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"Hello, 5117!"
Trauss rolls over, feeling heavy and slow-moving as his hairless skin brushes against strangely textured bedding. He groans and sits upright, looking ahead. "Four," he adds.
"Hello, 51174!" the chipper, androgynous voice repeats from directly in front of him.
He squints, trying to discern how there could be a human or android hiding in the mix of shadows and fluorescent lighting accents.
"My designation is Λ12, but you can just call me Λ or 12," it dictates, flashing its lights from white to green. "Can you see me now?"
Trauss refocuses his eyes, now noticing the black metal sphere hovering two meters from his face, seven green LEDs forming a circle on its surface and facing him. He relaxes, recognizing its design somewhat from the later years on Earth. "Lambda-12? I used to be on a task force named Lambda-12."
"I know!" it chirps, its voice ringing around the steel-walled room. "In fact, I myself am comprised of-"
"Lower volume," he interrupts.
It simulates a cough. "I am sapient, Agent Trauss," it says in a level tone. "I was just messing with you."
He furrows his brow and pulls the bedding up to cover his bare body, everything below his chest slowly regaining sensation. "Uh, sorry. Are you here to give me orders?"
"No, I am here to annoy you, mostly." It hovers alongside the bed and turns to face the wall, projecting an image of the Foundation logo in yellow out of a slot above its light array. "Oh, my. It looks like my streaming speed has been compromised. Damn this interference. One moment."
Trauss stares intently at the image, the fog in his head clearing over the next several seconds. He shudders as his pulse increases. "Λ, can you tell me about this chip in my head, please?"
"You have the PII N4, or the Personnel Identification Implant with Nanoscopic Neural Network V2.0, currently running active script 51174.edk with the following extensions and modifications: A32-004 Emotional Regulator Peripheral; A32-005 Tactile Response Peripheral; A42-006 Memetic Processing Peripheral…"
Trauss puts his head in his hands as the robot rattles off all the aspects of his brain function that are out of his control. The projected image on the wall changes to a loading bar, which progresses from 0 to 100 percent over the next 15 seconds.
"You are aware that most people do not want to stay in this part of the galaxy, correct?"
"Because of the war, yes."
"Last month, GLX-46 was bombed."
"I'm assuming that's in Andromeda?"
"Yes. It is a planet with an atmosphere rich in oxygen and nitrogen, covered 80 percent by water. The dominant native species there is most easily described as a sapient arthropod. The largest city on it was recently bombed by Twelve Stars forces, signalling the first hostile action taken by Twelve Stars in the Milky Way or Andromeda Galaxies."
"I see."
"Luckily you won't be dealing with any of that. Your task in this picture is information." Λ changes the slide to an image of a humanoid entity with cephalopodic facial features, its eyes two quarter-sized, phosphorescent yellow orbs. In the background, a male human in a suit raises his middle finger to the photographer. "This is Xyreaux. They don't have a last name, or maybe that is their last name." Λ flips to the next slide, spending several seconds on each image of the individual. "They work for Marshall, Carter, and Dark, and they developed a rather dangerous peripheral for Schulman devices. Do you want the file?"
"Uh, sure?"
Λ pauses, whirring. Trauss notices nothing.
"Alright, there you go," it says.
He looks around. "You- what?"
"I put it in you. In ED-K++. Think about it." It beeps once and quickly flashes its light array from green to blue and back again.
"…Xyreaux-Schulman Extension Components?" he cites, considering the information that is now inexplicably present in his head. He knows the full text of the document now, and spends several seconds pondering it.
"If you don't need that after this mission's over, let me know and I will remove it."
"Why is a chunk of this file missing?"
"It appeared to be behind a security permission, and was not able to be extracted from their database with the rest of the file. We have the primary details of the device, however, which is all that you need."
Trauss swings his legs over the bed and stands up, inner ear spinning but vision stable. He stands and puts a hand over his — he pauses — dick, complete with balls?
"Is something wrong?"
"I had surgery? Or- I-"
"Personnel records state that you are transgender, correct?"
"Yeah-"
"Well, Private Medical Department Note 04, added July 09 2041 in your personnel file states that Lunar Area-32 medical personnel opted to address your genital dysphoria more directly when synthesizing this body. That is what you would have wanted, correct?"
"What the fuck," he murmurs. "I suppose." He anticipates another sentence, but cuts himself short and shuffles toward the closet instead, reminding himself that he had intended to keep personal relations to a minimum on this excursion.
'This excursion.' This trip, mission, or otherwise temporary occurrence, because he would be going back to Earth, or Area-32, or somewhere else relatively familiar at some point. Right?
"There is a jumpsuit in the closet," Λ tells him, not averting its gaze from the projected image of Xyreaux.
He opens the closet, his thoughts catching up to him. His limbs move haphazardly in the low gravity, hands shaking; he isn't certain of where he is — or the date and time and how old he is — or where he's supposed to go other than here. He slides a pair of tight boxers on and grimaces as he wriggles into the stretchy material of the jumpsuit. It's exactly the shade of gray he expected it'd be, though the lack of Foundation logo present anywhere on it is a surprise.
"Shall I continue, Agent Trauss? It is important to discuss your mission."
"Can I eat first? I'm sorry, all this biological shit that's been happening is starting to catch up to me."
It beeps twice. "Oh, certainly. I will walk and talk, so to speak. Let's go look in the kitchen." Λ turns the projector off and changes its lights from green to orange as it hovers past him. The door slides open with a quiet hissing sound.
"Kitchen, huh?" Trauss follows it. "Where is this?" He takes in the details of the hallway: narrow, too many pipes and wires lining the corners and upper third of the wall, overlit with white halogen, and walled with some sort of porous gray block. He makes a beeline for the water cooler as soon as he enters the kitchen.
"We are in Kuiper Belt Outpost Red Zeta, a small facility capable of housing a max of five personnel. You were transported here in an unconscious state by Lunar Area-32 personnel for the sake of brevity. Once you are ready, we will proceed to the lower floor so that you may enter Point of Interest Zeta-01."
Trauss exhales hard, hoping afterward that Λ isn't programmed to interpret mannerisms like that; he expects its disjointed records citation voice is going to irritate him at some point, but he doubts the machine can control it. "Tracking MC&D guys like Xyreaux, right? That's what the directive said."
"Correct to a degree. They took action sooner than expected, and as such, Directive A-42 is no longer entirely accurate. Rather than tracking their personal activity, we now know the result of their activity, and you need to steal that result."
He pauses. "I just need to steal one of those things? Is that really all I came out here for?"
"I understand it may seem too simple. I know that your superiors will give you further orders regarding where to deliver the device within the next 20 hours. You will have to be careful; Zeta-01 is a nexus of anomalous activity, foreign species with foreign biology, general lawlessness, credit fraud and 'multi-level marketing', dangerous gas pockets…"
"…Uh-huh. Alright. I'll watch my back." He opens one of the steel cabinets, his face sinking when he sees the contents. "I guess it's MREs for breakfast, then. Not sure what I expected."
Λ continues as Trauss peels apart the wrapper. "As you saw in the document, Xyreaux's progress is essentially dependent upon Schulman traveling to Zeta-01. Furthermore, you can eat there too, you know. It is an oxygen-rich atmosphere with plenty of human inhabitants. There is plenty of normal human food for humans."
He wheezes. "Alright, good." He takes a bite of whatever the preserved meal is supposed to be, wincing.
Λ turns its projector back on and faces the empty wall, presenting the old image of Xyreaux. It changes to a shot of a black door under a purple awning on a crowded, dirty street, a human in a black suit and earpiece standing guard outside as muted neon reflects off an iridescent puddle at their feet. "This is the Hitchhiker's Lounge, owned and operated by MC&D. Xyreaux is a bartender here."
"'Hitchhiker's'? Intentional reference, do you think?"
"I do not follow."
"Darn. Call it an Earth reference, I guess." He wonders how many times he's going to be saying that in the future. "So I need to hit the bar, huh?"
It changes to a zoomed-in, torso-up shot of Xyreaux entering a door in the alley, looking over their shoulder. "Correct." Λ flashes its lights and spins a few times, seemingly for no reason. "And no credit cards, no names; you've been allotted 600 SOL in cash, so you're just going to duck into Zeta-01, look around, buy some clothes, look the part — uh, which can look like pretty much anything that isn't a recognizable uniform when it comes to the cultural standards in Zeta-01, but don't be too ostentatious — and duck back out."
"What? Why do I have to be seen? And how am I supposed to just steal one of these?"
It simulates a laugh. "Zeta-01 is not friendly to stealth. It is far too crowded and well-lit. You need to talk and interact. Tell Xyreaux you are an MC&D employee interested in funding further development, if needed. Make up a name. Perhaps meet up with one of the three subjects mentioned in the document if you do not want to do that, and use a similar cover. You have freedom of choice with how you want to go about this; the area is extremely populated, and no one has time to be very suspicious of one another on a large scale. If you are careful, it will be completely feasible."
He turns around to face the mirrored surface of the wall behind him. "I don't look inconspicuous. I don't even have eyebrows. Where is my hair?"
"Growing! Be patient. It will only take one week per centimeter of growth for your head and facial hair, and there are plenty of alternative-looking humans in the area regardless."
Trauss finishes the dried meat(?) hastily, surprised by how it seems to be expanding in his stomach. He stands up and approaches the cabinet again.
"That was 1250 calories, 20 grams protein. You may want to give it a minute to settle."
"Oh." He harrumphs and walks back down the hallway into the bedroom.
"There are plainclothes in the closet." Λ follows him, rotating slowly. "But you need to put that high-pressure uniform on over them. You will be entering and exiting an extradimensional rift."
"Fun."
"Indeed. All entrances are inside cavernous natural formations in rock, so do not worry about anyone seeing you enter."
"All entrances?" He strips his jumpsuit off and grabs the plain khaki pants and white tank off the closet shelf.
"Indeed. To our understanding, this portal is the only one in the Milky Way. It was the only one that showed up in scans, certainly. We are on a large ice asteroid right now, though a stably spinning one. The portal is accessible in the containment chamber at the base of that stairwell at the end of the hall."
"Whew. Alright." He grunts and bends over to pick up the 20-something-pound pressure suit off the floor of the closet. He wriggles into it, straining against the weight.
"Okay." He shakes his head by force of habit before noticing again that his hair is gone. "Let me just drink some water and then I'm good to go."
"Fast and efficient as usual."
"Do I have anything? Gun?"
"No lethal force. Not right now, at least. But there is a silent shock baton in the leg pocket of that suit, in case anyone tries anything. Next to your wallet. As I said, there are no laws. However, relative social order is appreciated there, as it is good for the many businesses. Crime is not rampant in the most populated streets."
"How big is this place?"
"The size of Manhattan Borough, New York City, New York, United-"
"Got it." Trauss walks back into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator.
"No cold water! You will get cramps!"
"Oh my god," he says, drinking it anyway. Λ spins in a few tight circles, beeping lowly.
"Do not go down there without your helmet on," it tells him as he brushes past it and into the hallway. "You will just leave that suit neatly stacked by the entrance when you arrive. Resonance imaging has indicated this portal is two-way, with no interfering connections."
"Are you coming?" he asks as he dons the helmet, zipping it onto the collar of the suit and locking the mechanism in place. He reaches down and zips the base of the legs onto his boots, struggling with the smaller locks.
"Sadly, I am not. I will be speaking to you via your implants. I would be rather out-of-place, and we cannot risk someone recognizing my design as Foundation."
"Understood." His voice is muffled through the helmet as he exits the room, his shoes thumping on the concrete. He approaches a closed door with a keypad and turns to face Λ. The robot moves forward in response, touching its light array against the pad. It retreats behind him as the door slides open, letting in a slow-moving wall of frigid air.
"In case it goes without saying, do not remove that pressure suit until you're inside Zeta-01."
"Right."
"Exit and crawl down into that tunnel for 10.5 meters. You will see a visual anomaly obscuring the color and details of the surface the tunnel drops out onto. Climb down and gently fall onto the surface. You will pass through it and land in a rocky area, likely in the dark. Your headlamp is activated with the white button on your left wrist. You can remove your suit as soon as you feel safe."
"Okay. Got it. And when I come back, I assume I'll be able to just climb up?"
"Yes. If not, there are hardware stores that sell ladders."
He looks over his shoulder. "Are you joking?"
"No. Again, it is a civilized area, and plenty of the species there have more than two limbs and cannot fly."
He nods and continues walking until he has to get on his hands and knees, Λ's chirping fading out behind him. He hears the robot slide the door shut as he rounds a corner. He's not sure if the material surrounding him is rock or dense ice, but it's light gray and scrapes against the rough material of his suit. He lowers his head, breath fogging the visor as the suit acclimates to the temperature change.
After one more curve and a slippery downward climb, he braces himself against a small outcropping of ice above the circular cave floor below him. He leans over, studying the perceptual anomaly signifying the portal's presence; the texture of the ice is gone, the surface looking like a poorly rendered object in digital space. He rotates his lower body off the ledge and drops down, expecting that he's not touching the portal but preparing himself to fall nonetheless. He lands silently on the ice. With slow movements, he taps his foot against and then into the edge near him, feeling nothing.
'All entrances are inside cavernous natural formations in rock, so do not worry about anyone seeing you enter.' He shakes off his nervousness, attributing it to the foreign environment. He sits on the edge and slides both his legs in. Still nothing. He takes a deep breath and pushes off.
Not a second after he passes through, the other side is visible; he drops neatly from a hole in the natural rock ceiling of the Hitchhiker's Lounge, landing squarely on his feet and jarring his bones. The floor creaks underneath him as he slowly raises his head to the faces of various species looking at him.
The bartender turns around, yellow eyes gleaming in the purple and blue spotlights of the disco ball. "Hey!" Xyreaux croaks, his voice monotone and gravelly. He slams a drink onto the wood counter before retracting several tendrils back into his clothing. "That entrance is VIP only."

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“You're definitely not allowed to smoke weed, right?”
“I don't think my moms would be cool with it.”
“Did you smoke weed, you know, before?”
“Yeah.”
“It's probably better you don't.”
“I don't even really know how I'd do it now.”
“Yeah.”
Jude was sort of a fun babysitter. It was weird for Heather to think of him like that. He really just kept her company when the moms were away, more than anything. But that didn't change the reality of what he was.
Not really a babysitter, maybe. More like a bodyguard. The janitors had her once before, after all. And Jude was as good a babysitter as anyone else. He let her do whatever she wanted, for one thing. The other thing was that he was undoubtedly the most magic man that she had ever known.
“Hey, wanna see something cool,” he said, leaning forward and holding out his hand. He attempted to snap his fingers a few times before it took. In his fingers, hovering just above was a flame of entrancing color. It ran through the rainbow with some colors that she could barely recognize, and it reminded her of those Magic Eye books that her grandma had all over the house.
And then he said, “Fuck, shit.” And the flame went out. His fingers were red. Blistered. He shoved them into his mouth.
“You burnt yourself?”
He nodded.
“Do you want some aloe vera or something?”
“Please,” Jude said from between his fingers.

It had been days since he had slept well. Or slept at all. Remember the true sensation of sleeping, even. He tried to think about anything. No eyes to close.
In between the narratives, things weren't exactly cold or hot. Cold implied lack of heat, lack of energy, but this was nothing. It was something else. An unmade void. A rawness that blotted out all thought and sensation. A maddening fluting, a dull roar of silence, a kind of cacophony that was heard in the eyes, in the place the eyes were. No eyes to close.
No throat to open.
So when he felt the wings of the cicadas against his essence, it was something different altogether. In that moment, he did not think. He simply was not. It didn't sense him. Couldn't see him. Without eyes to see, without any sense to be.
In proximity to it, in that world where ideas bled together, the creature's being crept into his. Overrode what had come to be his thoughts in this No Land. Proximity bred familiarity of an intense kind, and the sensation was nothing he had ever felt.
Hunger. Loneliness. Longing. The battering of wings caught between window screen and glass. Piece of stained glass, broken off from the whole. Tinkling and darkling and tincting, a musical kaleidoscope that made him want to scream.
Adamo didn't scream.
Screaming was meaningless when your mouth was only kind of there. Narratively there, sure, but not bodily there. It made noise, but no sound came out. The noise was not sound, just the description of the sound.
The cicada thing was alone. But it didn't want it to be. It didn't have to be alone. Between worlds. Only recently did it learn sapience. Learned to put its word together to form coherent thoughts, to explain its own loneliness and also its sacred nature.
Cousin Johnny. A name. He caught it and mulled around it. SCP-2852. It had heard both names. One much more common, the other special.
He couldn't say he ever worked with it. But that sounded about right. He saw flashes of commandos in their armor breaking through churches to stop a bearded man from doing horrible things. Well, that made sense.
But beyond that, he saw something worse.
A part of something greater. A small chunk that didn't get locked away properly. A messianic figure to awaken the whole. A son, if Jesus were spat out. Not an abortion, but not exactly orphaned and alive. It had a scent.
Something that had closed off a greater whole when it came together. An end to be its beginning. Or was it going to try to stop the end? To the thing, it seemed like both were the same. A cicada lives in the ground for years. Death and rebirth and the shells crinkle like spent leaves underneath heavy-heeled boots.
And then it flew.
Adamo did not move for the longest time. It had been mingled with him for far too long, and he was unsure if it noticed. Maybe, he hoped, it was too big to notice something so small. A raindrop within an ocean. He hoped.
Nothing it felt was good. Adamo hadn't tried in such a very long time, but in the wake of something with untold weight, he slid into a slipstream.
From out of the raw void, Adamo poked himself outward. And he reached out, grasping. A girl. Heather Mason. SCP-3090. Gamers Against Weed.
Close enough, he thought.
Adamo stepped forward and found himself staring at a television head propped on the neck of a teenage girl. His face, perplexed, sweaty, alien yet so familiar so beautiful in a way that grounded him like nothing else had in so long.
“Hey,” he said, just as she said, “Who are you?”

Heather couldn't find any aloe vera, but she had found some anti-bacterial ointment in case the stoned fool had hurt himself too badly. She could smell the sharp, piney scent of the marijuana through the closed door.
She heard him coughing and hacking, sputtering and gagging.
In the mirror, the girl with the television for a head saw a man staring back at her. This wasn't a dysphoria thing, though. He was older than she ever was. Kind of weird looking, really. Not ugly, but his eyes were wild and squinted. Wrinkles, premature by the look of his dark hair, lined his face deep in cuts like burrows, like an ant farm.
“Who are you?” she said, just as he said, “Hey.”
The coughing continued. It was worrying, certainly, but she had gotten used to so many weird things in her time, however brief, as the daughter of Andressa and Dahlia.
“I'm a doctor. From the SCP Foundation. You remember what that is, right?”
Heather leaned forward, making out every individual detail of the weird man. He was definitely there. That wasn't in question. It definitely wasn't some kind of psychosis or something. His words reverberated like it was real. Faint echo of speaking in a bathroom. And why would she imagine someone like that? He didn't look like any of the doctors who had studied her and shit when she lived there.
Also he was kind of ugly, truth be told.
“You guys kidnapped me and kept me from my moms for, like, a long time. Can't say I'm a big fan of your work, old man.”
“Alright, listen. Yes, we probably did that. I don't, I don't have time to argue with you.”
“Fuck you, dude.”
He sighed. Dramatically. He sighed like a dad. He sighed like her old dad. Like someone dealing with the most obnoxious little whiner in the world. Like someone dealing with a fucking liar.
Jude coughed in the living room. He hacked and hacked. But still, she could hear the pauses where he flicked the lighter and brought more into his lungs. The man was, if anything, an absolute fiend for it.
“Is someone dying in the next room?”
“No. My friend's smoking.” Heather picked up the ointment. “So why are you here again?”
He took a breath. The man inside the screen of her face looked older than anyone she had ever seen, really. But it wasn't like he was elderly. It looked like he had been strained and pulled apart. Like taffy, endlessly being sent through some cartoon Rube Goldberg taffy puller.
Or something.
“Something big is trying to reach something else very big. I don't have time for the long explanation. Something with, I think, the capability of infesting an entire theology is trying to get itself birthed. And what I need is a way to contact the Foundation so they can protect against this.”
“Oh, wild.”
A pause, and then, “Look, I know you have your issues with us. I totally understand why. But something, a scent, brought me here for a reason. And I think this might be the best, uh, thread for me to take to reach them. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I do.” She took a breath. “How do I know your dudes aren't just gonna take me back if I help you?”
“You don't.”
“I don't. That's not helping.”
“What I mean is,” and he sighed. He brought his hand up to his face, seemingly momentarily startled that he had a hand before applying it to his brow. “What I mean is, if you don't do this, I don't think the Foundation taking you back will matter. I think you'll possibly be unmade. Or in a world of torture. Ever see Hellraiser?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The coughing was louder. Spitting. Like he was throwing up. He probably was, actually, vomiting, actually. A splatter. And then another.
“Check on him. Something's wrong.”
And Heather, feeling unsteady, feeling just a little topheavy thanks to her head. Sure, it didn't have an extraordinary amount of weight to it, really, surprisingly. But it felt like, well, like Smalls was in there with her.
Jude was retching on the living room table. Cicadas fell from his mouth. Some half-eaten, wriggling. Others were sliding out from shells. Molting. Pieces of shell. Antennae. Wings. Bits of the bug in a puddle of saliva. And half-eaten whatevers. Gross. All gross.
“Oh God,” said Smalls. “I'm an idiot.”
His hair was greying. Then going to a nearly shock white. And he was gaining weight. A lot of weight, actually. Bones snapping as he lost height. Not a lot. Just a little. Beard hairs, black then grey then white, burst forth from the follicles on his face, shooting forth then pulling back to something more manageable, something more clean. Moans of pain and confusion and disgust became the cry of cicadas. So many. Like a room full of them.
The beast that was a man smiled, and it pointed a pudgy finger at the teen girl with the television for a head and the middle-aged man that stared out from her screen.
“Can't believe you didn't even lead me to the right one. I thought for sure I'd come into something usable. But this?” And it chuckled. The sound of dry skin rasping against dead snake's skin. Dry beads cascading down the length of wood. “Shit, boy. If I knew you were so stupid, I'd've killed you the second you thought you could hide from something like me.”
“Are you okay, Jude?” Heather said. Fear trembled in her voice. But it was important to be brave. This was a lot, yes, but they were friends. Friends against weed.
“He isn't. But, maybe he is. Haven't decided.” Its eyes weren't right. Heather couldn't say why. But it was wrong. Like painted on eyes. Doll's eyes. A cheap doll's eyes. What did he do to Jude's eyes? What happened to Jude's eyes?
It walked in a way that was boneless. She pulled back, inching. It was slow. She slid back. She slid further and further back. Around chairs. Around an upended table. He followed.

Smalls felt real fear in what was once his body. Fear like a phantom limb.
“You're not a god. You're not God. I don't know what thing you fell off from, but you're in the wrong body. This isn't the one that contained you.”
Cousin Johnny tilted its head. Its white hair was almost coiffed. Thinning just a little bit. But it was the hair of a man who cared greatly about his appearance. Not a strand was out of place. “Does either matter?” Another laugh, and this one a little like a roar. The sound of thunder filtered through a bug. The sound of chitinous maws in hunger, in great hunger. And so big. Too big.
Smalls blinked. He steadied the girl and himself as much as he could. It was intimidating to be around something like this. Its narrative power was too great. Like a black hole, it drew things into it. Even light couldn't escape. So there was no running.
He wished that he could run. Deep down. But he did not. Smalls reached out into the no place he had so recently been. He took out the rawness. And the former researcher of the Foundation shared this power, this narrative cognizance with the object-headed girl from Gamers Against Weed.
“You're not even the abortion of something confused and old,” he said.
“You're forgotten by your mother, by your father, because you aren't,” she said.
“There is no greater reason for you to exist. You are a rough draft. An unfinished point of something greater. You are not part of it. Not its child, but its predecessor. You are randomness. You are shock and awe,” they said.
Cousin Johnny only smiled.
“Let me tell you a story,” said the thing with the skin of a man.
“Four blind men came to an elephant. They did not know the elephant. They didn't know what kind of a creature it was.
“The first man, he took hold of the elephant's trunk, and he said that an elephant was like a great serpent.
“The second man, why he felt the elephant's foot, and said that an elephant was a type of pillar. A supporter of great weight.
“The third man took hold of the elephant's torso, and he said that an elephant was a kind of boulder. Not the supporter, but the great weight itself.
“And the fourth man, he took a hold of that elephant's balls, and he said 'I don't know what that was, but it smells a lot like my wife when she comes home.'”
Cousin Johnny guffawed.
“It doesn't matter what I was, little boy and littler girl. What matters is what I believe. Any story is just an attempt at describing some part of the Infinite, isn't it?” It bent down to right the upended table. “And what am I, if not that?”
“You're nothing,” Smalls said.
“I might be. I could be a lot of things. Small things. Big things. It doesn't matter what I was. It doesn't matter who I wasn't. What matters is that I'm becoming, little ones. What matters is that I'm the monster. I'm the monster that comes out when you think your God takes away the crops. I'm the monster that takes your teeth away when you get old then older. I'm your body's betrayal.”
“You're a monster,” said Heather. She held out her hand. Like it would do something. Like it could do anything in the face of that.
“I believe I just said that.” And he turned to the mirror above the mantle place. He placed his palm on it. As though he liked the cool. “I think that you two aren't listening. I think that we're at an impasse. And you know what I think about that?”
“What?” Smalls whispered.
Cousin Johnny turned and opened his mouth. Cicadas flew and clawed out, in mid-transition between larva and something greater. His maw was wide and toothsome. The cicadas, a haze, and they flew into Heather's television. All of them one by one, parting the screen as though it were the surface of a pond.
Their wings glittered iridescent. Like Jude's flame.
Smalls screamed. Heather fell. The world went black.

Jude woke Heather up after he had cleaned the vomit. He had righted the chairs. There were no cicadas or parts of cicadas anywhere. If asked, he would not remember.
“Are you okay?” was what she asked when awakened.
She could not explain why.
Jude and Heather did not laugh much the rest of the evening. But they sat together on the couch, and they tried their best to be a happy family. An uncle and his niece. She didn't know why, but he suggested they watch Hellraiser.
It felt too familiar to her, for reasons she couldn't place. But she liked it. She liked it a lot.

Hi! My competitors, in this the holiest of OC contests, have also written some great tales you should check out!
Lt Flops' is here.
Decibelles' is here. Give 'em a read.

Tyrone Joins The Family → This Tale


FADE IN:
INT. APARTMENT - EVENING
As the camera fades in, we get a glimpse of the apartment. It is very small, but in a comfy way. The walls are mustard-yellow, but you wouldn't be able to tell just by looking because posters with pictures of a new popular K-Pop band cover at least 90% of the wall. A milk jug filled with a Mountain Dew-colored substance slowly drifts across the ceiling.
The camera pans left. The milk jug drifts out of frame and a desk comes in. On this desk is a cage, with a domestic rabbit inside looking as bored as rabbits are capable of looking. The rabbit is white, with puffy fur billowing from all sides. A person without a knack for describing animals might compare it to a cotton ball, which is why its owner has decided to bless it with the name COTTONBALL.
10 seconds later, the door to the apartment opens quietly. COTTONBALL does not react. The door-opener comes into frame, quickly shuts the door, and then before the door's echo fades she is at COTTONBALL's cage, letting the viewer see her clearly.
JUNIOR RESEARCHER

HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL BUNNY!!!!!

This is JUNIOR RESEARCHER, and although she doesn't have a name in her limited canonical appearances, that doesn't mean she doesn't have a personality. She has normal length hair that is clearly taken care of, but is unfortunately cursed with never looking it, and her face is arranged in a way that is not conventionally attractive, but acceptable to look at. Her body is not exactly skinny, but not fat by any polite stretch of the word. She is carrying an opaque bag that will be important later.
JUNIOR RESEARCHER continues cooing at COTTONBALL.
JUNIOR RESEARCHER

(in cutesy voice)
Who's the most beautiful bunny?? Is it you? It is you! Awwww, bun bun bun bun bun~

COTTONBALL is unresponsive.
JUNIOR RESEARCHER

I am going to pet you right now

JUNIOR RESEARCHER pets COTTONBALL.
The pet lasts for a while. COTTONBALL is unresponsive. JUNIOR RESEARCHER, however, is clearly pleased as she stops giving pets.
JUNIOR RESEARCHER

(excitedly)
Guess what I got you?????

JUNIOR RESEARCHER reaches into the aforementioned bag and pulls out a pair of 12cm wide pink earmuffs. She rubs her hands on them and feels how soft they are. She is making a subtle "wow, that's soft" face.
JUNIOR RESEARCHER

I got you these ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL earmuffs to put on my ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL boy!

JUNIOR RESEARCHER opens COTTONBALL's cage and lifts COTTONBALL out, slowly. She carefully sets him on the desk, next to some unfinished reports. COTTONBALL steps on a report for an SCP that isn't released yet, but JUNIOR RESEARCHER quickly lifts him up and repositions him to an empty spot. COTTONBALL decides to just accept whatever this is.
JUNIOR RESEARCHER puts the earmuffs onto COTTONBALL. They fit suprisingly well around COTTONBALL's ears considering they were designed for humans.
JUNIOR RESEARCHER

Oh my gosh you look so cute in those!! Let me get a picture…

COTTONBALL collapses into an infinitely small point.
The earmuffs succumb to gravity and hit the desk. JUNIOR RESEARCHER picks them up. A deafening silence fills the room.

JUNIOR RESEARCHER

what the fuck

FADE OUT.

Item Description: A set of 12 cm wide pink earmuffs. When worn by any member of the Oryctolagus cuniculus (domestic rabbit) species, said rabbit will collapse into an infinitely small point and dissipate.
Date of Recovery: 2-14-2016
Location of Recovery: Junior Researcher █████'s apartment in Inglewood, CA
Current Status: Stored at Site-██
Note: Someone's gotta discover these things I guess… - Junior Researcher █████


On 9/19/18, the Youtube channel Ephemeral Rift ASMR was hacked from an unknown IP address located somewhere in the American southeast. The following video was uploaded and gained over 1.6 million views as well as 6000 likes and 500 comments before it was deleted by Foundation web analysis bot Alpha-12 ("I/O SCREECH").
Research into the person of interest known as dado is ongoing.
An embedded copy of this video is below.

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Tales

asmr by dado

RONALD REAGAN CUT UP WHILE RAPPING

Excerpt from The Astrolabe Institute Journal

Amnestic

The William Penn Iteration

End Of Deaf; or, In the Clutches of Dumb

The News Tonight: Wednesday April 26th 2017

Interior—Interior

The Undoing

Holy Mackerel

Grandchildren Frost

Portrait of Two Choreographers

Wade Williams Distribution Presents:

The DevourerLand Diaries
Rating: 11


by Captain Kirby

A hundred-or-so years ago Dr. Emily Young sat in her office in the back of Site-2718, and quietly deleted files while the world screamed outside. It's only fitting that the last one to leave would be the first to return.

No one had entered Site-2718 in almost a century. A thin layer of dust coated everything from loose papers to the 21st century antiques they used to call "computers". Everything was supposed to be erased, burnt, or deleted to cover up what happened, but the lab cleared out in a panic. Well, except for Dr. Young.
"Hey, you still there?"
Emily shook her head and moved into the main lab area. "Yeah. Sorry Joyce. It's just been awhile. Lots of memories."
"Well you can take a trip down memory lane later," Eric replied, "You and I have a flight in about two hours. Just please show us where Tony is."
Emily nodded and walked toward the door in the back. A red bulb flashed nearby that lit up a sign reading "SCP-3448 Testing In Progress". Another part of the clean up that Emily neglected. Although, in all fairness, the machine was still on. The dedicated generator still hummed.
Emily opened the door to the testing room to let Joyce and Eric inside, except they refused to move. They both stood there, staring at the remains of Tony Michaels, still lying in the middle of the main cavity. She walked over to the Residual Signal Imaging Console, which was just a PC monitor hardwired into the massive hulk of a machine that was SCP-3448. Blowing on the keyboard created a small cloud of dust, which wafted through the florescent light. It took a few moments before Emily felt comfortable sitting in her old swivel chair again.
"So… he's dead?" Eric finally asked.
"Not quite. Technically he's only half-dead. Give me a moment to boot this thing up. It should still work," Emily replied.
In the mean time, Joyce edged closer and closer to her brother's corpse. He smelled of rotten flesh, even though there was only bones in a faded Foundation uniform left. Joyce began to regret even coming down here. She might've tainted her last memory of Tony.
"Ok, ok! I got it working! Joyce, get over here and say hello to your brother!" Emily called from in front of the console. Joyce walked over and looked at the monitor.
"You have something you want me to say to him?"
Eric looked at Joyce. "You should dictate. You're better with words than me anyways."
"Umm… how about something simple. Just, uh, 'Hey Tony. It's Joyce and Eric. And before you ask, dad's doing fine.'"
Emily typed something into the apparatus, and then they waited. A few minutes passed. And then a few more. And then the screen flickered to life.
"That's— that's Tony." Eric had to say it out loud for it to register for him. No one really knew what to do. It's like being reacquainted with an old friend, but there's a one way mirror between you.
"Well… um, Emily we really need to go. Our flight's in an hour, I don't know if we're going to make it," Eric said as he moved toward the door.
"Oh, you go ahead. Joyce and I are staying here."
"Come again?"
"We're going to get Tony back," Joyce replied. Eric looked at her for a moment, and then over at Emily. He nodded.
"Tell me when he's awake, ok?"
"You'll be the first to know. Take care of dad for me."
"You got it sis."
And with that Eric turned to leave the building. Joyce and Emily stood in silence for a few minutes, just letting the atmosphere and the plan moving forward sink in.
"Alright, lets get this place up and running."
"You want to show me how to work this thing?"
"I'll do it at the end. Even though the monitor's always giving us a real-time view of any interpreted images, we only make new reports at midnight."
"Alright then. Let's see if I still remember how neuroscience works."
Emily flipped a switch to turn on the remaining fluorescent lights. "Oh, its nice to be back in a lab."

SCP-3448 Day 40,053 Imaging Results
<7:30 — 7:45> A man speaks to an enlarged teddy bear in a mirror.
<10:45 — 11:28> The man walks through a garden overrun with daisies.
<12:38 — 13:43> The same man is searching through the daisies for some object.
<16:53 — 17:00> The man is kneeling in the daisies smiling at the ground. After six minutes he looks up and speaks. The exact words spoken could not be deduced from the lip movements, due to the angle of the shot. The man begins to laugh softly.
<17:00 — 17:15> Static
<18:15 — 19:45> Rain falls from a cloudless sky. Half a rainbow can be seen.

Joyce and Emily slept in the lab, since it was easier than getting a hotel or apartment. Joyce scavenged for any left over reports or unburnt research papers. A desk drawer here, a USB there. Anything that could give a clue about bringing her brother back.
Emily, on the other hand, returned to the monitor room. When you haven't seen someone for a hundred years, there's a lot to catch up on. It's hard to really talk through the machine. All Emily could do is try to etch messages directly into Tony's conscious, and all Tony could do was… well they never really figured out exactly how Tony controlled the residual signals. Or if he controlled them at all.
Emily started up the conversation the only way she knew how.

How've you been?

<9:31 — 9:31> A man sits in a room with dirt walls next to a counter made of tile. In the back of the room a large teddy bear is propped up against the wall. The man shrugs, and then motions toward the screen.

That's pretty straightforward for being in the garden of the dead for a hundred years. I've been doing fine myself. Was kind of rough at first. Shot myself in the head but it's all good now.

<9:32 — 9:33> The man from previous image laughs, and then calls out to the teddy bear behind him. The teddy bear does not respond.

You laugh, but the doctors had to do a real number on me. Anyways, I know you have limited feedback in there. You just want me to run down what you've missed?

<9:33 — 9:33> The man nods, and then grabs something off of the counter and leaves the room.

"Hey, Emily, I'm going to head out and get food for the fridge. How long do you think we'll be here?" Joyce called from the next room over.
"You know how research is, I don't have a clue."
"So, am I buying sleeping pads or are we renting a room?"
"If you're renting a room you're renting solo."
"Sleeping pad it is."
And then Joyce left the warehouse. But she didn't really need to get the food, or the sleeping pad. At least not right then. She just didn't want to be right across the room from her brother. It felt like when her dad was about to die, but in reverse. It felt too surreal, too uncanny, too impossible. Strange, all this time working at the Foundation and some things still got to her.
Joyce drove down to the grocery store and dropped food into a cart absentmindedly. Those headphones kept her in a personalized little thought bubble, where she thought about what she'd say to Tony. Joyce had to say something.
I wonder if he'd still recognize me.
It'd been so long, and people do change. Joyce felt sort of like her headphones. They were her headphones, the same ones she'd been wearing for the past century. But after all the repairs, upgrades, and component swaps, it probably didn't have any of the same parts it had when she first bought them. But it was still the same pair of headphones, right? They were the ones she carried around everywhere. Never threw them out, or bought another pair really.
I'm still the same Joyce, right?
She didn't even enter the monitor room when she got back to the warehouse.

SCP-3448 Day 40,054 Imaging Results
<9:31 — 9:31> A man sits in a room with dirt walls next to a counter made of tile. In the back of the room a large teddy bear is propped up against the wall. The man shrugs and then motions toward the screen.
<9:32 — 9:33> The man from previous image laughs, and then calls out to the teddy bear behind him. The teddy bear does not respond.
<9:33 — 9:33> The man nods, and then grabs something off of the counter and leaves the room.
<9:53 — 10:34> The man wanders through the field of flowers. A red handle protrudes from his pocket. Occasionally he squats and examines a daisy. Periodically, he nods his head.
<10:54 — 14:33> Brown tinted static.
<15:53 — 15:55> A skeleton spinning rapidly in an empty void.
<16:05 — 16:12> The man jumps away from a daisy, and then starts to shout what are assumed to be profanities. A red handle is seen protruding from the dirt.
<19:12 — 19:30> A large teddy bear walks among the daisies. At 19:29 it stops and leans down to pick something up.

It had been nine days since Joyce arrived, and four days since they called in Emily to head up some project. Joyce hadn't heard a word from her since, but that's only to be expected. She was curious what could be so important that they'd call Emily in of all people. Joyce had spent the time writing out her thoughts, looking over old imaging reports, anything to keep her out of the monitor room. The door was open just enough for the light of the screens and LEDs to shine through, which kept Joyce up at night. She considered closing it a few times, but decided against it for reasons she couldn't articulate.
She split her time evenly between scouring the SCP database for anything that could help bring Tony back, and writing out what she would say to him when she finally walked into that room again. She'd gone through a lot of paper trying to get her thoughts in order. She was almost certainly overthinking this but, then again who wouldn't be?
It was quiet without Emily around, which does wonders for the mind. Lets you hear yourself think, which is both a curse and a blessing at the same time. Joyce tried to drown out her own thoughts with her headphones, but after a few minutes the music would fade into white noise and her thoughts would keep bouncing around her head again. At that point she'd crumple up whatever page she'd been working on, and move back to the monitor to see if the paper titled "Residual Imaging Interpretation: Metaphors of the Mind" had anything useful. It went on about how confronted with entirely foreign stimuli, the mind will attempt to shape them into something it can understand. Normally something terrifying.
What are you scared of in the first place?
It was a good question. Joyce knew the answer, but it's good to ask.
Why don't you just introduce yourself to him again? Doesn't matter who he remembers, you're you now. What he remembers from a hundred years ago means jack shit for tomorrow.
It was a good point. Too good a point. Joyce put her headphones on, and went back to looking through the database.
Don't try to ignore yourself. You know you're right.
She opened up another file.
Coward. You just going to ignore him? You've already spoken to him once, and it won't be much different.
That was when she was on autopilot. She was still in shock.
Bull shit.
She was scrolling through the file, but not reading the words.
A hundred years might change your personality, your body, your mind, but it won't change the fact that he's your brother. Talk to him. He fucking misses you.
She sighed. She was right. She hates being right. She put on When The Sun Sets and walked into the monitor room.

SCP-3448 Day 40,062 Imaging Results
<10:35 — 11:45> A man strolls through a garden, looking intensely at a gardening hoe with a red handle.
<12:45 — 13:03> A garden hoe with a red handle laying on top of a small pile of bones. After twelve minutes, the man appears in frame, appearing to look for something. After sixteen minutes, he finds the gardening hoe, and begins to bury the bones in the dirt.
<14:13 — 14:16> The man nods while he continues to dig.
<14:16 — 14:18> A warm red color.
<14:18 — 14:20> The man smiles.
<14:20 — 14:21> The shape of a heart.
<17:21 — 17:51> The man walks away from where he finished burying the bones.
<19:11 — 21:11> A young woman asleep in a bed.

Joyce almost didn't notice when Emily came back, since it was so quiet. She didn't talk about what she worked on. She walked into the monitor room and tried to communicate with Tony for hours. She wouldn't talk about what Tony said to her either.
When night came, Joyce could hear Emily slowly bang her head against the pillow. At one point she heard a grunt, followed by a thud, followed by a cry of pain. Joyce rushed over to see what happened. Emily held her head in her hands, covering up a new bruise. The pillow was far away.
Joyce sat next to Emily. "Do you feel dizzy?"
"No."
"Is your vision blurry?"
"No. Joyce—"
"Do you feel like throwing up?"
"No. I'm fine."
"Are you su—"
"I said I'm fine!" Emily continued to apply pressure to the side of her head.
"I'll get you some ice."
"Thanks."
Joyce went to the top section of the refrigerator that they had bought, which doubled as a freezer. She grabbed some ice cubes from a tray, and then opened one of the closets to pull out one of the robes they used to have subjects wear during testing. She tore off a strip of fabric and wrapped it around Emily's head, keeping the ice cubes over the bruise. They sat in silence after Joyce finished.
"I missed my chance," Emily said.
"Your chance?"
"I had three fucking weeks and I didn't do it."
"Do what?"
"Fucking goddamn idiot. Fuck! Fuck!"
"Emily, calm down!"
"It was a knife, Joyce. Just a knife that actually worked. A thing that could kill you." Emily was crying now.
"Wait, that's impo—"
"I spent three weeks being a 'good samaritan'. They told me they thought I changed and they were wrong but I still didn't do it!"
"Emily, slow down!"
"I just… I should've done it before they took it away. Just right through the heart."
"It's ok. It's all going to be ok."
"No. No it's not. And now I'm just going to keep waking up day after day after day and I want to die don't you get it I want to die to die just kill me already fucking kill me Joyce. Kill me! Kill already you fucker do it!"
Joyce hugged Emily tightly. She was scared. They were both scared. And tired.
"I want… I want to die. I want to do it. I… I didn't do it. Why didn't I do it Joyce?"
"I don't know. I don't know."
"I want to die."
"I don't want you to die."
Emily paused.
"That makes one of us."

SCP-3448 Day 40,079 Imaging Results
<4:20 — 5:20> A man is inside a room with dirt walls, sitting next to a person-sized teddy bear. He is staring blankly at the opposite wall.
<6:13 — 6:15> A tree branch where all of the leaves are replaced with hands. The hands appeared to be clenched as fists, and are attempting to punch the branch. A number of them have bloody knuckles.
<7:30 — 7:45> The man examines a gardening hoe. After 14 minutes, he throws it at the dirt wall.
<8:15 — 13:45> Static.
<14:00 — 14:30> The man paces back and forth in the room, occasionally picking up the gardening hoe and gesturing with it.
<19:00 — 20:14> The man is sitting with his head in his hands. The teddy bear has fallen on its side.
<23:57 — 23:59> A young woman lying awake in bed.

Somewhere in Calgary, a man named Jared Helburg received a call from an unknown caller. Very few people knew how to get to his work phone, and Foundation protocol mandates that all secure lines utilize a false caller ID for additional security. Jared slowly picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Is this Dr. Helburg?" said a female voice.
"It is."
"I need your help. I've been going through these old logs and lab notes and your name kept showing up."
"Excuse me, who are you?"
"You wouldn't know me."
"Then what are—"
"But I'm with your old boss, Dr. Young."
Jared paused. It had been a long time since he heard that name. Now he knew why the number didn't have a caller ID.
"What are you doing? Actually, no can I just talk to Emily?" Wait, didn't she shoot herself? Or maybe that was someone else… god it was so long ago. Hard to keep track of who did what back then.
"She's lying on the ground just murmuring to herself. I'm trying to figure out how to bring Tony back. I don't know how this damn machine works and the only qualified person asked me to kill her last night. I need help."
Jared put down the phone. He didn't hang up. He just needed a moment to think. It wasn't like thinking was going to change his decision, he just needed to convince himself it was the right decision. After a few minutes, he picked up the phone again.
"My flight leaves tomorrow. I hope you have somewhere for me to sleep."

SCP-4514

End of Death

Hundred-Year Favor


December 24th

"Get plenty of rest tonight, sweetheart. Merry almost Christmas."
"Merry almost Christmas, mama."
"Don't forget, Santa is coming tonight, so make sure you stay in bed alright?"
"Yes, mama."
The mother tucked the boy into bed, bidding him goodnight. He felt her warm, tender kiss on his forehead. She gave a benevolent smile as she closed the door, whispering one final 'I love you' before it finally shut. The boy rested his eyes and attempted to sleep.
The thrill of Santa finally arriving in the morning, however, caused the boy to toss and turn in his twin sized mattress. He thought about every possible gift he could possibly receive come Christmas morning.
What if it's a DS- no no, a Gamecube! Ah no, Pokemon cards! Gosh, I hope Santa didn't get me Yu-Gi-Oh or-
There was a large thud downstairs. The boy could hardly contain his excitement.
Santa! Santa is here! He giddily thought to himself.
The boy jumped out of bed before realizing what he said to his mother. The boy felt both adrenalized and conflicted at the same time as to what to do. He quietly slipped on a Pokemon brand hoodie along with his Pikachu slippers and began to tippy-toe down his stairs, only retreating twice out of fear before finally summoning the courage to go all the way down.
There was a light in the TV room, the same room the Christmas tree the boy and his mother decorated that very night. Mother always told him that Santa found a way inside the house, despite there not being a chimney in the TV room.
"Santa? Are you there?" The boy rasped.
The boy crept into the TV room, his heart was pounding through his chest. To his dismay, there was no Santa, but rather a small white mug resting on the coffee table. Curiously, the boy inspected every feature of the cup. Small snowflake patterns were drawn around the text to the left of the handle, reading as 'Never, ever let it cool.'
Is this for me? He pondered. Surely it couldn't, for it wasn't wrapped with a pretty bow nor had a tag labeled as 'To: Simon, From: Santa'. Yet, he had never seen any trace of this cup in his home before this very moment.
His eyes shifted towards his television. The boy gained a rebelliously exciting idea.
Maybe I could watch something for a minute if I'm quiet, Mom won't notice.
Remote in hand, the boy turned on his television and began looking through the 'What's On' guide. He scrolled down to the channel ABC Family and found a film he had heard great remarks about from his friends at school.
'The Polar Express'
The time was 10:57 PM, the movie would start from the beginning in the next few minutes. The boy made preparations to watch the film by grabbing several Oreos his mother bought for Santa along with his treasured Pokemon blanket. The boy became cozy and selected 'The Polar Express'.
Suddenly, he felt a warmth to his left. The mug was flowing with rich, milky hot chocolate. The aroma of the beverage filled his nostrils, giving him fond memories of previous winters with his family. The boy gazed at the mug in wonderment as to where the hot brown liquid had come from. Without hesitation, he took the cup and lifted it to his lips.
It was the sweetest, most refreshing beverage the boy ever had in his entire life.

Item Description: A cup of hot chocolate which, while the holder is watching a copy of The Polar Express (2004), does not decrease in temperature and will automatically refill. The cup has no anomalous properties if the holder is not watching a copy of The Polar Express.
Location of Recovery: Warner Bros. headquarters.
Current Status: In Researcher Snippet's laboratory.

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