"…you two, and my foolish acolyte, here, will explain very quickly how you came to bring FLESH to the door of MY WORKSHOP."
Inventor-Militant Antoninah diLuca's voice was stern, but now that he saw she wasn't going to strike him down immediately, Herman mentally revised his chances of survival sharply upward. "You've got to help me," he wailed. "I can't go back!"
Lottie stared up at her commander. "You used the f-word," she whispered. "I've never heard you say the f-word."
The hovering guards snickered at this; one raised a hand to their face, trying and failing to disguise snorts of laughter as a cough. The heavy chains extending from their wings to form a circular cage around Herman and Zeke rattled musically. "Wait'll you get your wings, kid," quipped a booming voice. "You've never been on a raid with us."
"Not now, Philip!"
"Apologies, Inventor," the burly guard replied. His lips twitched with suppressed mirth, but his iron wings never wavered.
Antoninah tilted her head at the young acolyte and blinked expectantly.
"That man," Lottie pointed at Zeke, "brought a… a heretic device? To that man's church tent," her hand moved to indicate Herman.
Both men did their best to look helpless and innocent. Sprawled in the grass where the horses had thrown them, they gazed up at six nearly identical expressions of suspicion in varying shades of brown.
Herman took advantage of the momentary silence. "My livelihood was destroyed! What will I do now?"
"The device belongs to my uncle." Zeke added, nodding at Lottie. "She stole from me." And more importantly, Zeke thought to himself, from his uncle's firm.
"It belongs with us, doesn't it?" Lottie said hesitantly. "To bring into harmony with God's design. That's the Operating Rule."
Antoninah sighed. "When we have an active mission, it is. But these - did you even know this one was marked by the enemy?"
The acolyte shook her head.
"Tch, Lottie. What am I going to do with you? We've been idle too long," said Antoninah, before turning again to her captives. "Tell me your names."
"Herman P. Fuller, at your mercy, ma'am!"
"Hezekiah August Carter, Senior Client Services Representative, Marshall, Carter & Dark." He dredged up a wan smile. "I would give you my card, but I don't wish to give Philip the wrong impression."
The Inventor stood in thought for a long moment, raising a metal hand to stroke her chin. She turned to the acolyte. "Lottie, run downstairs and fetch me Darius. And a jar. Philip, Flange, Danise, at ease. Doris, search them."
"Yes, ma'am!" Lottie grinned and dashed off into the moonlit meadow. At the massive circular door in the ground, she leapt straight down, landing somewhere inside with a CLANG.
A flurry of rattles and whickering thunks sounded, as the guards rearranged the chains stuck into the grass around the prisoners. One - evidently Doris - shook her wings and folded them back, every chain but one retracting into the iron folds.
She hunkered down on one knee next to Zeke, resting a fist in the grass. A single spike wove gently through the air, inches from his face. "Now, I'm an easygoing gal," Doris informed him. "You just lay quiet - Hezekiah, right? And don't make any sudden moves. We'll get through this in no time at all."

The first thing the Inventor looked over was Herman's letter from his mother. It had not even been opened, which lent force to his overly dramatic protestations of woe and innocence. As it turned out, Madame Fuller had tactfully avoided asking the reason for his long absence from his kin and desired him to return home at once.
Having learned the home address of a group of Sarkites, the Mekhanists intended to mount a military strike against them immediately. Herman practically demanded to help. His eagerness to assassinate his own family appeared, to Zeke's surprise, to be entirely genuine. He was allowed to sit up, and awaited events with an abstracted look.
The "jar," when Lottie arrived with it, was a wheel-thrown pot of ochre clay, unglazed. It seemed common, almost crude, until she lifted the lid. The same red sunset glow Zeke had last seen in Mitterling's eyes poured out. Even at this distance, the chilly autumn air grew a little warmer.
"Alchemical fire, attuned to the ideal temperature for atomizing flesh. You see?" The Inventor smiled down at Lottie. "Sometimes the word is precise, and not just vulgar."
"Understood."
"Keep that by. We'll need it to dispose of the alteration, once I remove it."
"Yes, ma'am." Despite the intense heat generated by the jar, Lottie seemed content to hold it in her bare hands.
Darius proved to be a short, stout, wingless man, introduced further as a "Scribe, Faithful to Chock." His hands and the left side of his head were sheathed in smoothly joined sections of steel plate; an arc light shone from his left temple. Although admirably placed to assist the scribe in reviewing documents at the edge of a forest at night, its beam stabbed into Zeke's eyes each time the other man looked up.
After a cursory review of their other possessions, he and Antoninah spent some time inspecting the blueprints for the loud-speaker. They peppered Zeke with questions which drew heavily from the arcane dialect of engineers, in which Zeke was regrettably not fluent.
"What was the primary use-case of the device?" This, from Darius, was the first question that had actually made sense.
"More or less the use to which it was put," Zeke said carefully. "To enhance the inclination of customers to look upon a potential purchase with favor." That, he thought, was as far as he could go without placing himself in more peril. If they were willing to return the thing — if they were willing to repair and then return it — he might rescue this trip from disaster.
Antoninah tapped the folio. "This shows some skill with alchemy, though the authors' grasp of structural design is poor. Our previous source of alchemists' fire has recently relocated… elsewhere. My operating orders empower me to acquire resources as best I see fit." She pursed her lips, tilting a shining hand from side to side. "The parameters can be… somewhat flexible."
If he hadn't been sore, damp, flat on his back and surrounded by Mekhanist soldiers with very good aim, Zeke would have leapt for joy. He wasn't going to die that night. He was going to make a sale.
In the course of a brief but thorough haggling session, Zeke was surprised to learn that Mitterling's case was known to the Inventor. The Fabricator, or cleric-foreman, of Mitterling's home factory was a high stickler. Banishing a member of his congregation at the local level for unauthorized self-modification was well within the Fabricator's scope. However, a formal declaration of heresy took time, and the Legates had not yet ruled. A plea for clemency, or even better, retroactive approval by the Inventor could potentially halt it before it ever reached a Legate's desk. And would thereby gain the old man's considerable alchemical knowledge for Antoninah's benefit.
Furthermore, Mitterling would have the Inventor's blessing to take on occasional projects for the benefit of Hezekiah's employers, at the engineer's own discretion.
The salesman and the Inventor shook hands on the deal; she hauled him to his feet as they did so. Darius, who had appeared to be meditating during the negotiations, raised his head and announced that a transcribed copy would be brought from the workshop momentarily for their signatures.
He had not exaggerated. An iron raven, bearing a scroll in its talons, labored up through the gate and sailed across the meadow.
Zeke gripped the stylus the Scribe pressed into his hands and looked down at the scroll. "You spell your first name with a 3?"
Antonin3 scratched the back of her head and waved this away. "Long story."
"Hm!" He nodded appreciatively, and signed.
"Now for this," Antonin3 said, and turned to Herman. The anticipation in her face was both familiar and utterly alien to him. It was not, he judged, that she was going to enjoy doing it. Rather, she looked forward with immense satisfaction to the thought that it would soon be done.
She raised her right hand, which spread, retracted a layer of armor and spread again, articulated joints appearing as scores of fine wires unraveled from their cores.
"My apologies; this is going to hurt."

Herman was screaming. It made him feel like a kid again. He hadn't screamed in years; his family hadn't let him. He knew he'd had worse, but damn if he wasn't out of practice. Maybe this would be the last time. He reached for the kernel of silence in the darkness of his mind, and found something else there in it with him. A sound —

bright wheels that ring along rails with a chime
the breath of engines deepens, quickens, swells
brass wind, bisected on the lips of bells
the sway and thrum of towers too vast to climb

— one note, high and low and past the edge of hearing, its keen unbearable, full of awe. A stillness of its own, vaster than his. It slid across his loneliness like a blade.
He hated it. He hated it. It had to stop. It was everywhere.
He screamed again, but for a very different reason.

The trip had not been uneventful, but it had at least been swift. Sitting in the front parlor of the house where he'd grown up, Herman felt like a stranger. The wires Antonin3 left behind, she said, would stop the alteration his brother had carved in his flesh from growing back, in case she'd missed any pieces. She had given him a pocketwatch; when an opportune moment to strike arose, he was to set its hands to a number and then smash it. It would send a signal in a single pulse to Darius, who would relay the number of troops that Herman expected would be sufficient to deal with the threat. They could arrive in as little as six hours.
He didn't think for an instant that these were the Mekhanists' only preparations. He just hoped they would bother to come at all.
"How have you been, Mother?" Carefully, he handed her steaming tea in a delicate china cup.
"Well enough, my son." Madame Fuller took a sip, then set the cup down with a clink. "I've got cancer again."
"Congratulations."
"A blessed day." Madame Fuller gave a rare, thin smile. "I had not thought to need to summon you home. Though I suppose it must be… decadent, to surround oneself only with the lesser, who may be commanded to one's whim." Though her voice was level, her narrowed eyes made this a question.
Herman cleared his throat. The Mekhanite wires under his shirt made him feel horribly conspicuous. The pocketwatch dangled from his waistcoat, heavy as lead. "It was certainly a learning experience, Mother."
"And what did you learn?"
"Logistics."
The unthinking honesty of this reply startled them both into silence.
Madame Fuller sipped tea, recovering her usual grace. "I have decided it is time to bring you more fully into our life, Herman. Although there are many tasks for which, of course, you are not suited, you are my offspring nonetheless. No child of mine can languish on the periphery for ever."
The words struck him like a blow to the stomach. Most of his life, this was all he had ever wanted. The boy he'd been two years ago would have wept with joy to hear Madame Fuller say she had a use for him. Now, when he was committed to revenge - it was too little, too late. Whatever plan she had in mind, he would never be more than a minor player among their ferociously competitive kind.
He pictured his own name on a sign, painted three feet high, like the ones the revival caravan had put up outside the larger towns. Crowds flocking to see him. She could never give him that. And she would never let him go.
"I'm… speechless, Mother," he said, a little breathless. "In all honesty I had lost hope. Truly, this is… this is a blessed day."
"Eloquent as ever, my son." She patted the side of his face, a gleam of anticipation in her eye. "There is to be a gathering tonight, in town; your arrival is timely. Tomorrow, we depart for the ceremonial site. For now, we aim to see and be seen. Dress accordingly."
He thought of the state of his wardrobe, and hoped he hadn't outgrown it all.

Herman, Madame Fuller and Aloysius rode to the center of town in the carriage. After a few snide remarks about his brother's attempts to cobble together a fashionable outfit, Aloysius lapsed into an uncharacteristic, brooding silence. Neither was inclined to disturb their mother's meditations. This left Herman to stare out the window at the waxing moon.
George was driving. He and his wife, Bertha, who doubled as the cook and as Madame Fuller's maid, had been with the family since the time of the senior Mr. Fuller. Sarah and John had been hired separately, and later, as Madame Fuller judged it needful to have extra help to manage a household of unruly and precocious children. Black people were rare in this part of the country. As far as Herman could figure it, having these four in her sway was a deliberate snub by his mother against their distant, and increasingly few, Southern kindred.
We have the power to keep what we have, he imagined her saying. And the law of the state of Massachusetts is no obstacle to us.
There was something more to that thought, something that nagged at him, but it slipped away as the carriage pulled up to the gates of a mansion. Squinting, Herman could make out a few protective ürma chalked on the gateposts. These glyphs, derived from the ancient Adytite language, distracted the untrained so that they failed to notice the gate at all or ignored it as impassable. Madame Fuller had evidently prepared George for this; the carriage proceeded through.
Lucretia greeted them warmly at the door, looking radiant as she always did after an extended use of her talents. She turned to Madame Fuller with a shy smile as she led them down a tastefully sumptuous hall. "Mother, I hope you'll enjoy what we've done with the place. Katarina wanted a more classic style. She did need my help with some of the centerpieces, but as far as I'm concerned, we really captured the aesthetic. Even her father couldn't find anything worse to say than we 'took long enough.' "
Their mother gave a soft hmph and small, fluid movement of her shoulders. "Mr. Jellick would find fault with a river of blood if the temperature was off by one degree," she said dryly.
"Funny you should say so," Lucretia replied, now unabashedly grinning.
Another ürma, this time done in reddish-brown calligraphy on vellum, hung on the wall above a modest set of doors. A pair of bland-faced Irish servants swept them open with a bow at the Fullers' approach. Behind the doors, a grand staircase spiraled down into a space larger than the Jellick mansion. Crossing the threshold, Herman felt something different about the space itself. As the clack of a falling rock sends echoes across the width of a lightless cavern, he could feel himself gauging the invisible weight of the room with some new sense that was neither hearing nor sight. It felt subtly unreal, as though it had been made, and he racked his brain for scraps of lore about how such things were done.
The room was a circular dome. At the far end, another staircase identical to the one they were descending rose into the darkness. Thick grey fog circled to encompass the room instead of walls. Above the center of the room, a half-sphere glowed soft white, with an Adytite sigil Herman read as triumph etched in red across its face. Lucretia described points of interest as they came into view, her voice tight with excitement.
Suspended from the ceiling with artful randomness, people splayed like beached starfish, their intestines garlanded from one to the next. These dripped steadily, softly, atomizing into a fine red mist above the heads of the partygoers. What appeared from a distance to be plush, if somewhat lumpy furniture resolved on closer inspection into more distorted human bodies. There were people everywhere, distended into long sofas, bent and flattened into occasional tables or near-skeletal groupings of high-backed chairs. Guests in their most expensive finery sat in small conversational groups or drifted languidly around the room, hats and jackets or flowing skirts fading to red where the fabric was light enough to show the stain. A string quartet nestled near the edge played soothing music under a low awning which shielded their instruments from the mist.
In the center, six unlucky souls were contorted into a circular buffet, various delicacies heaped at intervals along its surface. Three pairs of faces had been fused together at the hinge of the jaw, mouths stretched wide to form three enormous punch bowls. Little red and yellow globes, the swollen abdomens of tiny creatures that looked insectile, browsed along the lips. Towering up from the center of that was a viscous monstrosity, puckered with tumorous growths. It had presumably also once been human and might have the misfortune to be so again. Those who could carve, partook - there were no implements of any kind here.
On the one hand, Herman admired his sister's ingenuity in making the line between the somebodies and the nobodies, even among the guests, so starkly public. On the other, he seethed with resentment at the reminder of which side of that line he was on.
Lucretia broke off from the narrative of how she and Katarina had divided up the work, voice dropping again to a whisper. "Oh, and I almost forgot. In each area we made one or two partly insensate - "
"Seems a waste," Aloysius muttered. Madame Fuller silenced his sour grapes with a pointed look.
"Except for their hearing," the young woman finished acidly. "So they won't be distracted. They're going to tell us everything that's said tonight, afterwards."
"A word to the wise is sufficient," their mother said, smiling for the second time that day. She took her daughter's hand and squeezed it gently. "Truly, this is… very fine."
Lucretia's face flushed, her own smile incandescent. "Thank you, Mother," she breathed, and ducked her head as Madame Fuller swept into the crowd.
"Thaank youu, Motherrrr," Aloysius repeated in a sing-song voice.
Lucretia turned on her heel, gesturing around the room and the hidden listeners there. "Some of us know you can drive a mule farther if you use a carrot once in awhile instead of just a stick," she snapped.
Then, with a shrug, she let her eyes flick - once - at their mother's retreating back. "It even works on me."

Herman wasn't exactly bored. In a place this enthralling - he refused to admit to intimidating, even to himself - it was impossible to be bored as such. He found himself idly reviewing the family conversation at the foot of the steps. Lucretia had always been a prodigy, but at the rate she was coming along it was time to start laying odds on Ma's probable lifespan. Then again, if his own plans succeeded, the question was moot.
As the party wore on, he couldn't decide which was worse: the guests who eyed him like he was part of the furniture and wouldn't speak to him at all or the ones who sidled up to make some supercilious comment, probing for a reaction. He tried the punch and found it startlingly sweet, but quickly retreated from the embarrassment of having to drink out of his own cupped hand in front of the other guests. The jewel-like insects had proven to be ants, and he made a mental note to ask his sister where she had gotten them.
A server passed by, their extended hands molded into a tray and smeared with condiments like a painter's palette, a tidy pile of glistening red cubes in the center. A splash of matching, bloody cavities across their muscular chest left little room for doubt where the pile had come from. "Decadence, sir?"
With a sigh of resignation, Herman took a cube and picked a smear at random. He cast a shrewd eye over the server's face, chewing glumly. Damn, that was spicy stuff. "You one of my sister's listeners?"
"Sir?"
That level of calculated blandness could not have come from a mind that was less than alert. He swallowed, grinned and jostled the server's elbow. "You're good. You tell her I said, I bet Ma's gonna taste great. Only a matter of time."
A swirl of blood-dampened skirts behind him announced someone else's presence. He turned, and was surprised to not recognize the other guest's face.
"Olga Koszlova," she said, smiling, and extended a hand. Her accent was Russian. "I hear you are new come to Adytum's Wake."
That answered, to some extent, the puzzle of where the other staircase led. The notion that this room might have as casual a relationship to geography in general as it did to the visible extent of the Jellicks' property had previously occurred to him. He'd read, but never before seen proof, that Nälkä was still practiced in secret across Russia. It had originated there among tribal peoples on the icy tundra, but aristocrats under the tsars had evidently adopted a more modern style. He shook Olga's hand, returning the smile. "Herman P. Fuller, at your service, ma'am. Not new come as such, but newly participating."
"Ah." She glanced around, her expression openly skeptical. "And what do you think of it, now that you are here?"
He took a risk, hoping for a laugh. "If this is Adytum's Wake, when is Adytum's funeral?"
Olga scoffed, her mouth pinching into a moue of disgust. She turned and stalked away without saying goodbye.
The server wandered off. As Herman stood there, mentally kicking himself, Lucretia approached, towing a staggering Aloysius by the elbow. "There you are. I've been looking all over for you. I'd be lucky to smell a bonfire in this crush."
"What happened to him? Is he drunk?" Herman asked, ignoring their brother's slurred attempt to reply. On the level of fleshcraft at which his siblings operated, it shouldn't be possible for a person to get drunk unless they deliberately allowed it. Which made this circumstance all the more fascinating.
"It was the ants," Lucretia said, glowering at Aloysius. "He ate too many red ones. I told him, we got them from a friend of Mother's from… elsewhere. Even I needed time to get used to the difference. And he had seven." She waved her free hand in the air, fingers curling into a fist.
"What do they do?" Elsewhere was apparently as distant from Russia as it was from Massachusetts. He filed this tidbit away for later study.
"The ruby ants enhance sensation," Lucretia recited, rolling her eyes. She had apparently delivered this speech a number of times that night. "The citrine sharpen the memory and enhance cognition. One will wish to appreciate a delicacy of this nature in moderation," she finished with a growl.
Herman had to bite his lip and turn away to keep from roaring with laughter. And he thought he had embarrassed his sister in ways he'd soon deeply regret.
"Get him out of here, Herman. Take the carriage. Katarina will send Mother and I in one of her father's. Go!"

George allowed himself a single, wary look at the Fuller brothers as they approached, but helped Aloysius up into the carriage without comment. Herman briefly considered sitting outside, then decided he might need to point his brother's head out the window sometime before they got home. He just hoped there wouldn't be any chunks that might be identifiable the next morning as human body parts.
"'S ironic," Aloysius mumbled, his customary vicious hauteur less impressive in his dishevelment. "Tent preacher t' tent. One fell swoop. M'th'r's a genius."
"What are you talking about?" Dread lifted the small hairs at the back of his neck.
"Can' be a prop'r Order 'thout a Kiraak. Show'm we mean b'zness." Aloysius paused, stifling a monstrous belch. "You're th' fuggen… hist'ry buff."
His brother began to snore.
The carriage seemed to spin around Herman, his mind coated in a layer of ice. In the ancient days, when the faith was ruled by superstition, a Karcist might make themselves into a Kiraak - an enormous, living temple grown from the body of a single person. Nobly sacrificing their own humanity and individuality, or so it was written, to create a place of safety for their kin. But modern practitioners thought differently. Those with the greatest power ruled, and turned the lesser to their service. That was the natural order.
That was why Mother had needed a spare.
He spent the rest of the ride home in silence, trying not to panic.

« Revival Tent Blitz | Dread & Circuses Hub | The Boy Who Cried Wolf »


The sack over Hassad's face was removed. He was restrained to a chair with ropes. Men in gray armor stood around, pointing their glowing rifles at him. Across, his wife and three daughters were bound and gagged, struggling and squirming against their bonds. Droplets of blood dripped from their noses.
"Who are you people and what do you want from us?!" Hassad asked, a hint of confusion in his hoarse voice.
"Your debt, Mr. Akbar." One of the men said; his mechanical voice echoed across the empty hall.
The sound of electro house music coming from the party on the upper floor above was audible but not loud enough to impede their hearing. However, if Hassad cried for help, no one would be able to hear him.
"What debt?"
"For five months, half of the packages from S3 Enterprise were missing, Mr. Akbar." The same armored man replied. His face was hidden behind a green glowing visor. "You either have a mole in your group or you were crossing our boss."
"I do not know what you are talking about!"
"Cut the crap." A voice said from behind.
Hassad turned in the direction of the voice and saw an Arabian man in three-piece suit; his face was covered with a shemagh. The Arabian's brown eyes stared directly at him; his scrutinizing gaze pierced through Hassad's soul, forcing him to divulge the information by sheer intimidation.
"My men said that you consort with ORIA operatives, Akbar." Al-Essa added.
"No!" Hassad replied. "I—"
"Three months after that expedition when we began shipping golds to the clients, the ORIA paid your home a visit."
"I am loyal only to you—" Hassad protested but was cut off by Al-Essa.
"I had you followed. They have evidence that you meet with them regularly." He glanced at one of his men. "Show him the photographs." Al-Essa ordered.
An armored guard spread a set of photographs on the floor before him. It showed him and a man in a public restaurant.
"Don't lie to me, Akbar. One of my spies I have placed in your company knew that you are leaking information about the gold to those pigs." Al-Essa took a step forward. He dug his right hand into his pocket and fished out a golden ring with a symbol of a snake on the top of it.
"What are you going to do?" Hassad asked with a frightened voice.
"I'm a businessman, Akbar, and I don't waste my time on people like you." He wore the ring on his right hand and clenched it. He approached Hassad's wife and swung at her, hitting her jaw.
The head of Hassad's wife detached and rolled across the floor, leaving trails of gold ingots. When the head stopped rolling, it suddenly collapsed into nuggets of gold. Her body crumpled into a mound of golden dust.
"No!" Hassad yelled. "Look, I was just trying to save us all! They said that the ring was dangerous! You don't know what other things it can do!"
"You see, they don't just call me the Rich Man or the Powerful for nothing." He paused to let the words sink in. "This is what I do to traitors, Akbar." Al-Essa said as he took a step towards Hassad with a clenched fist.
Hassad wet his pants when Al-Essa drew very close. Cold beads of sweat dripped across his skin. Ragged breaths and involuntary shaking were telltale signs of fear. He knew this was the end. He knew what was coming to him. This was the price for helping the good guys.
Al-Essa abruptly withdrew from Hassad and instead approached his eldest daughter. He cocks back and punched her in the left cheek. The impact of the punch made his daughter's head spin around completely before detaching itself from the neck and rolled across the floor. Just like her mother, her body crumbles into gold dust while her head became gold nuggets.
"I'm going to be rich again." Al-Essa said with a laugh as he approached his pubescent daughter and sent a right hook. She was instantly reduced into a pile of gold. Hassad was left with no choice but to watch in horror.
"STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING!" Hassad yelled before earning some beatings from the men near him.
"I'm taking back what you owe from me. We both know that the missing half of the packages I receive from our buyers were being sent to some secret ORIA base." He grabbed his youngest daughter by the hair and punched her face, turning her into gold.
Suddenly, one of Al-Essa's armored guards briskly descended the staircase.
"Boss! We are under attack!"

Three Hours Earlier
Okay, listen up.
Agent Wilson Carter knelt to fasten the laces of his combat boots. After that, he picked up a pistol resting on a bench and holstered it.
Four years ago, an Arab businessman, Omar Ibn Al-Essa, had led an expedition to a desolate pyramid constructed for a nobleman whose name was expunged from the records of Ancient Egypt due to his involvement in witchcraft.
Carter plucked the magazine from the feeder and checked the bullets inside. Satisfied, he slammed it back home.
Foundation personnel embedded in local museums and government agencies identified the nobleman as Hatshepsut IV. The guy was punished by premature mummification.
He grabbed the scope inside the weapons locker. He lifted up the submachine gun and examined it.
Centuries later, Mr. Al-Essa found this pyramid and had his crew explore it. They found something aside from treasures.
Attaching the scope above the submachine gun, Carter peeked inside. He lowered it as soon as he was satisfied with the scope's magnification. He released it; the weapon hung freely with the help of a strap clipped to his suit. He grabbed a helmet from the locker and clipped the straps under his chin.
They found the artifact, henceforth designated as Item Number 1, and used it for another kind of business. Al-Essa's riches has mysteriously tripled.
He put on his respirator mask, glanced at his other teammates around the prep room and approached another Agent, who was struggling to put on his vest. He assisted him in clipping the straps in place.
Al-Essa constructed an anomalous nightclub near the pyramid. Figures widely known in the anomalous world were known to frequent the place. Intel reports said that any attempt to retrieve Item Number 1 was met with failure. Operatives from ORIA and GOC were lost after entering the nightclub.
Carter tapped the rookie Agent's back before being offered with a shiny silver tube by an approaching officer. He took it respectfully.
Your mission objective is to recover the item. Where others have failed, you are expected to succeed. You are to retrieve the artifact without any available assistance.
He wore his combat gloves and strapped it in place. Shortly, he attached the tube in a slot in his respirator. The sweet taste of the vaporized stimulant lingered in his taste buds when he inhaled it with his mouth opened. His vision cleared and the nervousness that clung on his mind that he always feel prior to any mission disappeared in an instant. Although this was prohibited, Carter secretly does this to cope up with pre-mission anxiety and restlessness.
The onset phase is about to take place when his commanding officer, who was aware of his weakness, put a hand over his shoulder to wake him up from his inevitable adrenaline trance.
"Not too soon, Carter." The officer said.
Carter nods.
"Yes, sir." He replied as he pressed a button on the tube, deactivating it from dispensing RUSH gas.
If you ever encounter Al-Essa, he is to be eliminated. He and his henchmen are considered high priority expendable targets. Good luck, Agents. We secure, we contain, we protect.

The nightclub was alive with activity. Loud electro-house music and bright neon lights emanated from the establishment while newly arrived patrons continuously entered. From afar, one would see men in grey armor, walking around the nightclub while carrying glowing anomalous weaponry.
In addition to the guards on foot, three Sedans patrolled around the nightclub. Two more just recently came back from watching the pyramid near the establishment.
Agent Wilson Carter was sitting behind Agent Madison as he drives. They were on a black Harley Davidson; the standard bike that the Foundation issued to them. It came with its own modification with Sigma-18's preference in mind. It was well suited for their combat doctrine.
Along with them, twelve more bikes were following behind. The Bike Squad, if one cared to use squad classification, spread in an arrowhead formation. A voice suddenly spoke on the channel.
"RUSH on and DUBSTEP on."
Carter pressed the button on his RUSH inhaler tank and the DUBSTEP earpiece attached to his left ear. He could see Madison doing the same while keeping one hand on the handlebar.
The smell of nitro-amphetamine waffled in his nostrils with an addicting scent that Carter would describe as something similar to 'lavender'. The sweet taste of the vaporized drug tickled his taste buds, traveling up to his throat and filling his lungs. It woke his senses up in an explosion.
The onset phase. It was recorded to last for one minute, but to operatives who uses RUSH like him, it felt eternal. Carter both loved and hated this phase. For starters, it takes the anxiety away.
But he hated the part when the onset effect messes with his perception momentarily.
The first thing he saw was the baby's face from Teletubbies, illuminating the sky with its bright rays. He saw gigantic worms with human anuses rising from the sand around them and then disappearing shortly after. His body felt light as if he was submerged underwater. His enemies in his vision appeared like flames from a candle. A skull appeared from the horizon and swallowed the bright baby's head. In an instant, everything became normal once again.
After its one-minute onset effect, his mind became clearer and his hearing sharper as ever. His surroundings were bright despite the darkness brought by nighttime in the middle of a desert. His heart started to beat twice faster when the DUBSTEP earpiece started to transmit low binaural beat sound in gamma frequency.
When the looped dark synthwave beat started to fill his eardrums, he felt a rush of adrenaline flow throughout his body. The restlessness begins, but the inhalation of the drug mitigated it.
His excitement was powerful, but the drug made him in control. He was both focused and hyper; the feelings could be compared into something contradictory: chaotic yet peaceful. It was like as if water and oil were poured into his soul, mixed but separated.
He was ready to kill.
"Enemy vehicle spotted, open fire!"
The voice woke Carter from his adrenaline trance. A Sedan suddenly obstructed their path and unloaded armored guards. Carter aimed at his first target. His suppressed MP5 submachine gun recoiled as soon as he squeezed the trigger; rounds penetrated the man's visor faceplate.
Madison pressed a button just below the handlebar; two barrels protruded from either side of the bike and began firing at the other guards automatically.
The Sedan sustained more several rounds from the combined weapons fire of the twelve bikes before exploding in orange flames, taking with it all the guards who were unlucky enough to be nearby.
Because of this, the guards roving outside the nightclub were alerted and immediately assembled in the entrance; the direction where Sigma-18 was currently approaching. More Sedan sped from the pyramid and haphazardly parked in front of the entrance to provide cover and to obstruct it as well. Carter knew this is going to be violent.
When they were within close range, Al-Essa's men began firing their rifles. Green glowing light sped towards the bikers. Carter saw one bike got hit. The bike and its riders were instantly turned into a green sludge. He raised his weapon and returned fire. The rounds penetrated through a man's visor, which shattered into tiny pieces.
His aim jumped to the next target. He fired and luckily hit a gap that exposed the man's neck. Blood sprayed from his wound. His attack was interrupted by their bike's weapons. He watched five groups of guards get torn in half with the bike's huge bullets.
"Springers on, soldiers! And while we're in midair, drop the care packages at them!" The same authoritative voice instructed.
Madison complied as he pressed another button on the handlebar. The suspensions in their bike suddenly emitted a cracking sound before the bike launched itself midair.
He glanced below and saw the guards, training their weapons at them. He dropped three grenades onto their ranks; the other remaining bikers did the same thing.
The guards were caught in a cluster of explosions so magnificent that not a single one of them survived.
Carter felt the bike descending at a fast rate. He held his breath as they crash onto the rooftop.
The rooftop party halted when the combined weight of the bikes brought the entire ceiling down. Carter's suit and their bikes sustained the impact damage. He aimed around and saw a handful of guards flipping tables and crouching behind it.

The sound of battle and the club music emanating from the speakers stopped as soon as Al-Essa and his men reached the upper floor. Concrete and debris were scattered all over the dance floor. Moonlight shone through the ruined rooftop. The guards who fought the operatives of Sigma-18 lay dead on the ground with the exception of a single wounded guard. His right hand was amputated and his other remaining and injured hand held an unpinned grenade.
Al-Essa was about to issue an order when he suddenly heard bodies falling to the ground with wet noises. He turned and saw blood covered Sigma-18 operatives and his dead men.
"Give it up." One of them said.
"So, this is how it ends?" Al-Essa muttered as he put his hands up. The operatives could hear the sound of vehicles approaching their position and knew that Al-Essa was just buying time. They opened fire at him without hesitation.
The bullets bounced from Al-Essa's body. The Kevlar plates beneath his three-piece suit smoked. The Arabian man grinned behind his shemagh as he stepped forward. The ring was visible in his clenched fist. He swings at a nearby Agent and hit him. The chest plate disintegrated into gold dust before he hit the ground. He was incapacitated, but not dead. Al-Essa launched himself at the other Agent. If only he could hold out a few more minutes, his men will arrive to aid him.
Carter watched Al-Essa took a swing at Madison. He knelt a knee on the ground and raised his rifle. He aimed at Al-Essa's head and fired. The man dropped to the floor in an instant.
Carter examined Al-Essa's hand and retrieved the ring. He glanced at his fellow teammates and nodded.
They wasted no time embarking on the bikes and sped into the night, leaving dust behind.


Achebe Okoro knocked on the door to his therapist's office. He was excited to talk this session, though it wasn't like he didn't like the sessions in the first place. This week, he had something that he really wanted to bring up, something that he was aching to tell someone.
Before he could finish his own thought, he heard the sound of the restroom door opening to his left, followed by his therapist swiftly walking down the hallway.
"I hope I didn't leave you standing here too long!" she said as she hurried along.
Achebe laughed quietly. "Not a problem Madame Coffey, I had only just gotten here."
She sighed and smiled, taking out the key to her office. Achebe stepped to the side so she could unlock her door, and the two of them stepped inside. Dr. Coffey took her seat at her desk, cluttered with multi-colored files and a laptop currently in sleep mode. Achebe sat down on the couch, making sure to sit on the cushion that was the firmest. Obviously, he avoided the middle cushion.
Dr. Coffey fixed her bun, adjusting the band that held it all together using the laptop as a mirror. Once she was satisfied, she wiggled the mouse and the screen shone to life. She turned to Achebe with a satisfied sigh.
"The week has gone by fast. Can you believe it's already Thursday?" Dr. Coffey said. "How was your father's birthday? You never told me how that went on our last session."
Achebe smiled and laughed. "Oh, did I not? Desolé, Madame Coffey! He is doing well, my sisters and I worked hard to make sure he could appreciate it this year. For once, he did not fall asleep until after the dinner!"
"Oh, lovely! What did you make?" Dr. Coffey asked.
"Orisa and Ginika made the main course, and of course I made the dessert. A pear and dark chocolate Charlotte, I was quite proud of it."
"You are an incredible baker, after all," Dr. Coffey remarked. "I apologize for sating my personal curiosity first. Do you want to keep talking about this or is there something else on your mind?" Dr. Coffey asked.
Achebe paused, placing his hands on his knees. He wasn't sure if it was worth bringing this up, but he had an itching need to talk about something.
"It is… stupid, but there is something," Achebe said.
"I do not ever think your experiences are stupid. We are all human, and fallible - we may be misled, we may be mistaken. But our feelings and thoughts have intrinsic value, and I am interested in yours," Dr. Coffey said with a smile.
"I am not a normally superstitious person, but… I had a dream on Monday," Achebe explained. "Monday was five years after my holiday to America."
Dr. Coffey nodded knowingly, moving her laptop to her lap and beginning to type. "How much of the dream do you remember?"
Achebe broke eye contact with Dr. Coffey. "The thing is, I remember it completely. It was incredibly real, it was… it was…"
There was a silence between the two before Dr. Coffey broke it. "Why don't you try telling me what happened? I'm not exactly a medium, but just talking about it will help if something is weighing on your mind."
Achebe sighed, looking down at his lap. "I was back in America. Everything around me was in ruins, completely broken and destroyed. I could not see much through the smoke, but I was walking forward, as if I knew where I was going. I did not recognize the streets."
Dr. Coffey nodded.
"Then in front of me, I saw a statue. It was that man. The one who died."
"The one that saved your life?" Dr. Coffey asked for clarification.
"Yes."
"Sorry, please continue," Dr. Coffey apologized, continuing to type on her laptop.
"Behind me I heard a voice. I did not know what it was saying, but I responded anyway. I said that this was where he died. The voice said something else and then I apologized. I did not see who was speaking but I heard it walking away."
Once again there was silence between the two as Dr. Coffey waited for Achebe to continue. Dr. Coffey wanted to be sure that Achebe could speak his mind fully, first.
Achebe finally spoke again, "I feel like… I feel like maybe it had something to do with the day? I knew that the anniversary was coming the night I fell asleep, so I feel like that could be why I remembered it so vividly."
Dr. Coffey nodded, continuing to type but not saying anything.
"I feel like I have made progress, I really do. But when I have experiences like that, well…" Achebe sighed. "Do you think that this is just me… falling back?"
Dr. Coffey stopped typing, keeping her hands still. "You're openly talking about your trauma, which is something that many people can't attest to. You've come a long way in five years, Achebe."
Achebe sighed. "I could not be here without you. Even talking about the day is helpful."
"What do you feel would help you, Achebe? Do you think that this was just something that happened on the day or do you feel like you need something more?" Dr. Coffey asked.
Achebe paused, thinking. After minutes of silence Achebe spoke again. "I heard that that man has children in America. I did not attend the funeral, so I should go on another holiday and visit them. Maybe bring something."
Dr. Coffey leaned forward. "That is an incredible idea, Achebe. If you feel like that's something you need, I fully support this."
Achebe laughed lightly. "I would likely miss a session, I hope you can live without me on a Thursday."
Dr. Coffey placed a hand on her chest, speaking in an overly-dramatic voice, "I don't know if my heart will take it, but I can try."
Achebe didn't hold back his laugh this time. Dr. Coffey laughed in return.
"Alright, alright, if you will live, I will go," Achebe said.
"Good," Dr. Coffey said, leaning back in her chair. "I feel like this will be good for you. Another important step to recovery is closure."
"I agree," Achebe said. "But now with that out of the way, I have more important news to tell you about the bakery!"
"Oh, do tell!" Dr. Coffey said, ready to listen.

Achebe sat in front of his laptop computer, looking at the checkout screen for a ticket to Portland, Maine. At his therapy session he spoke about it with conviction, but now that he was here he felt his hand waver. Memories of that evening came back to him, the blood splattered on his shirt, the sound of a body hitting the ground, the mugger's footsteps fading away in the distance.
What was the point of going back? Sure, he might get closure but he really wasn't sure if he needed it. He had already made a lot of progress; he wasn't going into a panic attack just thinking about that day! Surely he was completely fine!
He slowly moved the mouse cursor to exit, but hesitated again. Dr. Coffey seemed happy that he was doing this, and she hadn't lead him astray before. Maybe it was the right thing to do? His indecisiveness was killing him; he fell back in his seat with an audible groan. The laptop stared back, unfeeling.
Achebe wiped his chin and thought about what to do. Was this really the most important thing for him to do right now? He had success at the bakery, he was enjoying his life, he was happy… then he thought back on the dream.
Surely there must have been a reason that he had that dream. It all felt like there was a purposeful reason that he had that dream beyond it being the anniversary. He put his fists to his forehead and closed his eyes, thinking about the dream, replaying it in his head.
He wasn't quite sure what it was, but something felt clearer about it; like he could understand it more, understand what was going on. He knew that the voice behind him was a friend, and that the streets they were walking down were in America. He knew that the friend knew the old man, and that they were close, it and the old man.
He put down his hands and opened his eyes. It had to be a sign that he had to visit the old man's kids. He felt motivated to, like it actually was something he needed to do. He leaned forwards and moved the cursor. With a click, he bought the ticket.


"Hey, Daniel, wake up. Looks like we're almost there."
Upon hearing these words and feeling a light push on my arm, I opened my eyes, raising my head from the surface it had been resting for the past hours. Somethig heavy was leaning on my right thigh, and it felt like my whole face was covered in fabric.
Then it came back to me.
Mobile Task Force Lambda-5. Operation Hades' Gate. Truck.
Fully awake now, I felt my M4 carbine leaning on my thigh, my right arm clutching the lower receiver. I glanced to the left, to look at the other operatives in the truck. Brody sitting on my left, and two more guys in front of us, White and Jackson, both wearing Lambda-5's uniforms and balaclavas, with the Foundation and the MTF's symbol on their shoulders.
"Two minutes until deployment." Captain Marigold's voice came on the truck's speakers.
The mission wasn't that difficult, from what I understood. It looked like some civilian had found some form of underground structure in a quarry, and the things that popped outta there began killing the whole nearby town. We'd managed to stop that and pushed them back, and even gained some terrain inside their home. But apparently Command found something there that no one knew what to make of it. Took a while, but some higher-up thought it would be interesting if we brought in an "alternative" expert to take a look for them. Hence they wanted Skelly.
Huh, Skelly. Freaky SCP that one. We knew it called itself something else, but it was obvious someone would come up with that. To me, it didn't look that dangerous, if only a little odd. Wondered why we White Rabbits are the ones to put up with it. It wasn't like it had the habit of messing reality now and then. Still, orders were orders, and MTFs aren't there to doubt them.
When the truck came to a halt and the ramp opened up, the squad quickly marched out. First thing I saw when I stepped out was the medical tent. Two guys quickly entered it with an operative in a stretcher, his face all red and his right arm missing. Poor bastard, he was probably part of the initial response team. Hell, either that or more of those things were getting out of there. As we moved closer to the second squad's truck, I took a better look at the rest of the Forward Operations Base the Foundation had set up. Lots of barracks, supplies crates and command tents. Beside what looked like an improvised armory, I could see an M1 Abrams getting patched up. A few meters from where our trucks stopped, a helipad with a chopper getting ready for takeoff. And, of course, in the furthest corner of the quarry, a dark hole leading to whatever structure had been found.
Our eight-men squad assembled in the base's main square. Captain Marigold, the ninth member, stood there with his AK-47 on his back, looking pissed. As usual.
"Listen up, men!" He started. "The package should be coming in at any moment. From there on out, I want full vigilance on the subject!"
A few seconds later, a helicopter carrying what looked like a steel coffin hovered over the base, before quickly landing on one of the helipads. Two operatives in white uniforms stepped out of it, and proceeded to open the coffin. Once it was opened, Skelly stepped out of it.
"What a terrible voyage!" It said, as it adjusted its top hat and retrieved a cane from the box. Each operative then grabbed its arms and dragged it to the captain.
"It appears you are the man with whom I am supposed to cooperate in this assignment, good sir." Skelly said, restrained a few inches from Captain Marigold. "If I may introduce myself, sir, I am Dr. Robert Murth-"
"Alright, you listen to me, SCP-4586." The captain interrupted. "I don't fucking care about what you have to say about who you are. There are only two things you need to understand here. First: we'll bring you inside, you'll do exactly as we ask you to and we'll get you out of there. Second: You try and pull something on one of my guys here with that cane of yours, or just decide not to listen to us anymore and we light up your collar on max voltage. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly, sir." Skelly answered, after a few seconds of silence. Captain Marigold nodded to the two operatives, that released the SCP and returned to the chopper. He then turned to us:
"Alright, Gamma Squad, load your guns. We're going in!"

About three minutes later, we were standing inside the underground facility. The way through the hole hadn't been that remarkable, although I couldn't help but notice the intense smell of rust coming from the breached wall, after a few meters of rock. Who knew how long this thing had been down here? Brody muttered that we should have brought gas masks for this operation, but his complaints were silenced when we arrived at the facility.
The facility, or rather, the room that was breached, was immense. Rectangular in shape, with the ceiling forty —maybe fifty— meters high. Directly across the breach, there was this big, dark corridor, a few Foundation operatives guarding its entrance. On the left side of the room, there were more tents, most filled with researchers and computers. A single tent, probably an internal FOB, contained Foundation security personnel operating several communication devices.
The most remarkable thing, though, was on the right side of the room.
Dozens of lines, hell, maybe thousands of them, were etched on the wall, like circuits, shining with a red light. Every one of them began at pipes of varied sizes that either came from the ceiling, the floor or continued along the darkness of the corridor up ahead. The lines converged on a gleaming red circle in the uppermost part of the wall. A gigantic hexagon stood in the center of the circle, spinning clockwise. Occasionally, small bursts coming from the circle appeared to increase the light coming from the lines, almost as if an electric pulse had been sent by that red center. What the hell was that?
My attention was momentarily diverted by Brody ordering Skelly to get a move on. Apparently, the specimen had been staring at that wall since we entered the facility. I could swear that Skelly looked surprised, despite its emotionless skull. A few meters from the closest tent, a bald doctor wearing glasses, probably the Senior Researcher, approached Captain Marigold and shook his hand.
"Captain. Is this the specimen?" He said, pointing at Skelly.
"Yes, sir." The captain responded, gesturing at the SCP. "4586, come here!"
Skelly approached Captain Marigold, still glaring at the wall.
"This…this is phenomenal, sir!" It spoke, pointing the wooden cane in its right hand towards the circle. "I had never encountered a Runic Decoder of such magnitude in my lifetime!"
"A… Runic Decoder?" The researcher said, frowning at Skelly. "What's that?"
"A device of unimaginable power, doctor!" The specimen quickly responded, finally turning to face the researcher. "It is one of the beating hearts that sustains the Factory, that enables the crafting of the inconceivable!"
Skelly turned back to the wall, its left hand now on the cane's pommel, the other gesturing in the air. "I wonder how a Decoder of this scale was able to be built. Perhaps an employment of Akh'nul, distilled runic energy and- No, that would lead to unpredictable discharges… Even if that were to be corrected, there is still the matter of exposure… A reinforced layer could surely-"
Skelly stopped talking and lowered its hand. For a few seconds, it just stared at the wall, silent.
"Well, 4586, we are as eager to analyze this device as you are." The doctor said, breaking the silence and prompting Skelly to turn around. "We'd like you to assist us in any way possible."
Skelly turned back to face the wall, both of its hands now on the top of the cane. For a few seconds, the specimen kept tapping its right index finger repeatedly at the pommel, as if considering the doctor's request carefully.
"Of course, good doctor! It would be of my utmost pleasure." Skelly answered, quickly turning to the researcher. "However, I believe one would not find it much productive to merely listen to my seemingly incomprehensible thoughts. Were other mediums of communication available to me, your understanding of the complexity of this device would certainly improve, all factors taken into account."
"We'll get you paper to write on, SCP-4586." The researcher said, signaling to the staff in one of the tents.
"Marvelous, sir! I look forward to study this Decoder extensively." The SCP then turned to the wall once more, its only eye rapidly moving as if analysing all the lines at the same time.
Satisfied, Marigold turned to us and began shouting our orders: "Fredericks and Bauer, you two guard the entrance; White, Caldwell and Turner, you stay on the specimen; Norton, Brody and Jackson, make sure the SCP can't bolt straight to the corridor. Move it!"
Yes, sir, I couldn't wait to guard the furthest fucking place from the exit in this hellhole.

Brody, Jackson and I had either been staring at the emptiness of that dark corridor or glancing back to the research camp for about an hour. Not much had changed. We could see a lot of activity in the FOB, personnel moving around with tablets, technicians working on computers and a few officers talking on headsets. The research staff were working quite hard, trying to digitalize or just make sense of the notes Skelly was writing. Shit, they could barely keep up with how fast it was running through the paper they'd given it. Skelly moved around a lot, almost as if it was excited about the wall, whatever that thing was. At first, it looked like the Senior Researcher had been trying to keep up with Skelly's comments, but after a while he gave up and began sending another doctor to pick up the finished notes.
We spoke with the other guards in the area, and they pretty much laid out what was happening with the FOB: an hour or so before we arrived, the Foundation green-lit a plan to send an incursion team through the corridor to explore the rest of the facility. A few minutes later, though, they reported back saying they'd found a gate of sorts and couldn't continue without blowing it up. So they sent another team in with the explosives, but something happened with the load and they were trying to figure out how to get it to the target area without having to end their mission to detonate the payload.
Our mission was going quite well, I thought.
But in just a few minutes, everything went to shit.
We saw more intense activity in the FOB, as security personnel surrounded this technician operating a comm device. It looked like something'd happened with the first squad. Then another tech shouted for the commanding officer about "firearms discharge" in the second squad's position. The officer then ordered the soldiers in the area to take defensive position around the corridor's entrance.
"Captain?" Jackson said, his right hand on the comm in his helmet. "What do we do, sir?"
But before Captain Marigold could answer him, we heard this broken, high-pitched shriek coming from the depths of the corridor. For a few seconds, everyone just stared at the darkness, guns raised.
"Gamma Squad, form up and prepare for exfiltration." The captain slowly spoke on the comm.
We began walking towards Skelly's position, guns pointed at the corridor. However, as soon as we were just a few meters away from its entrance, a creature just lunged out of it. It looked like those we'd seen on the mission briefing, with three grotesque arms and twisted legs, but it had these rusted metal sheets over its skin. The head looked human, but it looked like it had been severely mutilated and sewn together with other pieces of skin.
With unnatural speed, the creature stood up and swatted one of the guards in the area, throwing him a few meters away, and prompting all personnel to open fire on it. For a few seconds, though, that thing endured the firepower, as the bullets hit the metal plates to no effect but the sound.
As we kept firing on the creature, two more jumped out of the corridor, with one of them landing on one of the soldiers preoccupied with the first creature, which now had begun to bolt towards another personnel. Now, we had three targets to shoot at.
Our MTF unit directed fire towards the first creature to have entered the room, as it was the closest to us. The initial hail of bullets probably weakened it, as a few seconds of concentrated fire took it down. Still, we it didn't change much, as another of those monsters had just marched into the room.
As we turned to support whatever security guards were still alive, Caldwell and White decided to flank the creatures in order to buy time for the research and tech personnel to flee the facility. While most of those things were still prety far from the outpost, one that had just exited the corridor lunged towards the FOB. Caldwell tried to hold his ground, perhaps thinking he could lay a shot at the creature's head, but it pinned him to the ground and used its arms to crush his torso. The thing then proceeded to lift one of the tables filled with electronic equipment and threw it right at our position.
"GET DOWN!" Turner shouted as all the squad just dived in multiple ways to escape the rectangular projectile.
As I stood up after having escaped the table, various tablets, phones and computers were still falling down. I quickly turned around to see how everyone else was doing, but it looked like they were all fine. Even Skelly, that was kneeling down on the floor, with its cane over its head, as if protecting its skull from the falling equipment, looked unscathed.
But as I looked back to the corridor, things were much worse than before. More of those things had marched in the room, and fewer than four soldiers were still trying to stop them. If we didn't move, they'd be on us in a matter of seconds.
"Captain! We gotta bounce!" White shouted, firing his M4 in full auto on the closest creature.
"Retreat!" Captain Marigold yelled, throwing a granade in the bulk of the three-arm creatures swarming into the room. "Extract the specimen at all costs!"
Turner, White and Skelly began running towards the entrance, with Bauer and Fredericks providing supporting fire. The captain, Brody and I also covered their exit. We couldn't see where Jackson was. The four remaining soldiers soon turned into two, then one. Then, it was just us.
We focused all our efforts in halting the nearest monster from bolting at us, with White and his Benelli shotgun being the most successful at it. Still, the second he ran of out shells, one of the creatures threw a dismembered body at him, effectively taking him out.
"Get the SCP outta here now!" The captain ordered as he discharged his magazine on the closest creature, which actually fell down quite rapidly. Still, as he approached the incoming group of monsters, one of them just picked him up from the ground and threw him on the wall with ease.
I was the last man between those things and the exit.
My M4 wouldn't hold them for long.
I quickly glanced behind me to look if the others were out yet. I couldn't see them, just a faint light coming from the end of the hole.
I could make it.
Just a few meters.
They won't get me in time
Fuck, was I wrong.
About a second after I turned around to sprint towards the exit, I felt a hand, more like a claw, gripping the back of my vest, and suddenly I was pulled backwards with unblievable force. For a few seconds, I was thrown off the ground. When I landed, I felt my left arm snapping and twisting. My ribs were also hurting like hell. The pain was impossible to bear.
The last thing I remember before passing out was the shriek of those creatures as they proceeded outside and the camp alarm going off.

When Dr. Robert Murthwallen regained consciousness, he found himself trapped on what appeared to be a container in a vehicle. He could not recall how he got there, as the last thing he remembered was the two soldiers dragging him out of that place. They probably shocked him with the collar to make haste, he ruled. That presented a complication to Dr. Murthwallen, since as he did not know how long he had been moving, he could not trace the location of the place he had just been to.
The wonders of that place still puzzled him. Where was that segment of the Factory located at? The Decoder there, it was different than the others he'd seen before. It displayed great resourcefulness, despite the many flaws in its design. Yet how was such an advaced version successfully assembled, considering the instability of the previous ones? Such questions now preoccupied the scientist's mind, as it meant his enemy had not remained idle. The Factory had evolved. Still, if imperfect, then perhaps there was still time to stop it. Hopefully.
While movement was restricted in his transporting chamber, Dr. Murthwallen managed to slide his right hand over his coat to check whether the electronic device he had picked up had not been removed from his person. As he carefully confirmed its presence in the coat's internal pocket, he wondered whether the soldiers had noticed him picking it up from the floor as they were dodging that incoming table. Ultimately, he concluded it to be unlikely, as their attention had mostly been directed towards the chaotic spawns of the Factory. Thus, the doctor couldn't help but feel a bit of joy concerning the prospect of tinkering with the device. His work, finally, could continue. Perhaps now was time to display a more cooperative attitude with the researchers, he wondered.
Escape, after all, was now only a few wires away.


by Captain Kirby

NOTICE FROM THE RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION
The following file does not exist.

Location of Interest: Where Death Used To Live (LoI-3448)
Exploration Team:

Joyce Michaels (J-1)
Joyce Michaels (J-2)
Me (J-3)
Joyce Michaels (J-4)

Mission Parameters: Locate Tony Michaels and return him to his body.
Additional Information: LoI-3448 is a conceptual representation of death. The rules of LoI-3448 are not well understood. The five senses do not operate in LoI-3448 as they do in baseline. This means that any and all sensory input could be hallucinatory or metaphorical.
Despite the urgent nature of this mission, you have all the time in the world, Joyce.

[BEGIN LOG]
J-1: Ok, we're in.
J-2: We got tiled floors, fluorescent lights, and a lot of chairs.
J-4: And more than a few… People Magazines? What is this, 2017?
J-1 jumps over an unattended counter and starts rifling through papers.
J-1: Looks like we have medical records, schedules for surgeries.
J-4: Hospital?
J-2: Definitely hospital. And this is the waiting room.
J-1: Were there always organs on the seats?
J-4: Of course, who else would be reading those magazines?
J-1: Right right. I think we've searched this room enough. We should split up down the four corridors to look for Tony. He has to be in the hospital somewhere.
J-2: I mean, as far as I can tell the hospital is all there is.
The group notices the lack of windows in the room.
J-1: Alright, I'll take this one, everyone else find your own.
J-1, J-2, and J-4 each enter corridors. J-3 takes a seat in one of the chairs and begins to rock back and forth.
J-2: This hall looks clean. None of the doors to operating rooms are open.
J-4: How long does this thing go on for? I swear I can see the end but I'm not getting any closer to it.
J-2: Tried knocking on one of the doors. No one answered.
J-4: Just walking and walking. That's all I'm doing.
J-2: I'm kicking now. Still no response.
J-4: There is no end.
J-2: No one can hear me.
J-2 and J-4: Its just me and infinity.
J-1: I found an open door.
J-2 and J-4: Where?
J-1: First door on my right.
J-2 and J-4: What is inside?
J-1: A bed, a body, and a heartbeat monitor.
J-2 and J-4: What is missing?
J-1: The doctor, the nurse, the will to go on.
J-2: No one can hear me.
J-4: The end is not nigh.
J-3 continues to rock back and forth in the waiting room. Her headphones are set to maximum volume.
J-1: The body's moving, just a little bit. It's breathing quickly.
J-2 and J-4: It's a nightmare.
J-1 approaches the body. It is emaciated and faces away from J-1. J-1 reaches out to touch the body.
Unidentified Voice: [from behind J-1] Don't wake it. Its dreams are much sweeter than the pain of waking.
J-1, J-2, and J-4 crumple to the floor. J-3 stands and bolts down the corridor out of the waiting room1 She stops running after fourteen minutes, in front of an open door. Just beyond the opening of the door is a garden full of daisies. A man is kneeling next to one of the flowers, slowly stroking it. Beside him is the mannequin shaped like the body of J-1.
J-3: T— Tony?
The man looks up.
Tony: I was wondering when you'd get here. C'mon, I have a garden here. It'd be a shame if you didn't get to see it.
Joyce takes a step into the garden, and then pauses. Tony flashes her a brief smile. She joins him on a walk through the garden.
Tony: Anything new?
Joyce: They told me you were dead.
Tony swallows.
Tony: I mean… they're only half wrong.
Joyce: I've been taking care of dad for a lot of the time.
Tony: How's he doing?
Joyce: Delusional, damaged, but still not dead.
Tony stops walking. Joyce stops as well. After a moment Tony embraces Joyce.
Tony: I'm so sorry… I'm sorry I didn't know what I was thinking or doing and I'm just sorry for all of this.
Joyce hugs Tony back.
Joyce: I know. I know. But you can save your apologies for a little later. We'll get you out, and you can apologize to dad and Emily yourself. We're getting you out of here.
Tony: Out?
Joyce: Yeah. We have a whole plan put in place. You're going to—
Tony releases Joyce and takes a few steps back. He gives her a confused look.
Tony: Wait… no.
Joyce: No?
Tony: No um… I'm not leaving.
Joyce: What do you mean you're not leaving?
Tony: I need to be here. I… I fucked things up, so I need to fix them.
Joyce: Fix it? You fucking shot death. You can't unshoot death. That little girl, or skeleton, or whatever the fuck that was is gone.
Tony: And I'm here! And I'm figuring it out!
Joyce: You…
Tony takes Joyce by the hand and leads her down the path.
Tony: C'mon. I've gotten started on something. Let me show you.
Joyce: Show me death?
Tony: Yes. Well… almost.
Tony continues down the hospital corridor, stopping in front of a room. There is a woman lying still in the hospital bed with her eyes closed. A heartbeat monitor shows a flat line.
Joyce: I'm not sure what I'm looking at.
Tony: It's a corpse, Joyce. She's dead. I found her bones and I buried them.
Tony pulls a red garden hoe from his back pocket.
Tony: I did it with this, and my bare hands. Now, she's pushing up daisies.
Joyce: You're… you're killing people?
Tony: I mean, I was. Not so much anymore. For some reason the damn thing stopped working.
Joyce: Stopped working?
Tony: Yeah.
Joyce: It's a garden hoe, Tony.
Tony: I don't know how it works! It just feels wrong now, like they're never ready yet.
Joyce: I— I don't get it.
Tony: I'm not going to leave. If no one's here, how can anyone be put to rest?
Joyce stares at the body for a moment, before turning around and storming back into the garden.
Tony: Joyce, wait!
Joyce: [to herself] Tony's supposed to come back with me. He's supposed to come home. Home. I want to go home.
Joyce is stopped in her tracks as she comes across J-2, J-4, and the mannequin of J-1.
J-2: Do you want to go home?
J-4: What about Tony?
J-1: What about the masses?
Joyce: But— but I'm not supposed to be here. Neither of us are. This place isn't for us.
J-2: Then what about the girl here before you?
J-4: Or the daisies?
J-1: Or the bugs?
Joyce's feet are now surrounded by burnt insect corpses.
Joyce: Wasn't the girl always here?
J-2: I don't know.
J-1, J-2, J-4: Was she?
Joyce: Of course she was. Death was always around.
J-1, J-2, J-4: Was it?
Joyce: Stop asking me!
Joyce drops to her knees, crushing the insect corpses on the ground. J-1, J-2, and J-4 continue talking, but no words can be made out. The world begins to spin.
And spin.
Unidentified Voice: Excuse me?
And spin.
Unidentified Voice: Miss? Excuse me?
And spin.
Unidentified Voice: [shouts] Miss!
Joyce looks up. She's now in a room made of compact dirt. There is no visible light source, despite the room being illuminated. In front of her stands a man-sized Teddy Bear.
Teddy Bear: Are you ok?
Joyce blinks.
Joyce: What is going on? Where am I?
Teddy Bear: There there. You've obviously been having a rough time.
Joyce: Where's Tony? Or the garden? Or the hospital?
Teddy Bear: It's all here. They're just taking a break, but they're not gone.
Joyce: What is death?
The Teddy Bear smiles, and then walks to the wall where it sits so its back is propped up. It pats the ground next to it, where Joyce takes a seat.
Teddy Bear: You know, Tony asked that question a lot. I'm not really any sort of authority on it all, being just a Teddy Bear, but after talking back and forth about death with him for a while, I think I have an answer.
Joyce rests her head against the shoulder of the Teddy Bear, and closes her eyes.
Teddy Bear: Death is nothing special really. It's just a book end. Life's a lot like a story, you see. It has an abrupt beginning, a long middle, and then an equally abrupt end. But pretty much every story has to come to some sort of end. If you don't finish the story, then it just goes on and on. It spirals out of control, and loses all focus. Now, some stories could use extra pages. While brevity is the soul of wit, not every story needs to be particularly sharp. Longevity gives opportunities to explore paths of the story that weren't around. But again, every story needs an ending. And that's all death really is. It's turning the final page. Putting the final period. It's putting down the pen.
Joyce: Then what is this place?
Teddy Bear: This is the place that enforces deadlines for the manuscripts. But it appears our communications are down. So the authors all think they have all the time in the world. Nothing is more chaotic than an author let off the leash.
Joyce rests against the Teddy Bear for a little while longer.
Joyce: That's a nice way to think about it. Even if it doesn't really answer the question.
Teddy Bear: Sometimes accuracy isn't the most important part of the answer.
Joyce: This place never really made sense in the first place.
Teddy Bear: Sometimes things are never supposed to make sense. And you know what we call those things?
Joyce: What?
Tony: Anomalies.
Joyce opens her eyes. She is back in the garden, resting her head on Tony's lap.
Tony: You sleep well?
Joyce: Not particularly.
Tony: Well, are you staying around here? Or are you going to go back home?
Joyce: I'm… I'm not entirely sure.
Tony: That's fine. I don't think either of us are in much of a rush. If you're going to stick around for a bit, I could use your help.
Joyce: My help?
Tony: I mean, yeah. You were always the smartest one of us. And I— I want to fix things. I don't know if I can, but I want to try damn it.
Joyce: I… I don't know.
Tony: I want to help dad.
Joyce nods, and then sits up.
Joyce: I can try, I guess… you said something about your hoe not working. Can you describe that a little more?
Tony: Well… I mean ok. It's kind of confusing to me, I guess. Sometimes I can sort of just, feel it pull me toward the bones. I then bury the bones, and then in a few days a daisy grows.
Joyce: So its like you can feel when someone is dying?
Tony: Yeah. Almost as if I'm killing them myself.
Joyce: [to herself] Killing them yourself…
Tony: Joyce?
Joyce: You had a knife that dad gave you, right?
Tony: Yeah, I carried around pretty much everywhere after I joined the Foundation. Why do you ask?
Joyce: Mhmm… I— I might have an idea. Can you help me with maybe talking to Emily?
Tony: Of course!
Joyce: Let's see if we can help dad. Then I'm busting you out of here.
[END LOG]

Red Right Hand After Action Report

Upon raiding the CI facility, we found Foundation-issued equipment and also computers linked to SCiPNet. This place must have either defected, or was raided and then was swiftly deleted from the system. There was ample evidence that the facility had been evacuated no more than six hours prior to our arrival. Luckily by examining the session information on the machine, we have determined that two of the individuals who escaped are Foundation personnel. Specifically Dr. Emily Young, and Dr. Jared Helburg.
Additionally, we discovered a large machine in the back room which appears to have been the source of any anomalous activity. Inside the machine lay one cadaver, and one individual outfitted with an AR Buteo Series Mechanical Exoskeleton. Additionally, we recovered the following report from the machine:

SCP-3448 Day 40,095 Imaging Results
<8:44 — 8:52> Four identical women awake in a hospital. They speak for a while before going down separate hallways except for one who remains in the waiting room, and puts on headphones.
<10:22 — 10:56> One of the women walks with a man down a path in a garden surrounded by daisies.
<11:46 — 12:01> Static.
<12:01 — 12:37> A woman speaks to a teddy bear in a dirt room. The teddy bear does not seem to respond to the woman.
<14:37 — 14:46> The woman and the man are motioning to a garden hoe and a knife. When the woman brings them closer together, the hoe appears to melt into the knife.
<15:26 — 15:31> The woman and the man shout at each other, each occasionally motioning to a teddy bear lying on the ground.
<15:51 — 16:07> The woman is now wearing a stethoscope, which the man examines.
<16:37 — 18:03> Static.
<19:03 — 19:30> The woman sitting on front of a hospital bed staring at the patient. The patient is an elderly man, and rests his head on one pillow, while clutching the other close to his chest.

Notably, the cadaver within the machine and the woman outfitted with the Buteo Exoskeleton were identical to individuals shown in any images displayed by the machine, except the man did not possess a knife or a garden hoe, and the woman did not possess a stethoscope, or headphones.
To ensure that this facility could not be utilized for malicious purposes in the future, the facility was razed under the cover story of the building not being up to city health standards. Scans of the building show that this did not result in the termination of either cadaver found within the building, which is to be expected.
Command was immediately notified of the identity of the two defectors, and dispatched MTF Iota-10 to recover these individuals.

Project Damnerung

End of Death

From The Clutches Of Life

Footnotes
1. Two of the hallways from earlier are no longer present.