Fuck." Adam wishes he could rub his temples, but the paper-mache is far too brittle to risk it. "Fuck."
Something that might resemble sympathy flickers over August's face. "I've reviewed your file, Mr. Saxon. Your performance was exemplary. Prior to your, ah, incident, you were a highly valuable asset. But now you're retired. This is a time for you to enjoy the fruits of —"
"I need to work."
That shred of sympathy gives way to an ocean of cold conviction. "Not an option."
"You said you reviewed my file. That means you know what I did — what I gave up — to keep working. To keep serving the Foundation."
August's lips pull into a thin, dark line. "On behalf of the Foundation, I commend you for your sacrifice. That being said, we cannot —"
Adam lunges over the table and seizes him by the collar. This motion is sufficient to dislodge the ring of glue around Adam's throat. The paper-mache bust wobbles over his neck like a life-sized bobblehead. "Fuck your commendations! I gave you fucks everything — and all I'm asking is a chance to go back to work!"
The elderly couple draw their service pistols from each other's holsters. The trucker pulls one out from under the counter. The three teens lift theirs over the table. The waitress kicks open the kitchen door, lifting her Benelli M4 semi-automatic shotgun — cocked and ready.
Seven fingers curl around seven triggers. Seven barrels aim for Adam Saxon's heart.
No one speaks. No one moves. No one even breathes.
Adam's prosthetic head continues to wobble. Eventually, it bobs too far to one side, peeling free from the metal pedestal at his neck. It hits the floor with a whump, then dribbles away.
Site-Director Jeremiah August regards the space where the ex-agent's head used to be. Adam's neck ends with a flat metal cap. A 6-inch steel rod extends out from its center, with a small metal sphere at the top.
"Release me, Mr. Saxon."
The headless ex-agent lets go. He sinks back into his seat.
"No tail, huh?"
August stands, straightens his collar, and gestures to the other patrons. They lower their weapons. August then follows the path of the linen-wrapped bust, halting its roll with the tip of a well-polished shoe. "As I said: no one has been tailing you. But when a retired Foundation field operative calls and demands a late-night meeting at a Waffle House, one is inclined to take precautions. Particularly when it's an operative with your reputation." He retrieves the prosthetic head, then returns it to Adam.
Adam reluctantly accepts it. He slides it back down on the rod, making some rough adjustments. The head no longer fits right. On top of that, he's pretty sure the nose is ruined. "Okay. I'm sorry. That was —"
"Perhaps we can find something for you to do," August interrupts him. "Nothing like your previous work, I'm afraid — we can't have you involved in anything sensitive. But if you just want something to keep your mind occupied —"
"Anything." Adam's voice quakes. "I'll take anything."
"Given your comprehensive knowledge of the Foundation's history, I think I know just the place for you, then." August retrieves his folded coat from the seat, slipping it back on. "Tell me, Mr. Saxon — what do you know about the Archival Division?"

Somewhere along the coast of North Carolina…

"So… we thinking moon wizard?"
The veteran agent crouches and shakes her head. "Not his style."
The three Foundation agents are crammed into the cargo bay of a refurbished Shin Meiwa US-1A — an amphibious propeller-driven rescue plane that resembles an ugly boat with grotesque delusions of flight. It's landed close to the beach, where the contents of its bloated gut can now be examined, cataloged, and discharged.
Said contents consist of the charred remains of Apollo 11's command module — a compact dome. It was designed over fifty years ago by a generation's brightest, most brilliant minds to handle the catastrophic force of an atmosphere smashing into it at over 25,000 miles per hour.
Someone has split it open. Like tinfoil. From the inside.
With their bare hands.
"Looks like it was in a decaying orbit," the vet says. She leans in to examine the one of the strips of chrome that have been peeled back, exposing the cramped, empty interior. "Must have snatched it off the Moon back in '69."
"Wait. What?" The second-in-command makes a face. He's a mountain of a man — a plump silver-bearded viking with more hair on his chest than his head. The skin on his hands is like tanned, corded leather. "How the hell don't I know about this? I saw it on the news. I was just a kid, but I'd remember seeing someone jack their ride."
The vet is short and wide. Not quite as wide as the second-in-command, but it's close — and mostly muscle. Her dark, sleeveless top leaves her biceps bare; they're thick and scarred, with red fractalized scars that branch out from her shoulders and wrap down to her wrists. She tilts her head back and throws him a grin: "How do you think?"
The second-in-command's scowl deepens. "Are you fucking with me?"
"Um —" the newbie is a young man with russet skin and dense, tightly curled charcoal hair. He's got on a black leather coat with a satchel over his shoulder and carries himself with all the dignity of an over-excitable puppy. "Can we rewind, a bit? You said 'moon wizard'."
"You're telling me we actually faked the moon landing."
"Like… a real wizard? Wizards are real?"
"No," the vet replies, standing up. She wipes her hands off on her trousers. "Moon landing happened. They just re-shot the footage."
"Wizards are real, and — one lives on the moon?!"
"For fuck's sake — yes, kid!" The second-in-command throws up his hands. "Santa Claus is real, the Tooth Fairy wants to eat your teeth, and there's a fucking wizard on the moon. Can we please move on?" He turns to the vet: "Why was the moon landing re-shot?"
The vet shrugs. "Beats me. RAISA doesn't have any documentation on it. That's why they sent us."
The second-in-command sighs. "Fine. So, what do we do?"
"Not our department." She turns and examines the wreck. "Just notify RAISA — and send this hunk of junk off to the Archival Division."

Somewhere in the Atlantic…

A massive figure encased in an ancient deep-sea diving suit stands on the ocean's floor. Long, tangled strips of seaweed trail behind it, rolling back like ribbons of silken hair caught in a lethargic breeze.
Intrigued, a great white swims close. Like most sharks, it investigates the world through its mouth — so it decides to take a tiny, curious bite.
Half a minute later, the two jagged halves of the shark's sundered corpse lay behind, as the figure trudges silently through a cloud of viscera and blood…
…straight on ahead, like a slow bullet — toward Britain's coast.
Next: Visions of Bodies Being Burned