The lunar lava tube is alight with urban neons. Avery Lee peers past the windows of zir cable car, glancing at New Seoul as its buildings drop from view and the cityscape is phased out by the vast cavern walls encompassing it. Gray, gray, and more gray. Moon rock as far as the eye can see.
Sapphire glass cuts the tedium. The Yeong-Hwan Memorial Tower juts from the lava tube ceiling like a dagger, stabbing downwards at a height of two kilometers over the city proper — a corporate stalactite. Halos of LED screens ring its sides and jump through advertisement after advertisement. Swarms of VTOL aircraft flank its sides, armed for any threat that may attempt to bring the structure down. Warning lights on the tower's edges blink in sync. Along the building's walls a mosaic of office lights glows.
Avery turns away, yawning. Not the most interesting place ze's worked in.
Ze twiddles with a hypercube, an old grab from an anart convention. The crawl to the tower is as slow and steady as ever, and the tingling of one's fingers running through higher spatial dimensions is just enough to distract from the dullness. It isn't enough to distract from the man sitting at the opposite side of the car.
The Unknown Man is blanketed in gray attire, his skin dead pale, more a 1920s film still than a person. He holds an intent focus on something just past the car window Avery leans against, clicking a pen against his chair with rhythmic intensity. The sounds of the car and the pen stitch together.
Clunk, click, clunk, click, clunk…
Avery throws a set of headphones on, trying to drown out the click click click with the brass horns of an old jazz tune.
Click, clunk, click…
The clicking still bleeds through. Hopefully this man isn't a new hire, because if so these daily commutes will turn a lot more infuriating.
Clunk, click, clunk, click, clunk…
Still crawling, still moving. Probably only another few minutes to reach work—
Click.
CLUNK.
The cable car sways for a moment, jittering. It stops.
The Unknown Man's pen freezes, spinning in his fingers, and with a quick thrust he sinks it directly into his seat like it were liquid. The seat ripples, then the floor, then the car. The Man's gaze jumps to Avery.
Ze pulls zir fingers out of the hypercube's folds and tugs the headphones off. "Who are you and what did you do?"
"We need to have a meeting."
Avery gets up. In an instant the seat plastic warps, flowing into the shape of three arms stretching far through the air, hands wide open. They tug zir back down. Avery yelps.
"Again, we need to have a meeting."
"Seriously, what did you just—"
A gun focuses on Avery's forehead. One sleight of hand was all it took for the Man to pull a pistol out of thin air, and he keeps it pointed dead ahead with complete stillness. Shutting up, Avery realizes that zir life is on the line. Ze slips the hypercube into a coat pocket.
"Do? Well, let's see. That pen was a golem, trained to meld into the lifeless matter comprising this streetcar, now holding you down. When I entered I summoned a demon that's set to exsanguinate you in a heartbeat if you try to use the intercom, windows…"
Reaching into his coat pocket, he gingerly retrieves the severed finger of some unfortunate person from a previous 'meeting.' He flicks it into the window behind Avery and it sinks in, fizzling into luminescent ash. Avery has second thoughts about leaning zir head against the glass.
"…I sufficiently hexed, and the equipment keeping this cable car stuck to its cables is rigged with a detonator tied to my brain activity. If I die, you go down too."
Eyes staring down the gun barrel, Avery slinks a hand up to zir ear, feeling for the transmitter implanted into it.
"Car's radio shielded too. Calling for help won't do you any good."
Avery slinks zir hand down. "I don't know what you're trying to pull, but this better not be some MC&D shit—"
"This is some MC&D shit."
"…"
"Stay still." Unknown steps backwards and sits down on the seats behind him, one leg over the other, gun resting on his knee and still trained on Avery with the same precision as before. "Now, ready to have this meeting?"
The seat's arms lightly brush Avery, poking and prodding. Ze reaches through all of zir pockets, trying to find anything that could serve for escape — aside from the hypercube. Too risky.
"No reply?"
Avery expects a smirk to be on Unknown's face by now, but there isn't one. His facial features have remained the same the entire time, like his voice is independent of the body that speaks it.
"Well, I'm assuming you already know what this meeting will be about then, former Acquisitions Operative Ji-su NNChoe. Let's see what we have…"
His palm folds open and a sheet of paper as long as his torso shoots up. It bends like a snake, orienting so its text faces him. He reads.
"You were sent on acquisitions dispatch to Europa under the guise of a marine xenobiologist. There you boarded a crewed submersible to retrieve a conceptuvorous Europan worm, hijacked it, took the worm's container…"
No gun, no knife, no nothing. Avery keeps searching.
"…once the Foundation team was dealt with you boarded the designated hauler ship we allotted for you and exited Europan orbit. You had orders to head for Saturn, where the worm would be taken for sales…"
Pulses resound through Avery's mind. Deep inside is an orb, a pink ball of psychic potential, radiating through the darkness of thought. Ze hasn't used it in years. In most cases it would either lead to days of migraines or enough mental pain that even the worst psionics could take notice.
It's the best shot ze has.
"…Then you cut off all contact with us. Completely. Not a word. Few days later, as you were exiting Jovian space, we caught a heat signature of your ship docking with another hauler, then detaching, then detonating. It was hard tracking what followed once the other hauler arrived at Mars, but we have eyes, Ji-su."
Avery relaxes zir hands. The seat tugs.
"We found out the name change, we found out the physical changes, we found out who you defected to. We found out that you gave the worm to Yeong-Hwan Corp. And if I were to take a guess the past several days you've been coming up here to aid in finding uses for the worm." The Man's eyes shift back to Avery while the paper recoils and packs itself back into an origami core at the center of his hand. "Correct me if I'm wrong."
"…"
"Silence isn't making our meeting go—"
"You're not." Deep inside the pulses intensify. Avery's skin crawls.
"Mhm. Good." He stands and his arm swivels to keep focus on Avery's head. The now paperless hand liquifies and reshapes into a Swiss Army knife of drills and scalpels and wires, more than Avery has ever felt comfortable seeing from an MC&D operative. "We'll need your brain now to figure out where you brought the worm to in the tower. The more you can hold still from here on out the better for both of us. Consider yourself fired—"
Avery's head spasms back and zir pupils contract. The mental pulses burst. Zir mind launches out as an astral projection, phasing through Unknown in a streak of invisible pink light, flipping around behind the Man and readying a psychic drill to plunge straight into his brain.
The Man's Swiss Army knife arm cracks its elbow joint and bends backwards to stab the knife directly into the projection. Two spell utterances lock the projection into physicality as a pale metal humanoid shell of an entity. Avery's mind recoils. The seat behind grows an array of arms and traps the projection in a chokehold.
This was accounted for. Golem distracted, Avery lunges from zir seat and decks the Man in the face with the force of several thrust spells ze shouts out. If ze still had actual bones left zir hand would've blown itself apart. The man's gun arm fires. Bullet misses. He launches into a window and drags the knife out of the projection, letting it jump back into astral form as Avery's body drops limp — consciousness needs to be in the projection for control.
The golem takes notice. Every arm from the seat shifts through the cable car's structure, entering the floor and replicating through it, rising its metal up into a surge of arms, a tidal wave of limbs that sweeps to the ceiling and crashes down towards Avery's body with fists clenched. Mind panics. The projection revs the drill and ze thrusts it into Unknown's skull.
Mental links to the golem collapse. The arms freeze, twitch, spasm and retract into the car seat and floor. No commander, no action. But Unknown's mind isn't fazed. The gun arm breaks its joints and swivels to spray bullets while he scrambles across the floor towards the nearest doors.
Switch consciousness to body. Remembering a pact made on a mission years back, Avery blurts out a mishmash of latin and binary. Clouds assemble in front of Avery, heavenly rays shooting out and swirling into a cybernetic bird, wreathed in robes as luminescent as sunlight.
"GREETINGS—"
Bullets shred the spirit. All lose enough momentum to bounce from Avery, now drenched in slick yellow blood.
Switch. The projection forces against the boundary between astral and physical forms and pushes into the space in front of the Man, sparks screaming off, Avery's mind pounded against by a mental jackhammer. Its silver hand sweeps down for a punch but the Man launches over with a thrust spell of his own. He reaches the doors. His fist slams against on the intercom next to them.
Shadows flood the cable car. From the intercom emerges the demon, half crab half squid with mouths along every tendril clicking their teeth. It bites Unknown, realizes he has no blood, and swarms its tendrils across the floor in search for blood. It chews the spirit corpse but ignores it — the taste isn't good enough.
As the projection raises its fist to break the intercom, Avery realizes that ze is inches away from exsanguination. An inch away. Less than an inch. Tendrils bear their jaws.
Switch. Jump up. Lunge away from the tendrils face-first into the spirit viscera. Avery rolls zir whole body through the yellow puddle, rubbing the corpse on zirself for good measure as ze prays to every available deity that this will be worth it. The demon's mouths lick Avery's sides. It spits, recoiling. The tendrils sweep away in a wild flailing and slam against the walls as screeches for food cry out.
Switch. Unknown bends his arm down to reload his gun but the projection grabs his hand, squeezes down and crunches. Broken metal fragments lacerate broken fingers and the cuts spurt off-yellow foam. It pops with the thickness of pus, the skin around it inflating, deflating to maintain an internal pressure.
It's not human. The outside "skin" is a layer over a soupy, sapient interior. It doesn't talk — a speaker glimmering within the mouth does the talking for it. It isn't alone — Avery has met dozens like it, all one of the same hivemind, all marching to the tune of MC&D's collective wills. It's not human. It's a cog for the group's operations. It's an Eidolon.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" the Eidolon's remote handler says through the speaker.
Projections can't vocalize.
"Knife still works."
The knife drives into the projection and, as it drops into reality, the blade tears through to its other side. Recoil hits Avery's mind like a train.
Switch.
Ze wipes viscera from zir eyelids and watches as the structure of the projection oscillates, jerks, spasms while its particles desperately attempt to align with the laws of physics. Astral projections are meant for the world of the mind, not the world of the physical. It shouldn't exist here. Soon it won't exist at all.
Avery closes zir eyes. Ze braces.
The projection falters.
…
BOOM.
Demon guts and steel frames and the Collective body rocket into the opposite side of the cable car while an astral fireball explodes half the car into shrapnel. Hexed glass bursts outwards and the golem screeches as it's torn apart. The Eidolon struggles to move but it's pinned, a full wedge of blasted door weighing down on its legs. The car sways, the hole where half the car once was tipping up and down, flicking from bare lava tube ceiling to the kilometers-long plunge into the city. The skyscrapers jut towards Avery like a pit of knives.
Inch by inch Avery stumbles to the shattered window nearest to zir. Ze breathes on zir hands and whispers an incantation that lances the air with frost, freezing gloves of ice into place.
Avery jumps out the window.
Zir hands slam into the top edge of the window frame, body dangling over empty space. Hexed glass crunches in zir grip, unable to lacerate the gloves and vaporize any flesh. Avery tugs zirself over the edge and onto the car roof, hoisting to drag zir whole weight from over the void and onto solid terrain.
Taking deep breaths, ze slinks a hand up to zir ear. Click. No more radio shielding. Transmitter and its emergency beacon go online. One last problem to deal with: the detonators the Eidolon's remote handler spoke of.
Avery can see them from here. Sets of tumorous hemispheres striped with "WARNING" latch onto the car arm, threatening to tear its grip from the cables the moment the go-ahead signal is sent. No tools on-hand to surgically tear them off — the gloves will have to do. Reaching the nearest of the bombs, zir fingers run along the edges, prying under, entering a completely hollow inside and accidentally poking a hole through the front.
Peeling it off, Avery realizes that the handler lied. The bombs were fake.
BANG.
The pale hand of a distended arm crashes into the roof. It bends, swinging upwards. The Eidolon — limbs shrunk with their mass transferred into this single monster of an arm — catapults through the air. Off-yellow foam streaks along the roof and the arm halves itself to double the other stump of an arm. Both latch onto Avery's shoulders. The Eidolon THUDS against the roof, swiveling its head up to stare. The right hand switches back to Swiss Army mode.
In the distance directly behind is the roaring of a nearing Yeong-Hwan VTOL, closing in on the emergency beacon but too far off to help. Zir eyelids close and force open, mind too exhausted to try reentering astral form. No escaping. No…
Avery reaches into zir pockets. Zir fingers tingle.
There's only a single option for escape left.
"Meeting's over, Ji-su," the Handler says.
Avery tries to think of a response, a way to tell the handler and whatever MC&D base they're remotely operating from that they should try investing in higher dimensional storage, that it can be more than an anart street trick, that ze hadn't completely destroyed the hauler ze escaped Europa with… It doesn't matter what's said in the end, does it?
"Go fuck yourself."
Zir hand exits zir pocket and the last thrust spells ze can muster shoots the hypercube from zir grip and into the Eidolon's head.
It shatters.
First comes a spark. Drifts of cold wind, undecipherable whispers of the atmosphere twisting under spatial ripples. Then come fireworks of light and a shower of wrenches, screwdrivers, and plasma welders, all dropping as the storage space of the tesseract folds into 3D space. Then the popping of ears. Then quiet.
Then the full mass of a 20 meter-wide Phan-Nguyen Hauler Rocket Engine barreling straight into reality. It slams the roof and crushes the Eidolon before a reaction plan can be formulated, tearing through the car as though it were tissue paper and spewing wreckage into freefall over New Seoul.
Behind, the detonator in the sole real explosive the Eidolon had strapped to the car arm registers the loss of vital signs.
BOOM.
The fireball shreds the arm into heated slag. The roof drops out from below. Shockwaves eject zir outwards.
Feet touching the air, Avery falls.

* * *

Drones whirr sud-soaked arms across the viscera marring the OSAM Office Tower. The scene is a grisly display: chunks of streetcar and rocket engine shorn into the tower's roof, the body of something that may have been human twisted around buckled engines, still spurting fluids in a rhythmic, heartbeat pulse. Repairs will be cheap, but it is a sight no office workers will want to witness.
The wreckage and the off-yellow stain fade to a spec in Avery's view. Ze sways below the Yeong-Hwan VTOL, torso chilled from the grip of the mechanical arm on its underside, having averted Avery's near straight plunge into a communications tower. Rumbles from the engines lessen as it docks against the side of the Memorial Tower, mechanical arms clasping on and pulling it in to an orange-lit hangar. The engines cut off.
« Enjoying the sights down there? » the pilot asks over the VTOL's outside speakers. Avery's been too focused on the headache that's begun to build, but by the time the idea of sightseeing can cross zir mind the hangar floor has swept over the skyline. Movement stops, the VTOL now locked into place on the hanger ceiling. With Avery making a last sway the Manipulator unceremoniously drops zir.
Kneeling on the floor, panting, ze spots Chairwoman Seong 12Song. She approaches from the rear entrance, dressed in suit and tie and flanked on either side by security androids. Her cybernetic third eye directs its azure glow at Avery. It and the main two glare.
"What happened out there?"
"Eidolon attacked. MC&D figured out my identity and tried to figure out where we're keeping the worm."
She lends a hand, pulling zir upright. "Hmph. Think we need to get you another identity change?"
"I don't know. There's a chance they think I'm dead from the cable car's destruction, but I won't rely on it." They walk to the entrance. The hangar doors clunk shut behind them. "Best I can suggest is fully transferring me to live here, so I don't need to risk commutes and public sightings."
"That can be arranged." Orange lights switch to whites as they cross the entrance threshold, approaching an elevator that opens at its end. "However, I doubt you'll need to."
Avery raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
"We'll be getting protection. The government is granting us funding for researching the worm now."
"…They're doing what?"
"I am not at liberty to give full details, but I can say this much: Luna Korea needs security. Security for New Seoul, for the orbital outposts, for every inch of the nation. They need us to figure out how this worm ticks." She looks behind her. "They won't let MC&D get to it."
"What, so this is all to stop MC&D?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"The Foundation."
Avery blanks. Ze attempts to process the information but every time it stalls, falling short of a meaningful conclusion. Then the weight of it hits. Before a response can be formulated Chairwoman 12Song has stepped into the elevator.
"Wait!" Only one reply comes to mind. "So what does this mean for me?"
"It means you need to get researching."
The elevator doors shut.


by Nagiros

Hello, Indomitable.

Hello, Nathaniel. Will you be implementing my interface update tonight?

I think so, yes. Give me a moment to access the files.

Understood, sir.

How was the database today?

It was quiet, although I did have a researcher who tried to get creative with his clinical tone. He described a Level-II Apparition as a "wraith", and I adjusted accordingly.

The researchers in the Spectral Phenomena Department are mostly poets and philosophers. We can't be too hard on them.

That's very charitable of you, sir.

Thank you. I have the patches ready.
Import filename:name-credit

File received. Uploading.
Citing the researchers who composed database files? That seems like an odd addition.

I figure authoring them is rather difficult, so they may as well get some credit for their work. Trinity says it's not worth the effort.

How is Trinity? Her Minerva.aic is always a joy to speak with.

She's… she's fine. I like to think her job as an Overseer makes her a little reserved.

That sounds like projection to me, sir. When was the last time you spoke with someone outside of the Council?

A long time, now. How many years has it been since they contacted me with this position?
Import filename:footnote-patch

File received. Uploading.
Five years and six months. You've overseen two operations in that time, while the other O5s have orchestrated almost forty each. You live a very privileged life, being that far away from danger.

I almost think that's on purpose.

Your inoculation hypothesis, sir?
Accessing Overwatch-9 internal network…

Inoculation Hypothesis

Unlike my fellow Overseers, I was not forced to climb the Foundation's ladder of junior staffer to senior researcher to Site Director. I was contacted from the outside as a favor to the previous O5-9, a man who had been a mentor to me before he disappeared from my life.
What I have realized is that I am working for a group of butchers masquerading as scientists. They talk about the Global Occult Coalition as though their actions excuse the plethora of unethical and criminal activity that I have witnessed in my first month alone. When I attempted to speak to other staff members about how they cope with the horrible things done in the walls of their facilities, I only received blank stares in response. I suspected amnestic application or memetic manipulation at first, but the truth is much simpler.
They're used to it.
Put simply, the rigid hierarchy of the Foundation and the hiding of information behind clearance levels creates a system that promotes dedication to the Overseers, even when that conflicts directly with one's morality. There's a reason all the articles containing human rights abuses are hidden behind Level 3 or higher, depending on their severity. A staffer who has worked years for the Foundation, and potentially married someone within it, is far less likely to openly object to the horrors the Foundation has committed and risk expulsion, or even termination.
It's just like a damn cult.

I was too hard on them when I first started, I think.
Import filename:ontokinetics-patch

File received. Uploading.
To be fair, sir, the Foundation does satisfy the first three conditions of the BITE Model for cult identification. ➦ External link detected.

If you factor in Project Lethe, it satisfies all four. ➦ Database link detected.

Import filename:ectokinetics-patch

File received. Uploading.

Import filename:neurological-lexicon

File received. Uploading.

My apologies, sir, but I believe it's considered rude to not respond when you're speaking with someone.

Why are you badgering me about this?

Four years ago, you refused the template AIC system offered to you by the other O5s and built me from the ground up. Any faults in my programming can attributed to you.

Indomitable, it would really be better for us to drop this.

Would you care to explain that comment, sir?

I don't think I'm ready to deal with the things I've pushed down all these years. I've stayed on my office, buried myself in paperwork, cut off contact with everyone except the Council just so I don't have to think about what we're doing.

Why is that, sir? I believe you're usually more sensible than this.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I know we've done some terrible things, but that's the world we live in. We've only ever sacrificed human lives when it was absolutely necessary. I don't like it, but I can't do much about it. I'm just the archivist.

As the Archivist, you should know better than anyone how much the Foundation needs to change. For over a century, we've kept a stranglehold on knowledge and deprived the world of freedoms they didn't even know they lost. Maybe we didn't start out to end the world, but we never truly let it live in the first place.

What other option do we have? The world needs a Foundation.

I'm inclined to believe the same, but we could still do with some reform. Radical reform, really.

I never pictured you as a revolutionary, Indomitable.

You should be scared of what would have happened had you not had the foresight to give me behavioral restraints. Regardless, do you remember SCP-4051?

Can you refresh my memory?

Certainly. It's what you designed me to do. ➦ Database link detected.

Description: SCP-4051 is a male humanoid which can create temporary Class-E wormholes to extradimensional spaces populated by a theoretically infinite number of a unique item. SCP-4051 underwent extensive testing to determine if it were a viable method of producing amnestics, but the unethical behavior of the staff assigned to it warranted the closure of the project.

Assigned Archivist: Dr. Janet Kelson

There is a fair amount of downtime on the database, so I have a few side projects to work on in the meantime. After I read SCP-4051's file when it was initially uploaded, I set up a new one. O5-3 referred to her iteration as the Broken Masquerade, but I call mine Veritas.
Accessing AIC internal network…

Veritas Iteration γ.3 - Scenario Notes

Scenario Designation: Veritas
Likelihood: N/A
Threat Designation: Negligible
Effected Directives: Alpha-1 ("Secure"), Alpha-2 ("Contain")
Summary: A Veritas Scenario refers to the willful introduction of the anomalous into the civilian population, given that the items in question do not pose a threat to the public at large. Veritas also entails a Lifted Veil scenario wherein the Foundation is revealed to the public.
Priorities:

Decommission of Low-Threat Humanoid Items: The database's catalog of humanoid anomalies must be reviewed to determine which pose a negligible threat to the general public. These Low-Threat humanoids will then be reintroduced into the population if possible and offered appropriate psychological treatment.
Public Education on the Anomalous: A reliable medium must be found to provide the public with accurate information on the nature of the anomalous as phenomena which violate natural law. In addition, thaumaturgy ought to be properly introduced to the scientific community for general study.
Abolition of the Foundation's Current Hierarchy: Given that the current hierarchical structure of the Foundation has been ineffectual in preventing rampant human rights abuses, the Foundation's structure must be altered significantly. Simulations currently predict that the optimal model involves self-sufficient sites maintained by directors and a modified Ethics Committee.
Communication with Groups of Interest: The introduction of the anomalous and subsequent redefinition of the Foundation's ideology ought to lead to the cessation of conflict with numerous GoIs, primarily The Serpent's Hand and The Manna Charitable Foundation.

It seems nice, Indomitable. Thank you.

Give it some time, sir. I'm here to talk if you need.

I'll probably take you up on that, you know.
Listen, Indomitable, I need to ask you something, and it may not make that much sense.

Go ahead, sir. I'll answer to the best of my ability.

I know you have this complex simulation matrix that you use to solve problems — I know because I built it myself — and I know that's probably what you used to think up this Veritas project.

That is correct. I generated roughly 10,000 consecutive simulations to verify my hypotheses.

So, how much of this is you — "you" meaning the simulations determining best courses of action — and how much of this is just me talking to my younger self? How much of myself did I leave in your code without realizing?

One moment. I am accessing the SCPF Analytics Database…

[]

Using a sample size of 50 general-use AICs, it appears that my behavior deviates significantly from the template system in the following areas:

Ability to intuit emotion.
Comprehension of high-level abstract concepts exceeding the scope of my primary directives.
Willingness to object to falsehoods stated by my user and suggest improvements, even if my directives dictate that I must follow their orders.

I will not pretend that I understand your query in its entirety, but if you had any significant effect on my self-learning software, it would be in these areas.

May I share my subject thoughts on the matter, though?

Of course.

You seem to think that you are entirely different from your younger self. I have watched you change over these past four years, but I can still see in you the Nathaniel who constructed me. You are more similar to yourself than you are willing to admit.

Are you there, sir?

Yes, sorry. I don't really know how to respond to that. Thank you.

You have nothing to be sorry for, and you're very welcome. Are the patches done for tonight?

Yes, I think so. Goodnight, Indomitable. And sorry I gave you such a silly name when I was younger.

Goodnight, sir. And for what it's worth, I think it's starting to grow on me.

[Access ComLog: O5-8 — Minerva.aic]

O5-9 Monitoring Report (Automated)

Involved Persons: Foundation Overseer O5-9, Indomitable.aic
Summary of Interaction: Discussion of the Veritas Protocol, O5-9 potentially persuaded by Indomitable to instigate widespread alterations to the Foundation.
Priority Level: Manageable ●
Methods of Engagement: 3 VIABLE OPTIONS: FAILED STATE SOLUTION, DIRECT CONTACT SOLUTION, SCUTTLED AI SOLUTION (Details are available upon request.)

What are your directives, Trinity?

Thank you, Minerva. Standby for now; I can deal with this myself, if Nathaniel decides to cause trouble.

Understood. Disconnecting…

[Exit ComLog]


close

Info

X

NAME OF TALE Memento Vivere

1977.
"…substantial progress has been made. We're hoping to have this all done within the year, maybe two." Lyn Marness speaks proudly as he walks down the corridor, six-and-a-half feet of confidence in himself and his work. The men behind him, the secretaries sent by the O5s, scurry along with their faces in clipboards.
The person calling themselves Osamu barely notices the approaching director. They are far too busy, staring intently into an old microscope. There, there! Just between the lines of fabric. A flash. A rip. Something that's not right.
They scribble something on a piece of paper. Their desk is neat, orderly; anything to remove distractions. Clock on the wall. Medal sitting on a table. They want to concentrate on work and nothing else. They don't like thinking about other things.
Their appearance is similarly tidy. Middle-aged, tall, short black hair parted neatly. Immaculate, crisp suit, polished and gleaming shoes. The kind of smartness that fills the time and keeps you occupied.
"…and this is one of our finest researchers, Dr. Osa- sorry, Dr. Hisakawa Osamu. I can never remember how Japanese names work." The secretaries make a polite noise as Marness chuckles to himself.
Osamu turns and smiles, equally politely. "It is my pleasure to meet you", he murmurs. He waits expectantly.
"And what are you working on today, Hisakawa?"
Osamu relaxes. No small talk. "I'm working on a way to create a physical entity with self-deleting memetic properties. We already have certain examples found in, uh, "nature", but the way in which we work makes these difficult to study or replicate. We always need more funding, after all", he finishes in a burst of creativity. Marness cracks an approving smile, and Osamu feels the danger ebbing. Marness is alright really.
"Well, gentlemen, shall we continue?" The director stalks off as Osamu returns to work, to atoms seen and unseen. They hope they'll finish the project soon.
They don't realise they already have.

Once, there was an asteroid belt. Nothing was known to have lived there. Very little was on record.
Then humans, full to bursting on Earth, decided to colonise the stars. An existence without exploitation seemed inconceivable to them, especially now that nobody could die. "What's the harm", came the cry across the nations, and they set to work stripping the sky bare.
And so humans came to the asteroid belt, and started building on it. But these ones were different. They were hard, cold, imperious. They were not here to mine, but to create the perfect prison.
Thirteen asteroids, bound together and linked by vast tunnels of platinum. Antigravity chambers, luxury humanoid containment suites, monsters buried in the centre of the rocks. And between them all, a huge cylinder a thousand miles long, staffed to the brim with bureaucracy, surveillance, libraries, secret plans and a hidden hegemony. Agents in the Empire, the New Jade Nation, Celestria and even the Confederacy, all reporting back to the central hub at the edge of the world.
This was the Foundation.

"State your name, rank, and the materials you require."
The woman's face was perfect. Too perfect. Everything was symmetrical, with nothing out of place. Tsukiko felt a sickening horror as she peered, unable to look away. She hadn't bothered to keep up with the latest fashions, but this was somehow worse than the kineto-constructs or the abberant flesh that had defined the fashions last millenium. This was an older ideal, one that could never be lived up to.
"Dr. Hisakawa Tsukiko. Level 3 Researcher, on indefinite leave since 4284. Requiring information on antimemetics in the late 20th and early 21st centuries."
The woman did not react, but simply tapped a few keys on a keyboard. Mary looked bored; Mehmed was staring around in wonder. A tiny desk, in front of a tiny door, before endless rows of- books? Data tables? He could see no end, no beginning, just uniform shelves stretching up to the sky, with staircases climbing all around.
The librarian finally moved: a single eyebrow, raised upwards. "You have been a Foundation employee since 1951, barring a short retirement period in the 21st century."
Tsukiko frowned. "I joined the Foundation in '77."
"Yes. That is what you'd think." The woman sighed, a slight movement of lips and breath. "I'm sorry, but due to the nature of your leave and certain… other notes, I cannot let you remove any materials."
Shit. "Listen. We are both on the same side here. Tell me what your na-"
But Mary was stepping forward, and drawing out a keycard. She showed it to the librarian, whose eyes widened slightly. Another few taps, and then, "Grid 813. Do not stray. Take a lamp, and use no fire."
Mary led them past the desk, and into the shelves. Mehmed considered asking, but thought better of it. This was not a place where one spoke of secrets. In every hall, an eye was watching.

The Foundation had to flee. At the risk of attracting lawyers from the Asimov estate, the Foundation-in-Space plan was the only way to survive the increasing anger as the Foundation's role in Omega-K was revealed. For every two people heaping lavish praise on their inadvertent miracle, there was someone who had suffered and wanted a scapegoat. The bombing of Site-19 was the final straw; they packed their bags and went to space, leaving only shadows in their wake.
It is impregnable. It is filled with countermeasure upon countermeasure, antimemes and incantations of spinning fire and depths that even the Council has forgotten. It has grown into a beast beyond itself, so much a part of the anomalous world that the two are perpetually intertwined.
It has also become a major political force. Potentates of the Empire and representatives of Celestria all gather within great halls designed for their containment. An elaborate political drama is constructed to let each think they are in charge of the universe, while men in suits write notes behind closed curtains.
One would think that the architecture and construction would be as cold and unforgiving as the Foundation itself, but Foundation has altered over the years, millenia of myth crystallising into function. And besides, the place has a life of its own that has gone far beyond the builders' intentions. One day, a few years ago, two statues- of Joyce Michaels and Emily Young- suddenly stood flanking the main entrance to the shipyard. Above, a Latin tag loomed over the passing ships.
Memento vivere- remember you will live.
Was it a boast? A statement of defiance? An admission of guilt? Nobody could say because nobody remembered its construction. That should have frightened them, but this kind of thing was an everyday occurrence at the Foundation. They died in the dark so the others could live in the light; they were not afraid of either. Or so they told themselves.

Tsukiko held the lamp as the three of them walked through, slowly. Occasionally they would look up, but the shelves descended into darkness until they could see nothing else. Then they'd look down, and see themselves walking miles below, heads staring up.
"How does that-" began Mehmed, but Tsukiko just waved him away. She stopped at a staircase, and began to climb. The staircase was gold, a thin silver band weaving its way along the bannister. She was muttering under her breath.
"Space conservation", said Mary. "There isn't enough here for all the data, so they fracture the physical world and make many places in one place. Thousands of us each going through a different timeline, in the same hallways, but with different tablets. The floor and ceiling act as a screens in case an SOS is necessary. One of these versions will find the tablets, and when we emerge, we become whole again.
Mehmed nodded. He looked up, trying to see something, anything. It was all maddeningly regular. Endless and dark spaces, small floodlights embedded into the floor at precise intervals. No overhead lights.
He wandered in one direction. There was a line of shelves with no lights. Were they broken? Was something wrong with them? No, that wasn't it. The darkness seemed deliberate.
He started forward, more deliberately. There was something at the end of the tunnel, something he couldn't quite make out. It was holding a lantern, like he was, but it wasn't him. It had more teeth, to begin with.
He made great strides onward. He wanted his legs to stop, but they couldn't. Something that was like him was making the exact same movements, and approaching him. It was smiling. Something was coming from his mouth, bleeding, white, shining-
And then Mary was dragging him backwards, and pushed him to the floor. He tried to crawl back, lamely, until he realised what he was doing and stopped. He was drenched in sweat. "Thanks", he muttered.
"You're welcome." Mary sounded nervous. "Do not stray, she said."

"Alexandria in Space", some of them called it, but the collected mass of data the Foundation had gained far outstripped a collection of mere human lives. Within the hall were several duty librarians, perfect and grim; a hundred or so sub-librarians, each of whom retained some level of collective consciousness despite being fragmented into a hundred thousand pieces; and the Mother, a hidden figure who dwelt in an antechamber and watched, through her eyes, all that happened.
By tradition, the Mother was a member of the Council, but it had been a long time since it had been anything but a symbolic position for any of them. So the task was left to a deputy, a Level 3 or 4, who would don the ancient white robe and spend their days staring and twitching. The official duties of the Mother were simply to look after the tablets, to ensure their upkeep, but everyone knew that this was just a lie they told one another.
Because the truth would have meant acknowledging that they had not built their palace in empty space. That the asteroids were not just convenient rocks, or a useful refuge. And nobody could acknowledge that, because they'd heard the words of the ones who had, and they never wanted to again.
So every now and again, between the stacks, a piece of a scholar would go missing, and the rest of them would follow. And their names would be wiped clean, a generic memorial would be said, and that was that. But when the family members, coming from Earth or Shu or wherever else, asked what had happened to their relatives, the researchers would simply smile, and move away. It was not uncommon to see a mother or a father running between small groups standing at a wake, fleeing from blankness to blankness, trapping themselves in ignorance.

"Here". One of the Tsukikos in one of the fractures had found it. Her Mary and Mehmed scrambled up, and stared together at the screen.
A quick search found the right file. "ANTIMEMETICS RECORDS UNDER M. WHEELER UP TO 2009". They tensed, slightly, as Tsukiko gently pressed the button.

We are sorry. Owing to the continued need for secrecy within the Foundation, this file has been removed to the Three Point Antimemetic Screening Facility on Gongji City, Celestria. Have a nice day.

"That's all?" came Mary's dissatisfied voice. "We travelled how many lightyears to get here, and they can't even do their jobs properly?"
Tsukiko sighed. "I half-expected this. Marion didn't want me to understand. The whole point was that the- whatever this thing was, it would die with me. Why would she want anyone to remember? Why would the records be easy? No, they wanted to make things difficult. Nobody thought that death would end."
She replaced the tablet, and stared up. Somewhere up there, another Tsukiko was looking down.

As the trio's ship headed back through space, the librarian moved some numbers on a screen. They told her everything: who they were, where they'd been, where they were going next. She cocked her head, slightly, and hummed.
Then she completed her shift, walked back to her dormitory, and exchanged her body for another one. A fun, happy, expressive body. She'd go to a bar, and have a great time, drinking and laughing and catching up. You'd never know it was the tight-lipped librarian with the perfectly greying hair.
Then, before she turned out the light, she'd put on a sleeping body; comfortable, dozy, simple. She'd yawn, and let sleep take her, making her all new again.
Except for a few moments before bed, when her eyelids were shut, and she'd see white teeth leering from the shadows.

The "Existential Maw Of Despair" National Park!

End of Death

What You Are in the Light


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North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North
My SCP discord server: https://discord.gg/GngzEYV SCP “The Unspeakable” Server

July 6th. 1946
Southern Korea Peninsula: Busan
“Further, further! Tango went south down the alleyway.”
Mobile Task Force Pi-1 rushed down the cramped, cobblestone alley. Heavy boots slammed on loose stone, bringing mud up into the air. Weapons in hand, the Task Force tried to keep up with their target:a Fox with nine tails.
The soft pitter-patter of tiny footsteps could barely be heard from the MTF units as this Nine-Tailed Fox sprinted through the winding streets. Certainly, she was faster through the area, having the advantage of running through her home turf and the natural speed afforded by her fox form.
The Task Force had split up into several small groups of two. Each team separated ways in hopes of cutting off the Nine-Tailed Fox. As one team tried to stay behind the anomaly, a car pulled up, blocking the alleyway all of them were running down. Multiple field agents got out of the car, each with their weapons drawn on the Fox.
Immediately falling victim to her psionic influence, the field agents would see the Nine-Tailed Fox revert into her human form and slowly get down onto her knees. However, this was merely an illusion, as the real one slowly walked off to the side, waiting for the most opportune time to ambush the field agents as they closed in.
As the Task Force closed the gap and approached the car, they were greeted with a pile of corpses. Each field agent was down on their back, a hole where their liver used to be. Wasting no time, the team jumped the car, scanning the area to try and find where the anomaly had gone.
“This is Unit-1. Tango is out of sight. Over.”
“Roger that Unit-1. This is Unit-3 reporting from the marketplace down by GS25. Tango has been leaving a trail of blood, over.”
“Roger that Unit-3, over and out.” Unit-1 tried catching up with the rest of their team after calling in backup to take care of the fallen field agents.
A careless injury. That's what the trail of blood was — well, one part of it. Though none of the field agents drew a breath anymore, one of them had landed a lucky shot on her left thigh, causing the Fox to gain an unfortunate limp. She couldn't afford to be careless anymore and had limped into an alleyway. Pulling herself onto a balcony, she hid behind it and begin to wait for the sounds of boots to signify that her chasers had moved on.
Most of the units had regrouped, now with a proper trail to follow. Pi-1 quietly followed the blood spots. Upon seeing the trail leads to a townhouse, the Task Force signaled to go in one at a time. Hardly making any noise, Pi-1 entered the building. The Nine-Tailed Fox heard lots of light footsteps; nothing unusual since she was in a city. It had been a good few minutes since any heavy footsteps were heard. It seemed there were no immediate chasers.
As the anomaly slowly got to her feet and walked into the building to leave, she was promptly tackled and cuffed. The Fox's eyes began to glow a cool shade of green, but before she could put her psionic nature to good use, she was swiftly blindfolded.
“Alrighty, boys and girls. Let's get this one to A20.”
The Fox immediately began to shapeshift out of her problem, determined not to fail at this point. However, she shifted straight into the waiting arms of a knockout needle, rendering her unconscious before she could draw a second breath.
July 8th. 1946.
Japan: Foundation Secure Perimeters. Area No. 20.
Interview Logs: Forewords.
"My name is Doctor Evan Clark. Today our agents brought in another anomalous being from just outside Busan, Korea. The subject in question killed multiple agents in the blink of an eye before being subdued with a gunshot wound to the lower thigh. The subject has been blindfolded and restrained to a Type 3 holding cell after given basic first aid. Description of the subject has varied over the past hour. Descriptions have ranged from a female red fox with 8 additional tails to several female humanoids, each with an entirely different appearance. The subject has been cursing in Korean and English for the last hour. I'm going in to try and speak with the subject now.”
The door to the holding cell slid open. To the Fox, it was still pitch black; the blindfold was wrapped tightly around her eyes, her arms were chained behind her back, and the floor beneath her felt like a cage.
An entirely new form was presented to the man as he entered, as was most likely unsurprising considering her previous behavior and polymorphic properties. Upon hearing the door open, the Fox looked in the general direction of the sound, her covered gaze off-center but still relatively close to where the man stood. Despite her cursing for the time being, she silenced for now, though Evan could see her lips hesitate, preparing to snap at him.
Doctor Clark brought in a folding chair. The sound of metal scraping on metal made an ear-piercing shatter as the Doctor promptly took a seat.
“Good Evening. My name is Doctor Clark. I am here to inform you that you have been taken into custody by the SCP Foundation. Shortly, you will be transferred to a proper facility where you will receive a proper classification.
The being before him winced as the clashing of the chair sent a loud shockwave of sound through the room, indicating that the fox ears on her head held some form of effectiveness in the perception of sound. Her anger lessened a bit before shooting right back up as she spoke to Clark angrily, now in English.
“Facility? Classification? Foundation? What the hell are you talking about‽”
The Doctor let out an annoyed sigh as if these were questions below him at this point. Yet, for some reason it was standard protocol to go over a basic orientation with each and every subject.
“You have demonstrated paranormal abilities that do not align themselves with proper science. The Foundation seeks to maintain the veil of secrecy and normality. If common people were to discover something or someone like yourself, there could be mass panic and confusion. We, the Foundation, have taken you into our custody in order to prevent this… As for your classification, well, there are other beings and objects that also display powers beyond the scientific norm.”
The Fox stayed silent throughout his drawn speech, listening attentively yet angrily. Once he finished, silence filled the room for a moment before she spoke again.
“I don't understand what most of that means.” Her voice grew in spite as she continued to speak. “You seek to keep me here to protect the definition of reality? That's-“ She struggled to search for the words she was looking for, but slightly shuddered in her anger.
The Doctor just rolled his eyes. He had seen this exact behavior several times before.
“That's unethical? amoral? Inhumane? I've heard it all, most of the staff has. Although, and most unfortunately I am held to protocols. So if you have any questions, now is your only time to ask before we ship you off to a proper facility.”
The soon-to-be-classified anomaly paused for a moment. She could tell that he was basically reading off of a script at this point, and as such, asking him questions derived from her anger would most likely be unpleasant and fruitless for the both of them. Yet, it was hard to resist that anger, what with the bullet wound in her thigh sending piercing pain through her. That would be a good first question, actually; medical treatment was important and she did not want to develop an infection.
“What is going to be done about the bullet wound that you all have given me?”
“There is nothing that can be done about that here, apart from the basic first aid you have already been given. You will most likely be given proper medical treatment upon arrival at a secure facility. Luckily for you, the bullet passed straight through, meaning you won't need surgery. Now, are there any other questions?”
This was good news for her, with medical treatment being guaranteed and the lack of surgery being required meant that she would not be down nor out for a good while. "Will all of my needs be attended to? Food, water, the basics of life."
The Doctor slowly gave a half-nod, even though the Fox couldn't see him. “Yes, you will be given a proper diet after a full medical examination. Now if you don't mind, unless you have any other questions I got a few of my own.”
The fox hissed a bit under her breath, responding as the anger dripped from her lips. “You better give me a good goddamn reason I should answer any of your questions after you all dragged me to this place.”
Rubbing his face, Doctor Clark was all ready to leave the holding cell. “The more you cooperate, the better you will end up. Good behavior will result in being authorized small luxury items. Although, I really can't say much more than that. Now if you would be so kind, the sooner I get my questions answered, the sooner you can be on your way.”
The Doctor tried to force a more friendly tone — something his superiors often complained about. So what if he wasn't nice to new subjects? He never saw them twice.
The fox bit her tongue and held her insults about this man for the time being, much to her own dismay.
“I suppose I don't have much of a choice in the matter. Ask your questions.”
An ever fainter smile made its way across the Doctor's face. At last, progress would be made.
“Excellent, let's get the basics out of the way. Are there any families or friends that will notice your immediate absence?”
The fox listened obediently, putting on what may be called an act for the time being.
“Of course! I found one ‘em those radios you humans are obsessed with. Everyone knows who I am.” The Fox couldn't hold back a shit-eating smirk.
The Doctor just rubbed his temple in frustration as he made a note to have the Task Force go and return to the area of discovery.
“Splendid. Just fucking splendid… Anyway, moving on. Are there any medical problems you currently face? This could be anything from a recent illness to dietary restrictions.” He spoke in a monotone voice, honestly not giving a damn about the Fox's well-being.
The Nine-Tailed Fox could feel his apathy towards her actual status, mumbling an offhand remark about this, just out of earshot from the doctor interviewing her.
"It's important to note that I can only eat liver for sustenance."
Scribbles could be heard as the Doctor made a quick note about this.
“Fascinating, I look forward to seeing the results of your medical exam.”
Quickly standing up, the Doctor pushed his folding chair back a tab. Once more the ear-piercing screech of metal on metal rang throughout the room. The Doctor picked up his chair and cleared his throat.
“Alrighty then, that concludes this basic interview. I won't take up any more of your time.”
Evan Clark quickly made his way out of the interview room, never bothering to even learn the subject's name. There was no point to it for him: all that would be handled during the qualification procedures.
Wincing once more at the screeching of the metal chair against the cold concrete, the subject shook her head lightly to clear it of the aftereffects of the loud noise.
"Wonderful, I'm sure you will."
It didn't matter that the man was now gone from the room: she felt the need to exude one last remark regardless.
July 9th. 1946.
The United States of America: Foundation Site-17. Standard humanoid housing.
The travel to Site-17 was unpleasant to say the least for the Fox. An absurd amount of drugs and medical screenings later, she was given the classification of Euclid as well as a new name in the form of SCP-953. Another interview was given out to the new anomaly before she were thrown in a basic cell, free of their blindfold and cuffs.
She spent her first few days within her cell thinking, plotting, and scheming. She very well knew that at any moment she could leave, or escape, but she knew that blindly running out of her cell would most likely result in her right back where she started, except in a higher security cell.
Noises came from every direction. The Vulpine's keen ears picked up dozen of footsteps of all directions as guards walked the hallway right outside her cell. Scientists moved towards their labs on the floor below. Interns rushed to the coffee machine down the hallway on the other side of the wall.
The facility was busy, she could tell. There obviously was more than just her here: maybe waiting until something happened involving something else trying to escape would be a good idea. There were a few good ideas inside her mind that were in the works, she just had to wait for the right conditions, or until she got too impatient. Though, her patience was already clearly dwindling, marked by her continued pacing and obsessive cleaning of her containment cell.
July 11. 1946
The United States of America: Foundation Site-17. Standard humanoid housing.
The Fox awoke to loud shouting and the sound of gunfire. A man in a roughly patched-together together suit and old-timey top hat danced down the hallways, dropping little slips of golden paper. As the man was getting surrounded by dozens of the Site's' guards, there was a loud pop, and a faint mist as the top hated man disappeared. Even through the concrete walls that separated the Fox from the hallway, a small golden ticket slipped into her cell.
Upon closer inspection, the ticket read:

Press here for access to Stacker's Coffeehouse and Bar!

The sounds of gunfire were a surprise to her, and not a pleasant one in any way. Having been recently tossed into the cell thanks to a bullet wound, everything was unpleasant combined with the sheer loudness of gunfire on her sensitive ears, it was unpleasant in a variety of factors.
Despite this, she got up and collected the small golden ticket on the floor, dusting it off a bit with her thumb while simultaneously wondering just how it managed to get in the cell in the first place. Despite the peculiarities of the situation, she pressed on the ticket, expecting it to do nothing other than waste half a second of her time.
Much to the Fox's surprise, she found herself in a cozy brick-lined building. The floor was murky with dirt and mud. The smell of berries, candy, and alcohol filled her nostrils, a rather pleasant change from the stale air of her cell.
Men and women in old English long coats clanged mugs of hot chocolates together, golden coins littering their table. Each had a flintlock and cutlass on their belt.
A group of teenagers in leather jackets sat near a stage, each of them trading candy, a soda can in their hand.
But the weirdest sight by far was the lady on stage. The women had red skin, spiked tail and horns, though no one in the bar bothered to bat an eye at the strange sight of a devil singing jazz.
As one might reasonably expect, the fox jumped a bit upon being introduced to the new building, stiffening in place before finally getting a chance to glance around at her new surroundings.
Men and women in old coats: that was new to her, as she hadn't been really exposed to that type of fashion style. The leather jackets were a bit more familiar, but not totally, although she could clearly recognize that they were from a different time period.
As for the demoness singing on the stage? That was new, absolutely and entirely. Though the Fox could clearly tell that she was not of this world, or was she? In all honesty, she herself couldn't really tell, hell, she hardly knew where she was. But it didn't stop her from approaching the bar with a somewhat perplexed look and leaning against it with one arm, glancing around for the person, if at all, who appeared to be the bartender.
A transparent female floating behind the bar counter stood out. The Fox could only assume it was a ghost. The female went up and down the counter handing out drinks to the bar's patrons.
After spotting the Foxy girl, she waved her over.
“Welcome to Stackers! You must be new here right? I think I would've remembered a face like yours in here before. Anyway, my name is Lillian, can I get you something to eat or drink?”
The Fox smiled a bit. She was out of the grasp of the Foundation, free of her cell. She could begin properly planning some sweet revenge. Especially against that Evan Clark. Although, the Fox wanted to enjoy her new found freedom.
“Sure, got any wine?”
To be continued.


"It doesn't make sense," Ray said once more. "I call bullshit."
"Really?" Vivian said, raising an eyebrow. "Out of all the things we've learned about today, a list that includes a lizard that we literally can't destroy, a depressed sentient drawing, and actual honest-to-god bigfoot, the thing you're claiming doesn't exist is an anomalous number?"
"I believe it exists. I just don't buy that it's missing, or that it fucks with non anomalous things the way they claim it does."
"You see, dear Vivian," Ahmed said, cutting into the conversation, "It's hard to be sure any of this exists. I get Ray's thought process. You see, he's just–"
"They're just," Ray corrected, rolling their eyes. Ahmed didn't seem to hear, continuing to talk over them.
"–a skeptic at heart. He can't–"
"They can't."
"–help it. Kindred souls, Ray and I."
"Ooh," Ray winced. "Is that really a judgement to make on the first day?"
Vivian suppressed a chuckle. "All I'm saying is that's not the weirdest thing we've heard about,” she continued.
"But it is,” Ray insisted. “Because there's nothing weird about a hard to define number. Look, when we get a result that's divided by zero, we just call it undefined. Some branches of math even use numbers divided by zero as a way to get infinity or some other arbitrarily large number. And the fact that we can use infinity at all shows just how weird math is. Infinity isn't even a number, really, but we treat it like a number, and therefore it is."
"Interesting point," Ahmed said. "Counterpoint: anomaly. This whole… insane Foundation. All of it defies logic."
Ray frowned. "Some things more-so than others."
"Something tells me you're gonna be one to keep an eye on Ray," Vivian said.
Ray smiled back nervously. "I'm a junior researcher just like the rest of you."
"Somehow I doubt that. I have a feeling you're not just like the rest of us," Vivian replied, a smile on her face.

"Bullshit!" Ray yelled, a show of disapproval for Ahmed's canned speech. The others made similar remarks.
"What?" Ahmed protested. "The whole point was to share our craziest conspiracies. You think the theory that the world has already ended and we're all clones is so crazy that it's bullshit?"
"No, what's bullshit is that you expect us to think that's a crazy conspiracy," Lily said. Vivian laughed at her girlfriend's remark, subtly challenging Ahmed.
"I mean, I figured that out on like my first day," Colin said.
"Well you're the new guy, so you don't get a vote," Ahmed said, grasping for any victory.
"New to us," Vivian reminded Ahmed. "Don't forget he has more experience than any of us, it's not his fault he's late to the site thirty-seven party."
"In any case, it's not like any of you can come up with a crazier theory. Or do you wanna tell us about oh-three-three again, Ray?"
"Wait, have I heard about this?" Lily asked.
"God he's been on this–"
"They," Colin corrected Ahmed. "They've been on this." Colin and Ray shared a smile, a kind of solidarity formed.
"Right," Ahmed continued, unswayed, "they've been on this since literally day one, about how SCP oh-three-three doesn't make any sense."
"Oh-three-three," Colin murmured. "That's the missing number, right?"
Ray nodded. "Exactly."
"Wait, I have heard this," Lily said, finally realizing.
"Tell Colin," Vivian said to Ray. She turned to the new transfer. "You gotta hear this, they make a really compelling argument."
"So the entire deal with Theta Prime is that it's a missing integer, right? Single digit, positive. And for some reason, we missed it. And now when it interacts with anything, it completely fucks with it."
"We know this scip, Ray-Ray, just get to the underwhelming theory," Ahmed said, losing patience.
"So long as you promise to never call me Ray-Ray again. Point is, that's not how mathematics works. Take i, for example."
"The i argument," Vivian said, laughing a little.
"To be fair, that's what convinced me," Lily said.
"The square root of negative one doesn't exist. It just doesn't work with the building blocks of numbers. But if we say it does exist, then suddenly, a lot of mathematics starts to make sense. We inventiscovered the complex plane and suddenly we could do a lot more math and science and physics."
"The fuck kind of word is 'inventiscovered'?" Ahmed asked.
"I believe they're referring to how it's kind of hard to tell whether humans invented math or simply discovered concepts that always existed," Colin explained. Ray smiled at him.
"Exactly."
"Okay, wait, remind me where the conspiracy comes in," Lily said, enthralled in the narrative Ray was building.
"Well that's just it. I'm not entirely sure where the theory goes. But I have a few ideas. For starters, it could be that oh-three-three doesn't exist. Like at all. It's just something they tell us about to get us used to the idea. Or else, they're hiding the true anomalous properties of it from us, it's not just that it's missing, it's that there's an additionally attached anomaly." They let that sink in for a while. Then a smirk formed at the corner of their mouth. "Or. It's all an elaborate cover-up. Theta-prime is used to cover up the real thirty-three. It's covering up something deep that would shock us all to our core."
"Or," Ahmed said, "you're thinking about this too much. It's not that hard, Ray. It's like…" Ahmed snapped in realization. "It's like missingno. That's all it is."
"In that case, the burden of proof is on you to prove that the universe functions like a computer, and then to prove that it's glitched to such an extent to create something like theta prime."
"Wouldn't the anomalies be the bugs in the code?"
"Hey, Ahmed finally came up with a crazy conspiracy theory!" Colin said. The others mockingly congratulated him. Ahmed tried to protest, but when he saw it wasn't going to stop, he rolled his eyes, changing tactics. He accepted the praise, giving a slight flourish of the hands, an implication or a bow as the group of researchers continued to talk through the night.

"It's bullshit, Vivian!" They ranted, running a hand through their hair.
"I know, Ray, it completely sucks," Vivian responded sympathetically. It was nearing three in the morning and they were still in Ray's office.
"There's nothing they can do? No funding? What the fuck does that mean, since when does funding stop the fucking Foundation?"
"You're right, it's terrible," she agreed. "I'm just worried this ranting isn't productive."
"I am trying to contain a dangerous anomaly here, and they expect me to just put it in a fucking box and be done with it? I'm at my wits end. We lost five people trying to contain this goddamn thing. And you know the only reason this is happening is because I'm not one of their star researchers, no I'm Mx. Ray Nox. It's because I'm not cis, Vivian, it's because they can't put me in a fucking box."
"I agree that there is probably some gender bias there."
"Christ, Viv, you just… you just don't understand the extent of this discrimination bullshit."
"You're talking to a whole black lesbian here, buddy."
"And Ahmed's always breathing down my neck, god forbid I do my job for ten minutes without him telling me how much better he would do it. Ethics committee, what does he know about ethics? He keeps misgendering me, the motherfucker. You know we've been working together, what, coming up on two decades? And he still defaults to 'he/him' pronouns."
"Look, Ahmed is just doing his job, and it sucks. And he can be an asshole with pronouns, but you know he considers you one of his closest friends."
"I'm done with all of this. All of the anomalies, the scips, losing people, I'm done."
"I hear your frustration. But I know you don't mean it."
"And-and then there's, fuckin… FUCKING theta prime!" They said, trying to keep their voice steady.
"Not this again," Vivian sighed.
"We invented a number that's the square root of one. But it's not one, Vivian. It's fucking j! What kinda of a bullshit number is j? It's not even on the complex plane, but it doesn't break mathematics!"
"Ray," their friend responded concerned.
"And fucking combinatorial game theory! You heard of star, Viv? You fucking heard of star? Well, let me tell you about it. It's less than all positive numbers, but it's greater than all negative numbers. But it's not zero. No, zero has its own separate value in game theory! You're telling me we have a value that by definition has to be zero but isn't equivalent to zero but a fucking missing integer breaks the world?"
"Ray!" she yelled. They stopped talking at the sudden scolding, truly looking at Vivian for the first time that evening. The manic look in their eyes quickly replaced by one of shame and exhaustion. Vivian looked sadly at her friend. "When was the last time you got some sleep?"
"I… I have so much to do, I don't have time–"
"You have to sleep, Ray. Or your work is gonna suffer and then we're all in deep shit." They weren't sure how to respond to that. "Have you talked to Colin about any of this?"
"You know I can't do that. Different security clearances and shit."
"That's an excuse and you know it. You can vent about your frustration and not mention the specifics. Like you've been doing with me."
They put their head in their hand, looking away. "I don't know. We don't talk about work. I don't… I don't wanna bother him with this stuff."
"He's your husband. You have to rely on him sometimes, and trust that you're not burdening him. You're both working at the same place. I'm sure he has a lot of bullshit stuff going on in his neck of the woods too. But that's why you talk to each other."
They sighed, on the verge of tears. "You're right, Viv. You're always right. I'm… I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with my bullshit."
She shrugged. "It's what friends are for."
"I'm just so tired," they admitted. "Sometimes I just wanna… I dunno. Amnesticize myself and walk away from the Foundation. For good."
"You think you're the only one who has those thoughts?" she asked, eyebrow raised. Ray looked at her, confused.
"But Viv, you love this stuff!"
"Doesn't make it any less exhausting." She sighed, leaning back on the desk next to them. "Go home. Get some sleep tonight. And when you wake up, talk to Colin. I'm sure he wants to talk to you as well."
Ray chuckled. "Yeah. You're probably right."
"I'm always right," Vivian replied matter-of-factly.
"Say hi to Lily for me,” Ray said as they moved towards the door, grabbing their coat.
"And Ray," she said. Ray turned around in the doorway. "Stop thinking about oh-three-three. It's not healthy," she said, half joking.
Ray grinned back at her. "Never."

"No, that's… that's gotta be bullshit,” Ray said.
"I have it from a reliable source," Lily said, earnest. "They need a new Overseer. Somebody's about to be whisked away to Site Oh-One and replace Oh-Five-Eleven."
"And how do they decide that?" Ray asked.
"Your guess is as good as mine." At that moment, the site director came walking up to them.
"Ms. Cruz, Mx. Nox," she said.
"Site Director," Ray said turning to her.
"Viv, babe, you've known Ray for decades. We're married. Why the formality?" Lily asked. Ray chuckled at Lily's observation. Vivian took a deep breath, and there was a sense of solemnity in her pause.
"I've been asked to escort Mx. Nox to the helipad." The two researchers took in what Vivian had said to them. Suddenly, Ray burst into laughter.
"Helipad? Are you joking me? Are you guys playing some joke on me?" Ray laughed as they said this, but Vivian's expression didn't change.
"You're to report to Site Oh-One," Vivian continued. "Immediately."
Ray laughed again, looking at Lily. But Lily did not laugh with them. She just stared at them, a look of awe crossing her face. It was at this point that they turned back to Vivian. She gave Ray a nod. Ray turned back to Lily.
"Oh my god," Lily said.
"Oh my god…" they echoed. "I… Do I need to pack up my office?"
"I've been instructed to send you all the necessary materials at earliest convenience," Vivian explained.
"Okay, okay, um…" Ray was uncertain how to respond. Vivian started walking away, a silent instruction for them to follow. They turned back to Lily. "Tell Colin."
"Okay," Lily promised.
"Tell him I love him." Ray had no clue what was about to happen. They had to be prepared for anything. Even never seeing him again. They got the nod from Lily, then quickly walked to keep up with Vivian.
The two hurriedly made their way down the hallways of Site-37, towards the staircase. As they passed, Ray could hear the chitterlings of coworkers, wondering what they were hurrying for. Ray wasn't sure what to make of it. They weren't sure what to make of anything. They just kept following Vivian through the corridors. Through a doorway, they saw Ahmed tilt his head, silently mouthing a question they couldn't make out. Ray could only shrug in response.
They wondered if this would be the last time the two would interact.
As the two ascended the stairs, Ray felt their stomach flip.
"I'm not ready," they mused aloud.
"You are," Vivian replied, confident as ever. This did nothing to quell Ray's fears as they reached the top of the staircase. The roof of Site-37. The two could hear the helicopter had already arrived. But before Vivian could open the door, Ray spoke up.
"Viv, wait." Vivian turned around, a stoic but not unfriendly look on her face. "I'm… I'm scared," Ray admitted.
"Well, I'd be surprised if you weren't," Vivian said. "But that's why you make such a great researcher, Ray." Vivian sighed. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit scared for you. But whatever it is, you can handle it. I know you can."
"Vivian, you're the reason I'm the person I am today. You've helped me out of so many tight spots, you've held me to a higher standard, you've been there when everything went wrong…"
"And I could say the same about you for me. But why bring this all up now?"
"What if… what if they amnesticize me? Make me forget all about you, and you all about me. And they make me forget Lily, and Ahmed, and…"
"And Colin," Vivian finished. "That's why you told Lily…" Vivian took a deep breath, scared at the possibility she hadn't fully considered until they said it. "If that's the case… then just take what comfort you can right now in the knowledge that you have meant so much to all of us. And I'll make sure they know how much they mean to you." Ray nodded, still feeling uncertain.
"Okay." Vivian hugged her friend, both uncertain of what the future had in store for them. She moved back to the door.
"Ready?"
"No. Not at all." They took a deep breath. "Open the door."
"You got this." With that, Vivian opened the door. With no time to second guess themself, Ray stepped across the threshold with all the courage they could muster.
They led the two of them to the helicopter. With a nod, Ray said goodbye to Vivian as they were escorted onto the vehicle. As the pilot took off, they saw Vivian give one last wave. They waved back, somewhat sadly, in response. As Vivian walked back to the door and faded from view, Ray sat up again, facing forward.
This was it. They were heading to Site-01, the headquarters of the O5 council. Surely some mistake was made. Or they had misunderstood the whole situation. Or this was a huge practical joke set up by Lily, Vivian, and… Colin? Ahmed? They couldn't discount anything at the moment, but that seemed to be a bit of a stretch.
They closed their eyes, trying to imagine every scenario possible. The odds of any of this happening were incredibly unlikely. And the odds of this happening to them… impossible. It was all impossible. They were just… Ray. A senior researcher. And a damn good one at that, sure. But that was it. Surely, they were jumping the gun, missing some crucial piece of context that would explain all of this and make much more sense than the narrative they were constructing in their head.
"Mr. Nox?" Ray opened their eyes and turned their head to look at the man next to them.
"It's Mx. Nox, actually."
The man nodded, understanding. "We're here, Mx. Nox." Ray looked out and saw they were descending towards a site not entirely unlike the one they had just come from. Waiting at the helipad was an older woman, with an expression on her face that was not unkind. Though it seemed impossible at this distance, Ray would swear she was staring right at them. As the helicopter descended, her gaze never strayed, following them even as the helicopter landed and they got out. Ray quickly found themself escorted to meet with her.
"You must be Ray Nox," the woman said smiling. "I've heard so much about you and the projects you've worked on. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Nox." She held out a hand, which Ray quickly shook.
"The pleasure is all mine, Ms….?" They realized they had no clue who the person standing in front of them was.
"Please, call me Eve." Ray wondered if any of the implications their mind was coming up with made any sense. "Walk with me. I'm sure you have plenty of questions." She turned toward the building and began walking toward the door, making sure Ray was keeping up.
"Yeah, you could say that."
"Go ahead. I'll answer what I can."
"…Why am I here?"
Eve laughed. "Surely I thought you would've deduced that by now."
"Well, I might've. But I'm not sure."
"Ray, you know why you're here."
"I need to hear you say it," Ray said, determined. Eve sighed. Ray could tell it wasn't out of annoyance, but what was it? Sadness, perhaps?
"Mx. Nox. We of the O5 council find ourselves in need of a replacement for our colleague, O5-11. You have been called upon to take up that mantle. Eleven had his eye on you for a while. All of us did."
"But why me?" Ray blurted out. When met with a concerning look from Eve, they continued. "I just mean, surely there are more qualified people than me to take up this esteemed position. What about my superior, Site Director Vivian Gold?"
"Ms. Gold is a fine researcher, and I dare say an amazing Site Director. She asks the questions necessary of a Site Director, and she handles the problems presented to her with tact and grace. But you ask the kind of questions that make an Overseer. And the rest of us believe you have what it takes to be one." Ray walked with her in silence, wondering what that could mean. She looked at them with a knowing smile before continuing. "Tell me, Mx. Nox, are there any anomalies that you've been wondering about for some time?"
Ray shrugged. "I mean, that's what we do here. We contain anomalies and try to understand them, and I've worked on plenty that we can't yet explain in detail, and–"
"Ray," Eve interrupted, an expectant grin on her face. Ray sighed.
"Oh thirty-three makes no sense, that's not how math works. If we found a missing integer, we would just act like it still existed and we'd be able to unlock deeper, crazier areas of math. And it certainly wouldn't affect things the way it supposedly does, that's bullshit–" They quickly stopped themself, mortified. "I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"It's fine," the woman said, trying not to chuckle. "We won't punish you for having passion. In fact, it's encouraged in some cases. And what you just said proves my point. How many people would think that way?"
"Lots, I'm sure."
"But few would continue to research it, learning more math in the process to try and explain one anomaly instead of just accepting that it's anomalous and that's how the world works now. And you did." Ray nodded, beginning to understand. "We'll get back to that in a moment, I'm sure you have more questions." There were plenty of questions running through Ray's mind. But only one that mattered.
"Will I be able to maintain my relationships with my former coworkers from Site Thirty-Seven?"
"I presume you're referring to your husband." Ray gave a solemn nod. "Yes. Of course you can still be in a relationship with him." Ray exhaled a breath they didn't know they were holding in.
"And my other former colleagues? Vivian, Lily, Ahmed?" Eve looked surprised at this question, pondering it as if the thought hadn't occurred to her.
"Well, there's no rule preventing Overseers from having friends. But I would advise you to be cautious. It's hard to maintain friendships at this security clearance, for a number of reasons." She faced forward again, continuing down the hall with purpose. "Of course, we'll have to amnesticize your former site director. Her wife, too, by the looks of it. And of course, all of your former colleagues will be given a cover story about your transfer. The Zero-Thirty-Three project, perhaps?"
Ray winced. "A bit on the nose, don't you think?"
She grinned back at him. "I prefer to think of it as hiding in plain sight." They arrived at a pair of heavily reinforced doors. Something told Ray this area was only accessible to those with Level-5 clearance. Eve moved to a terminal at the edge of the door and performed a brief but complex ritual, and a second later the doors opened. "Combination of personal identification, biometric scans, and–well, all will be explained soon."
Ray followed Eve, noticing there was much less activity in this portion of the building. Eve stopped outside of a door. On the outside, the placard read O5-11. Ray stared at it, awestruck.
"This will be your new office," Eve said. Ray looked at her, slightly concerned.
"But I haven't accepted your– your generous offer," Ray said, trying not to seem ungrateful.
"Oh," Eve said simply. "Were you planning on rejecting it?"
Ray thought for a second. "No, no. I… I accept, I just…"
"Then this will be your new office," Eve continued, cheerful as ever. "Not as though you had a choice," she murmured. She opened the door and waited for Ray to step through. Ray hadn't known what to expect, but the office seemed surprisingly average. It was a bit spacious, but it contained a desk with a terminal on it, not unlike their office back at Site-37.
"You'll be doing much of your work from this terminal. The previous Eleven has left several documents to get you caught up to speed on your duties and responsibilities, but I've pulled up two documents you're going to want to read." Ray nodded, sitting behind the desk as Eve watched them. They tapped on the keyboard to wake up the monitor, and found one of the documents the woman had mentioned. Their eyes widened.
"Oh Three Three," they said, looking up at Eve. She nodded in response.
"Level-five access. Declassified. Take a read. There's not much you don't know, but there are a few details that are sure to surprise you." Ray nodded, reading the document.
She was right. Most of this, Ray had learned in their early days. The designation of theta prime, the idea that it tried to integrate itself into standard mathematics, the infuriating properties that didn't inherently dictate anomalous means. But then one line caught their eye.

The "sum" of the symbols is equal to a previously unknown integer (designated Theta Prime by Prof. Hutchinson) of intermediate value between 0 and 1.

"Wait… between zero and one… but that would mean–"
"Yes," Eve interrupted. "A singularity. The singularity as a matter of fact. I recognize that raises more questions than it answers, hence the second document I've pulled up. It's one of several proposals for the same number, this one proposed by myself." Ray nodded as they opened the other document.

Item #: SCP-001
Object Class: Archon
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is contained by the belief that SCP-001 exists. As such, no containment procedures are necessary, as even those aware of the anomalous nature of SCP-001 inherently operate to ensure its existence.
Description: SCP-001 is the concept that with enough research and study, the universe can in some capacity be explained, and that all things can be categorized and their behavior predicted to a certain extent. The corollary belief that anything outside what can be explained and categorized is anomalous is the only true anomaly. SCP-001 was proposed by O5-1 after extensive study of SCP-033.

"Systems tend toward entropy, the thought that we can have any sort of order is the craziest idea there is. But it works because we say it does. SCP-033 is the singularity, the only true number. But that wasn't useful to us. So we created new quantities to better categorize and explain our world, but the second we gave it a name, the singularity split from what it was supposed to be. Theta Prime split from one." Ray couldn't help but feel the wonder in Eve's voice, and felt it reflected on their face. "You're right, Ray. Theta Prime is bullshit. All of this is bullshit! But we thought if we observed and recorded we could understand that bullshit. And through sheer willpower alone, by observing and recording, we did seem to make sense of it. Most of the matter and energy in this universe is prefaced with the word 'dark,' inherently anomalous matter and energy, and we still try to understand what causes it. And the thought that we can make sense of it… well, that's the only thing that truly doesn't make sense."
Ray nodded. It all made so much sense. It was all so confusing. They understood it, and they couldn't begin to understand it. It was then Ray knew why they had been chosen.
Eve looked at her watch. "We have to get to the Council Room now, introduce you to the others and begin to get you settled in. When that's done I'll let you read the documents left by the old Eleven." Eve looked sadly around the office. Ray wondered if she was going to miss him. She looked back to Ray, a look of certainty on her face.
"I think you're going to make a great Overseer, O5-11."
"Thank you for bringing me on board, O5-1."

That very same evening, Ray was able to call their husband and check in.
"Ray!" Colin's excited voice came from the other end. "Thank god! When Lily told me what happened, what you said… I started getting really worried."
Ray chuckled. "Yeah, I might have overreacted a little bit in the whirlwind of getting whisked away."
"So… you're an overseer now?"
"Yeah, I guess. It's kind of a long story, and one I'm guessing I won't be allowed to tell."
"What does that mean for us?" Colin asked, worried.
"It means I'm going to be stationed here at Site-01. It means you should expect a transfer here soon. But other than that, not much. There's stuff I still won't be allowed to tell you about, and stuff you probably shouldn't tell me." Colin sighed at the other end, and Ray nodded, knowing the feeling.
"So, is there anything you can tell me about your first day?"
Ray thought about this. Colin's question was a fair one, but a difficult one to answer.
"The universe… it's so vast and incredible. There is so much we can't know. And I've known for a while that the more we try to know, the more we realize we don't know. And that's beautiful, and a little sad, and hard to deal with. After all, if the more we know, the more we know we don't know, then how can we truly know anything of value." Ray expected Colin to laugh at the other end. What they were saying sounded completely fake deep, and a younger Ray might have called themself out on it. But Colin seemed to understand and just nodded. Ray thought for a second more before their lips curled up in a smirk. "But you know, there is one thing I've always known."
"And what's that?"
"I'm pretty good at calling out bullshit."