"It was as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced."
"This is hardly the time for Star Wars, dearest."
Paige Turner shivered, letting loose a discomforting rustling from every ink-stained sheet of paper making up her body. The light-sensing markings representing her face flushed white as she took in the scene. "Sorry. I'm just at a loss for words."
"As if I could blame you." Headless folded his upper pair of wings across his chest, hiding the grisly scene from the eyes which lined them. His voice echoed from somewhere just above his empty shoulders. "We shouldn't linger. It might come back this way."
A long shadow passed over them, its presence alone enough to petrify the two. Where it met the light, murky figures could be seen clawing and flailing as they tried to escape some unseen prison. One of the last untouched patches of grass wilted beneath the pair's feet. The whole area smelled of smoke. But then it passed, moving onward on its path of destruction. Paige Turner ran to Headless, inky tears falling from every part of her.
"How does something like this even happen?" She turned to face it once again. It was so large, she almost had to lean backward to fully see it. Its head was crocodilian, with limbs jutting out from every direction as if reaching for help. Its every step thundered like a collapsing building. Around its head, a halo of helpless Oneiroi were quickly drawn into the maw. It opened its mouth wide far before the waves of sound hit them. It did not roar; it wailed.
This truly was a nightmare.

.s posts tagged with #OWCollective, showing (Recent) from (~1 Hour)

BlueRaven - A Tree Somewhere - Missouri, USA
what the HELL is going on in OW right now?!

Upvote Reply ·+253

MargrawnHuntr64 - Your Self Insert - Mexico
There is no way that is a regular nightmare, it's got to be an Old One or something
Why tf hasn't the collective done something about it?

Upvote Reply ·+32

WARNINGbot
WARNING: Any Oneiroi currently in Oneiroi West should exit the area immediately! If you are able to return to your body, do so. Otherwise, relocate to the nearest Noncorp shelter!
This is an automated bot designed to warn Oneiroi in the event of any sort of emergency.
To report any issues, please contact Jung, Dumb, and Broke.

Upvote Reply ·+643

This article is incomplete, you can help by adding to it!
The Nightmare Collective known as 𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳 is a recently formed, Apophis-class nightmare collective. As with other nightmare collectives, it has no capitol, nor largest city to speak of. However, it is felt most strongly in Hy-Brasil and surrounding areas. This nightmare collective is believed to have come into existence following events outside of the dream, which led to a species wide psychological-frame shift in Homo sapiens and Homo sapiens tumuli (commonly referred to as Fae).
𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳 possesses a wake measuring at a 3.6/5 on Carter's Lucidity Scale, which is capable of disrupting nearby human dreamers, causing harm to noncorpeals, and raising lucidity insurance premiums by up to 26.3%. An estimated 325 Oneiroi have been absorbed by 𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳 at time of writing. Despite this, the Collective Mind of Oneiroi West has taken no action, prompting some to speculate that the collective may have suffered major internal damage.
𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳 inhabits an Apophis class nightmare reality space, and as such will change freely in response to an individual's personal psychological state regarding the real world events leading to its formation. 𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳 is believed to be non-intelligent, but may possess object creation, physical modification, and parasomnic capabilities.

Nightmare Collective: 𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳
Located
In a Sense
Languages Used
Pleading
Childhood Trauma (3-5 Age Group Dialect)
REM Fragmentation (Greater Sleep Paralysis subset)
Reality:
Moderate to Severe Nightmare
Cuils:
Approximately Five

Last Edited 0?/38/1998, 3:22 AM by Randolph C.
[VIEW EDITS] [HISTORY] [COMMENTS]

Hundreds of Oneiroi crowded into a small bar, practically shoulder to shoulder in some places. The snake-headed- coincidentally, snake armed and legged as well- owner appeared to be the only one in a good mood, as he eagerly passed various beverages to his new patrons. In the corner, Paige Turner and Headless sat at a booth, with cups of coffee.
"You're sure this place is safe? It's not that far from Oneiroi West." Headless shuffled his wings, visibly uncomfortable in the cramped space. Across from him, Paige Turner drew patterns in the ink on her arm, lost in thought.
Reflected in the ink was a multitude of articles, pages, and profiles. One caught her attention, enlarging itself to take up her whole hand.

EyeThinkThereforeIAmTired - 5C - Insert Meta Joke Here
Most noncorps in OnWe are bored of living anyway, at least /something/ is finally happening.
As for CORPses, who gives a shit what they think anyway lol. Saw a video of one that got caught in the Nightmare Wake on BrainDrain earlier, hilarious. Just screamed and tried to wake up for about five minutes before it expired. Me next, please.

Upvote Reply ·+4 · Jan Jan, January J:JJan

The ink on Paige Turner's face flushed a dark red, as she moved her fingers in place, typing a response.

PaigeTurner - Oneiroi West - Ink'D↑TatArtist
How can you be so much of an asshole as to

Upvote Reply ·+0 · Jan Feb, January J:JJan

"Paige."
Her body crinkled a bit as she sighed, and wiped away the message draft. Headless gently put his hand over hers, ignoring the wet ink.
"People shouldn't say things like that." Paige Turner spat out, finally.
Headless calmly shrugged. "I know. But they do. Just don't let them get to you, ignore them."
"How can I? Oneiroi West is being destroyed!" Other Oneiroi had begun to stare, but Paige Turner hardly noticed. "It was a home to me, even when I didn't have a real one. It took me in, helped me find people that cared about me, and that thing- That thing is just going to…" She trailed off.
Headless extended his left wings outwards, shielding the pair from prying eyes. "I know. But there isn't anything we can do right now. I'm sure that the Collective is doing something, it just takes time for it to act. All the people flooding out probably isn't helping."
Paige Turner looked at him almost in shock. "How can you be so calm about this? I know how much this Collective means to you too. We met here. Doesn't that matter to you?"
Headless averted his eyes for a moment. "Of course it matters. I'm calm because that's what you need me to be right now. You're more important to me."
Paige Turner was silent for a moment. "You're right. But god, I just wish I could do something." A flashing light on her arm caught her attention.

📰 World News

𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳 reaches the center of Oneiroi West. OW officials "not sure if we can take much more of this". Calls for an intervention from the Oneiroi West collective-mind still met with silence, believed to be due to sudden decrease in population, difficulty achieving cohesion, attempts to add tension to… Open to Read More

Paige Turner's entire face turned white. Headless started to speak, but Paige simply disappeared, leaving him alone with a puddle of inky residue. Just as quickly, Headless stood to his feet, his feathers ruffling. He pushed his way through the crowd to the door, ignoring the protests of the Snake-headed bartender.

Headless frantically flew above what used to be a lively marketplace, searching for any sign of Paige Turner. Every eye searched a different part of the wreckage for glimpses of white, trails of ink, or bits of- there she was. At the center of a clearing in the rubble, a line of ink spelled out 'HERE' on the ground.
Quickly, he dove down to it, and alighted next to the message. "Paige? Can you hear me?"
A flicker of motion caught his eye, and he sped over to it. It was a paper arm, torn and shredded. His wings drooped, the world seemed to spin around him. "…Paige." Cradling the last piece of his dearest in his hands, he turned away. For a moment, he stared into distance. Extending his wings, he prepared to lift off.
But then, from beside him, he heard muffled speech! Looking down, he saw Paige Turner, a crumpled mess, half stuck under a large piece of what had once been a building. As he cast it aside, his wings fluttered, creating a sound like a sigh of relief. Paige Turner unfolded herself, and struggled to a seated position, silently. Headless straightened up and put on a brave face, metaphorically speaking. "Are you hurt?"
Paige Turner turned slightly to face him, and Headless' eyes widened. Her left limbs were stumps, oozing ink. Before Headless could speak, she cut him off. "It doesn't hurt, don't worry. I won't be able to walk, though."
Headless ruffled his wings in an agitated manner. "Why did you have to go and run off like that? You knew it was dangerous."
Paige Turner was silent for a moment. "I couldn't leave. Oneiroi West helped me, when I needed it the most. If it needs more people to be able to be able to intervene, then I had to…" She trailed off, as ripples began to form in the ink patterns over her face. Instinctively, Headless' wings fully extended, in an attempt to make him seem larger than he actually was. Ash fell from the sky onto the pair as something began to rear up behind them.
"Paige, it's time to wake up."
Paige Turner pulled herself up, leaning on Headless for support. "I can't. I tried while I was stuck under there."
Headless turned a few eyes on one wing to Paige Turner, keeping the rest trained on the disturbance. "What do you mean you can't?"
"It's the wake from the Nightmare. It overpowered me. But it doesn't know you're here yet, go while you still can!"
Headless turned every eye to her. He knelt and circled his wings about the both of them. "No."
A colossal eye opened, half buried in rubble. The pupil dilated for a moment, before regarding the pair. Headless stayed still as a statue. The air was unbearably hot, and smelled of rot and decay. The ground shuddered, knocking Paige Turner and Headless apart as the Nightmare loomed above them. It had gorged on Oneiroi, and after its rest it was hungry for more. Headless made a dash for his companion, but the soot and ash clouded his vision, rendering his many eyes useless. Paige Turner gasped for breath and clawed at the ink patterns on her body as debris clung to it, choking her.
Paige Turner's remaining hand met Headless's scrabbling arm and the two embraced, possibly for the last time. A low, guttural sound reached their ears, slowly getting closer. Joints crackled, and there was a great rush of air-!
But the strike did not hit them.
Looking through an exposed patch of ink on her body, Paige Turner gazed up in wonder at what had just happened. The Nightmare loomed over them, its limbs squirming wildly behind it. Its jaws were held open by a pillar of energy- no, a massive spear, cleanly impaled through the snout. Slowly, it floated into the air, thrashing in pain. All around it, the sky began to take on a purple hue. Gradually, the thing began to shrink, growing smaller and smaller, until it was invisible. The spear, all that remained, glimmered brightly for a moment, and flashed out of existence.
Oneiroi West had finally come together as a singular mind, and intervened. It was not pleased that something had been feasting on its children. It was not an easy task, and it had put great strain on the collective, but it was done.
Headless and Paige Turner, still locked in an embrace, stood to their feet. Headless wiped away the ash from Paige Turner's face, and took her remaining hand. Leaning on Headless for support, Paige Turner looked out over what was left of Oneiroi West. In the distance, tiny specks, barely able to be made out as other survivors, began to emerge from their hiding places. Her form began to sway as a gentle breeze began to blow. "Headless, do you smell that?"
"I don't have a nose, dearest. But I believe I sense it. Life. Hope."
In the distance, a trickle of water could be heard as rivers began to break down the caked ash, and flow again. Between their feet, a small green fern sprouted from the ground.

WORLD NEWS
Putting an End to Restless Dreams
A Nightmare's reign of terror came to a sudden conclusion last solar cycle with a surprise intervention from the Oneiroi West! Oneiroi West's populace is still recovering from this attack, but is hopeful about the future.

"We're just glad to be alive," Said Fruit Fly Lullaby, a noncorp survivor of the brutal attack by 𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳 last cycle. "This really took a toll on all of us, especially me, I missed at least six episodes of 'Cooking with Zoogs'. But we've been making a quick recovery thanks to Oneiroi West."
Last solar cycle was truly one of the wildest rides of this week, but it's really inspiring to see how much hope some of the displaced inhabitants have. Two human dreamer survivors, who were actually on scene as 𒀭𒋾𒊩𒆳 met its end, are now living their lives to the fullest, and are even making wedding plans! "We really thought it was the end there for a minute," Said Paige Turner, arms locked with her fiance Headless, "But we pulled through together, and we're all the stronger for it."
The two walked off, hand in hand. A great reminder that even in the darkest of nightmares, love can still bloom. To all the gratitude from corporals, noncorporeals, and assorted eldritch alike, only the following has been confirmed to be an official Oneiroi West response:

Arrow2the❤ @iMabadRoach

Np

REHOOTS 1,222,323,534
LIKES 0,867,530,900

2:34 D.C.E - 667 AoHyBr 1998


« The Sea Slug and the Showman | Dread & Circuses Hub | Let's Get this Show on the Road! »

“Okay, one more time; what's the difference between magic and alchemy?” Victor asked as he examined the show globes filled with colourful philters and elixirs at Ed and Al's Alchemist Emporium.
“Alchemy is the study and manipulation of the Aether, the fluidic medium from which all reality emerges from,” Iris replied, her own attention devoted to the variety of alchemical catalysts the two brothers kept in stock. “It's a Prima Materia of sorts, the closest mainstream science comes to it is String Theory. Celestial bodies generate substantial aetheric currents, which is where astrology factors in.
"Magic, as in Thaumaturgy, is the use of ritualized methods to focus and amplify EVE into Aspect Radiation, EVE being the aetheric force that causes observer effects like wave function collapse, and Aspect Radiation being EVE that's strong enough to cause macroscopic effects. Then, of course, there are Reality Warpers -”
“Like me?” Lolly asked, her voice muffled by the fact that she had crammed herself into a one-gallon hermetic vase.
“Yes, like you, who just don't interact with the Hume field as strongly as normal and therefore have a much lower threshold for creating aspect radiation and can essentially do so at will. Though all three are colloquially referred to as magic, so it can get confusing.”
Iris tipped Lolly's vase and poured her out into the floor, where she quickly reconstituted into her Clown form.
“Yeah, being a Reality Bender is definitely the best magic since we don't have to learn a bunch of spells and stuff,” Lolly bragged. “Oh, and it is Reality Bender, not Reality Warper, because we bend reality like the kids bend the elements in that awesome cartoon.”
Lolly playfully air bent a few gusts of wind towards Iris, who deliberately remained as implacable as usual.
“I prefer Reality Warper,” she said.
“How come?”
“Because I'm British, and in British-English ‘Bender' is a homophobic slur.”
“Well, I'll stop saying Bender when you guys stop calling cigarettes fags.”
“… Fair enough.”
Their attention was diverted to the front of the shop by the sound of Ed the Alchemist emerging from the lab and setting a crate of potions down on the cashier counter.
“There you are Ms. Dark, 48 phials of Pactolus Philter, guaranteed to cure any and all outbreaks of Midas Plague,” he said. “My brother and I are especially sympathetic to children being transfigured into metal. Be sure to give Carter a kick in the ass for both of us, won't you?”
“Believe me I'd love to, but if there's one thing he's good at it's avoiding his comeuppance. I'm pretty sure that's why we keep him around,” she said as she took out one of the phials to examine it. “Did you really make all of these just since you got our ravenwave? That's remarkable. While I'm here, Esq. Darke asked me to keep an eye out for some rare items for a project we're working on. You wouldn't happen to have the flesh from an Old God Incarnate, would you?”
“Old God as in?”
“His exact words were ‘Titans birthed from the Primordial Chaos'. I think that means anything on par with Mekhane, Yaldabaoth, the Scarlet King, gods like those.”
“Sorry. Best we got is a mummy of a Type Black Daevite warrior.”
“Hmm. Still impressive.”
“Not really. All our Fun-Lovers are technically Type Blacks, and they're all alive and kicking,” Lolly said as she came up to the counter to pet one of Al's cats. “That's much more impressive than one dead Type Black.”
“It would be more impressive if they were contained in something a little sturdier than a carnival trailer,” Iris retorted. “Wait a minute, that mummy doesn't happen to have any Daevite weapons with it, does it?”
“'Fraid not.”
“Yeah, that was a long shot. Any Akivic Purification Serum by chance then?”
“You mean His Holy Tears? No, but what the hell is Darke the Elder working on to want all this stuff for?”
“Just something to pass the time,” Iris said deflectively. “He's an old man, he doesn't get out much. I'll just take the Pactolus Philter, an ounce of abiogenic catalyst, a bottle of Quicksilver and a witch's dozen of spectral embers. Bill it to the corporate account.”
“Hey Edward, I couldn't help but notice that there are a lot more guards around than the last time I was here,” Victor said as he gazed out the window into the bustling street outside. “Is everything alright?”
“I'm not really supposed to say anything, they don't want to cause a panic, but ah…” He cranked his neck towards the front door to make sure no one else was listening. “There's a serial killer on the loose. Some sort of inbred goblin creature from the House of Habsburg.”
“The House of Habsburg?” Iris asked, her ears perking with interest.
“Yeah, we think it's hiding out in the sewers,” he said as he set the pack of spectral embers down before her. “The Guards have been down there twice already but they couldn't find it. How it ended up here we have no idea. From what I've heard there are thousands of the bastards in central Europe. They're so persistent even the Foundation is having trouble keeping a lid on them. There's talk that the Coalition is getting ready to bring the hammer down on them though. They're going to set up sting operations to catch their hunters, tag them and track them back to their hives, then go full scorched earth. I hope they burn every last one of them.”
They were all startled by the sound of the cat shrieking in sudden pain and bolting out of Lolly's grasp as her grip reflexively tightened.
“What did you just say?” she asked softly, the anger in her voice barely contained. “Did you actually just say you want those fascist paraphobes to burn Freaks alive?”
“Lolly, listen, I know you think of yourself as Serpent's Hand so you're no fan of the Coalition, but we're talking about psychotic cannibals who breed like rabbits. These aren't innocent Freaks.”
“And genocide is the best solution? Stick to what you're good at, right?”
“Lolly, they're not genocidal. Their governing body is made up of representatives from 108 occult factions, including the Alchemist's Guild, and they have an entire division dedicated to maintaining peaceful relations with the anomalous community.”
“On their terms! They expect us to stay confined to Nexuses or extradimensional ghettos and pretend we don't exist because as long as we're secret we have no rights and they can do whatever they want to us! Any Freak that doesn't submit is labelled a parathreat and ‘liquidated'! The Geo Sea are Nazis who want us all either dead or locked up, I hate them, and I hope those Habsburg goblins eat them alive!”
Lolly stormed out of the shop, slamming the door so hard the glass shattered and the door frame cracked.
“I really should choose my words more carefully around type Greens,” Edward lamented.
“I'm going to go after her, I've never seen her like this,” Victor said, running through the broken doorway.
“Ms. Dark, is it okay if I add the damage to your bill?” Ed asked, only to find that she had vanished, along with the box of spectral embers. “Ms. Dark?”
“Brother, did you scare off our customers again?” Al shouted from the backroom.
“… Maybe.”

Victor sprinted out into the busy bazaar, looking for any sign of a distressed Clown. Fortunately, he didn't have to look far. Lolly had gone into the alley beside the Emporium and was sitting against the wall, hugging her knees with her head hung as she took deep breaths.
“Lolly? Lolly, are you alright?” Victor asked as he crouched beside her.
“I'm sorry. The Geo Sea just really triggers me,” she said.
“Yeah, I remember,” he smirked, thinking back to the first show he had ever seen her perform.
“But I didn't actually know it was because you thought of yourself as Serpent's Hand.”
“After the Circus, the Library was the first magical place I got to visit,” she began. “It was incredible; bookcases the size of mountains that stretched on as far as the eye could see, holding every book from every iteration of every reality in the multiverse. Icky told me that it was a Sanctuary for Freaks, just like the Circus, and that the Ways wouldn't let anyone they knew were bad in, and if someone bad did get in the Docents and the Elephant God would protect us. Then she introduced me to some people she knew in the Serpent's Hand and explained that they kept magic and Freaks safe from people who wanted us kept secret or destroyed, and that it was because of people like them that one day magic and Freaks wouldn't have to be secret anymore.
"The day I found out magic was real was the best day of my life. My life has been wonderful and incredible because of magic, and I've dedicated my life to sharing that joy with others. Every time I perform, I show new people that magic is real and wonderful, and the Geo Sea want me dead because of that. I have friends who are dead because of them. They want everyone who wants the dumb Masquerade overthrown dead, and if they had the firepower they'd want every Freak in the multiverse dead.
"When I think of magic, I think of my Circus and the Library and Wondertainment's toys and mindblowing anart and kindly old Mekhanites and the Oneiroi Dreamworld. I think of amazing, marvellous things and I hate that some people only think of the anomalous as something monstrous.
"You don't still think of me as a monster, do you?”
“I never -”
“Yes, you did. I'm not stupid. Isn't that why you came after me? You were worried that the monster Clown might be going on a rampage?”
“I came after you because you're my friend, and I was worried about you,” Victor told her.
For the first time, Lolly looked at him, smiling even as tears still streamed down her face.
“Really?” she asked.
“Look, I don't really want to get into a discussion about anomalous civil rights, and I think the whole situation is a lot more complicated than good guys and bad guys, but I know you're not a monster, and I don't want you dead or locked up. And maybe I wouldn't always have thought that, which is why I'm glad I've had the chance to know you and your Circus.”
“That's why I do what I do,” she smirked. “Jeez, I'm a mess. I gotta get some Milk into me. Hey, don't tell Icky that Edward made me cry, or what he said about the Geo Sea. She might take it worse than I did.”
“I won't, I promise.”
“Iris either.”
“I…” he looked around, suddenly realizing he wasn't sure where Iris was. “Oh, crap.”

While the others were distracted by Lolly's outburst, Iris had snuck out a side door and into an empty back alley. Using her bionic hand to slide off a manhole cover, she had slipped into the sewers to do some goblin hunting.
The sewers were absurdly spacious, similar to the ones in Vienna that the Habsburg Dynasty had previously called home. One of their lineage would no doubt be quite adept at navigating and concealing itself in such a subterranean labyrinth. It made perfect sense that platoons of guards storming the sewers hadn't been able to find it. The creature wasn't stupid, and had safely remained in its hiding place until they had passed. But a young woman, all by herself? That seemed like it would offer the creature far more incentive to come out.
“Hello?” she said in a soft whimper, doing the best damsel-in-distress impression she could manage. “Is anyone there? I, I fell down the manhole. I think I broke my ankle, I can't climb back up. Please, is anyone down here?”
She smiled as she heard the faint scampering of feet against wet stone coming towards her. In her right hand, she held a spectral ember at the ready. The footsteps grew louder, and she could hear the bestial thing furtively sniffing the air. She let out a small, frightened sob to draw in her prey. It took the bait, and she felt its disgusting breath on the back of her neck.
She immediately ignited the ember she held into a Spectral Flame, flooding the sewers with light. The Habsburg Noble howled in pain and shock at the dreaded illumination, shielding its eyes and blindly trying to fall back. Instead, Iris grabbed its throat with her left bionic hand, lifting it off the ground and slamming it against the wall. It struggled with ferocious might, but relented when Iris brought the Spectral Flame up to its face.
“Nein, nein, nicht das Licht! Bitte, wir geben nach!” it wailed.
“I'm sorry, but I'm not quite fluent in German. Did you say you'd like some more light?” Iris smirked as she increased the intensity of the fire.
“Nein, no, please!” it pleaded. “Please, please we submit, just take away das Licht!”
“But I want to get a good look at you; you are such a rare creature after all,” Iris replied.
The being was only a few inches shorter than her at about five feet, though would have stood taller had its back not been so horribly bent. Its skin was pale and hairless, each handheld seven long, splayed fingers, and its pointed ears were so large as to be almost bat-like. Its left eye, the larger of the two, had a black cornea and gold iris, while the other had a clouded cornea and red iris. Its nose was hooked and crooked, but most grotesque of all was a mouth that went almost literally ear to ear and was filled with multiple, misaligned rows of large teeth.
“Incredible. The product of three hundred years of alchemically enabled and accelerated inbreeding, dozens of generations without any outside blood, reinforced by the ruthless culling of all but the most monstrously mutated, you are a work of art!” Iris marvelled. “I can't believe I actually got a chance to look at one of you things up close. Do you have a name, little Nosferatu?”
“Freiherr Dagoburt von Habsburg. Please, forgive us! We thought you a mere peasant, but your strength and cunning are proof of noble blood. We were going to eat you, but now we see you would be a worthy vessel for our brood. Let us fornicate, and a fortnight from now the noble products of our union will gnaw their way through your womb and burst forth to carry on our combined bloodlines!”
“I'm flattered, really, but I am rather focused on my career at the moment so I'll have to pass,” she replied. Placing the Spectral Flame on the ground, she pulled out her old box cutter and made a small slash on the goblin's skin. It hissed in indignation but made no attempt to break free. A smear of a midnight blue humor began oozing from the laceration.
“Literal blue blood; brilliant!” she smiled. She now used her box cutter to carve a sigil into the goblin's flesh.
“What are you doing?” it demanded.
“Just a little exsanguination spell I know,” she replied, pocketing the box cutter and unhooking the hermetic vase she had brought with her from her belt. “You Habsburgs aren't the only ones who value that blue blood in your veins. If the Coalition has their way, it will be priceless pretty soon.”
“No, wait, please! I can pay you double what my blood is worth! Spare me and I -”
“Oh, I'm not going to sell it. I'm going to give it as a gift to my Grandsire, to ensure I stay in his good graces, and also just because I'm a little curious about what he'll actually do with it. Besides, I can't have you murdering and terrorizing the biggest flea market in the multiverse; it's bad for business.”
Iris dropped the Habsburg to the ground and began murmuring invocations in the Chaos Tongue. Aerosolised blood began rising from the sigil and raining into the open vase. The pitiful creature shrieked and wailed as its convulsing body rapidly lost its vital fluids, flailing its limbs and thrashing its head in agony. It let out an ear-splitting scream as the last of its noble blood was depleted and its body went limp.
Somehow, the desiccated corpse was even uglier than it had been in life. Dragging it by the scruff of the neck, Iris tossed it into the sewage channel for the Bazaar's authorities to find and deal with.
Ensuring the lid on the vase was tightly sealed, she picked it up and gazed at it in contemplation for a moment.
“Not even the weirdest part of my day,” she smirked to herself.

« The Sea Slug and the Showman | Dread & Circuses Hub | Let's Get this Show on the Road! »


Despite its confined spaces and crowded plazas, the Wanderer's Library offered plenty of locations where one could perform complex Data Transmutation experiments away from prying eyes. In this case, such a location was an abandoned pavilion built around the remains of an ornate fountain. Without any other furniture present, it was the perfect nook for a pale, emaciated cyborg and a black, aramid-covered android to work. Between them was a fat silver cylinder with countless exposed wires jutting out from a jury-rigged frame.
"Think it will work?" asked Peregrine #34, or Juniper as they preferred to be called. Their synthesized voice was deep and feminine.
"Well, so far we've managed to digitize a rock, an apple, a pencil, and cell phone." Vincent Anderson said, rubbing his right temple with a mechanical hand. "So, if WAN wants to open a convenience store we've got them covered."
He tapped several keys on a laptop plugged into the device, then gave an exasperated sigh.
"Unfortunately, I've no idea how this thing is going to handle something as esoteric as a fucking soul, let alone one from a Peregrine or Saker. With my luck we'll probably lose test subjects to data corruption, assuming we don't straight up destroy them. Do we have a test subject ready?"
Juniper nodded and snapped their finger. From inside the fountain a small black ball scurried over on a set of four needle-like legs, before settling on the android's palm. The Amur Series Recon Drone gave a salute to Anderson, causing the old man to chuckle.
"You can always count on the Amur series," Anderson said, gingerly scooping up the bot. "I'm going to apologize to you in advance for this, little guy."
He placed the drone down on top of the cylinder, the tiny robot eyed the device curiously, and poked at it a few times with a spindly leg.
"Godspeed, noble Amur," Juniper said wistfully, taking a step back. "All connections are in place, and power is on."
"Beginning program…" Anderson returned and hit enter on the laptop.
The top of the cylinder glowed a bright blue, then crackled as a small wave of force was discharged. The Amur drone fell limp on top of the cylinder. Juniper approached and carefully picked up the empty shell.
"No apparent external damage to the physical components," they relayed to their maker. "Did we?"
"Only one way to find out," Anderson sighed, looking at the newly added folder on the laptop's hard drive. He opened a command prompt, and then began to type:

Are you there AMUR.exe?

There was pause, then Anderson smiled.

Are you there AMUR.exe?
y

"Juniper, would you mind fetching Aaron? Tell him we have a working prototype."

Within an uneventful Starbucks in Portland, Oregon, two women in plainclothes sat at a table, idly sipping coffee. The first was young, tall, and pale, with her long brunette hair done back in a ponytail. The second was older, tan, and had shoulder length blond hair that began to show streaks of gray. Her eyes panned the room from behind thin-rimmed glasses. They were MTF Commander Jessie Merlo, and Assistant Director of Task Forces Clarissa Shaw, respectively, and they represented the SCP Foundation.
Eventually, a second pair joined them. One was an old, grizzled man with a constant expression of having his parking spot taken, while the other was younger and androgynous, with burn scars on their wrists. The former gave a nod as he took his seat. He was Special Agent in Charge Kenneth Spencer, and the latter was Special Agent Robin Thorne. They represented the Unusual Incidents Unit.
"What is the rarest of sights?" Spencer asked.
"A sunset in Portlands," Shaw replied with a small smile and slid two unclaimed drinks to the newcomers. "Welcome, Spencer. Thorne. We got you two your usual orders."
"You shouldn't have," Spencer said, taking the beverage half-heartedly. "Coffee in this place is garbage."
"Not everywhere can brew with magic," Merlo chuckled.
"You don't need magic to make a good cup of coffee," Spencer replied. "But anyway, we got an update for you two."
Thorne placed a folder on the table and slid it to Shaw.
"According to our insider, your man's finished the machine you described," Thorne elaborated. "They are working out the final kinks, but we estimate it'll be ready within the week. After that Anderson is likely going to make his move."
"That was fast," Shaw said, scanning the document. "Your agent is sure of this?"
"Positive." Thorne sighed. "Ready or not, here he comes."
"He's going to try to access SCP-3560," Merlo thought out loud. "The only portal there still open is the one in Forest Park. He can't very well move there through baseline, not with so many robots in tow, so he's going to probably cut through Three Portlands."
"That's a lot of Ways he can get out of. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't it be easier to bottle him in the ghost zone?" Spencer asked. "The end result of all of this is the removal of the ghosts. That would make containment easier on your part and we avoid pissing off some very determined Maxwellists."
"Theoretically, yes," said Shaw after another sip of her coffee. "But I think we can all agree that Vincent Anderson is the last person we'd trust with an army of ghosts. On top of that, we don't know if he'll be able to generate a new exit from 3560 once inside. He could go from a dozen or so known Ways to one that he can slap down anywhere. I don't like the idea of trying to outplay Vincent on his terms either, but right now it's the best option. For all of us."
The table fell into murmurs of agreement.
"We'll have Tau-51 and Gamma-13 on standby," Merlo said. "Let us know when it's time to set the trap. I can promise you Vincent Anderson won't be a problem anymore."
Thorne shook their head.
"This is the third time you guys have made that promise, Jessie. Perhaps its best we don't put the cart before the horse this time."

Vincent Anderson stood before one of the Wanderer's Library's many secluded work tables. A large map of Three Portlands lay sprawled across its surface, the corners weighed down by multiple technical manuals. Beside him stood a man in a dark suit with a Maxwellist pin on the lapel, the left side of his body interwoven with tendrils of white aramid fabric.
"Unfortunately, the Jailors closed most of the entry points to the Forest back in 2028," Aaron Howell said, watching as Anderson rubbed a temple in thought. "The one in Forest Park is our only option. Lucky for us there are three or so Ways that leave Three Portlands and exit relatively close to that point. Easy enough to make a dash before the Jailors know what's going on."
"See, that overconfidence is going to ensure bad things will happen to you at some point, Aaron," Anderson said. "I can guarantee you that Sasha and the UIU have a rough idea what we're up to by now. You don't break into one of their most secure facilities and have them shrug it off. They're slow to act, but when the hammer comes down, shit gets broken."
"The Jailors don't have access to the Library-" Aaron began to retort.
"But the UIU does," Anderson snapped back.
"So, what, the plan's off? Rise to the occasion and then get cold feet?"
"Not at all." Anderson sighed and shook his head. "It's the best plan for the time frame we have. I'm just being careful."
The cyborg traced the streets on the map with his finger and sighed once more.
"Who did you say was on the strike team again?"
"Juniper, Troy, Donny, Ashley, and Cecil. Easily some of our most competent. I'm sure Juniper has shown you that by now."
Anderson nodded and tapped on the map idly. After several moments of this, he stopped then looked up, a spark in his eyes.
"What do you know about punching new Ways from the Library back to baseline?"
Aaron raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"It's tricky business for even someone skilled in the finer points of multidimensional travel?"
"Is it any easier if we aren't sending a living thing through the Way?"
Aaron paused.
"What are you planning?"
"Nothing elaborate. I just don't want to put all our eggs in one basket." Anderson smiled. "We'll need to make a few more copies of the transmuter, though."

Thorne,
Ridgewood Park Fountain. 0100. Expect the target, myself, and four hostiles.
#137

Accessing Three Portlands had been simple, as there were countless Ways between the anomalous city-state and the Wanderer's Library. In this case, Anderson, Juniper, and a handful of Peregrines and Sakers emerged into the cold Portlands rain in the middle of the night. Together, the androids and cyborg slowly made their way towards one of the many parks near the city's perimeter on foot, the heavy downpour drenching the heavy coats and masks they wore to hide their forms.
"Almost too easy," a Peregrine unit who referred to itself as Troy said in a gravelly voice. It watched the sparse foot traffic pass by on the largely deserted streets.
"I'm sorry, are you bored?" Juniper replied, letting out a low chuckle.
Troy looked down and nodded.
"No, not at all. Sorry…"
Juniper gave a nod of forgiveness and tightened their grip on the heavy backpack Anderson had given them. The cyborg noticed this and smiled.
"Precious cargo," he said.
"More than you know, Mr. Anderson."
"In the event I don't make it in, you and the rest of the teams should be able to set those up. Idiot proof, and Peregrines and Sakers are not idiots."
"Anticipating something, sir?" the Saker unit named Cecil asked, back over their shoulder.
"With my track record, it'd be foolish not to." Anderson sighed.
"Fair enough," Cecil chuckled. "You can relax though. We're about there."
Eventually, they arrived by the side of a large park and in the shelter of a nearby alley, the various androids double checked their weaponry and prepared to move out.
"B-line to the Lost Pioneer's fountain," Juniper reminded them. "We should be arriving in Forest Park a little after the other teams. WAN bless you."
Without another word, the team left the privacy of the alley and entered the park.

BANG

As if on cue, a series of shots rang out. Troy and another Peregrine fell to the ground and remained motionless, a hole from a high caliber rifle in their heads.
Juniper and Anderson took off, attempting to scatter through the tree line, where they could easily take cover and disappear. Before they had gotten far, more shots rang out from behind, taking out Anderson and Juniper's legs from beneath them.
The cyborg watched as Juniper continued to desperately crawl onward, their mechanical hands fiercely pulling them across the muddy earth. Anderson turned his head to see Cecil approach, reloading their machine gun.
"Leave them alone!" Anderson shouted, reaching into their jacket pocket and pulling out an orb of neon orange goo. The old man desperately pitched at Cecil, only to have the rogue android sidestep, turn, and fire off a single shot into his hand. Anderson yelped in pain as another series of shots rang out. Juniper was still, and now Cecil approached him. The old man feebly attempted to crawl away backward.
"I can Foundation Protocol you!" He hissed at the droid, his right hand weakly sparking with electricity as he pointed the index finger at the droid. "I can fry you where you stand!"
"And I imagine I can unload this entire magazine into you before either of those options prove effective," the Saker replied.
Anderson held his finger aloft for several more seconds but eventually yielded.
"It just goes to show how little you thought of us," Cecil stated, shaking their head. "Surrounded by hundreds of your creations, and you never looked into any of us. We could have murdered you right in the Library."
Anderson felt his blood run cold, and reluctantly ran the scanning program he had built into his mechanical eyes.
"Saker #137," he said to himself. "The last of Phineas's rebels. You do yourself no favors. You're working against your own interest."
"What would you know about my interests, Mr. Anderson," the droid returned. "That was always your problem, you arrogant prick. We were always a means to an end. Disposable. Phineas knew better! Phineas was better!"
"And so he was…"
Anderson looked up to the night sky and felt the cold rain soak him. Moments later, UIU agents had emerged from the trees. The wounded cyborg was scooped up and hauled away.

Incident Report: 3560-12
On 16/3/2041, at approximately 0130, multiple instances of the Anderson Robotics Peregrine and Saker Unit Androids assaulted SCP-3560. Operatives of MTF Gamma-13 ("Asimov's Lawbringers") and MTF Tau-51 ("Urban Brawl") were successful in driving back the initial assault. Surveillance footage of the SCP-3560 containment area showed that during the fighting, a separate team of Anderson Robotics androids entered SCP-3560, carrying an unknown payload.
Investigation into how the hostile forces accessed the containment area, despite no detected perimeter breach, is ongoing.

"I just got word from Director Merlo of your little trick in Forest Park. And here we were thinking you were losing your touch, Mr. Anderson."
Vincent Anderson sat an interrogation table within the Three Portlands UIU field office. Across from him, sat Agent Thorne and Saker #137. He had been informed that he would be transferred into SCP Foundation custody within the next half an hour. He kept his head down, and his eyes on the table.
"Nothing?" Agent Thorne continued to ask, an amused smile on their face. "Could it be that Vincent Anderson is at a loss for words?"
The old man looked up and sighed.
"Does the Foundation know that you're using Saker units as field agents now?"
"The Foundation has its secrets, and we have ours," Saker #137 replied coolly.
"So you do."
"How were you planning on getting into Site-64?" Thorne continued. "We've seen the interior of your little 'purgatory.' Hardly an exit."
Anderson shrugged.
"I guess we'll never know now, will we, Agent."
Thorne rolled their eyes.
"I guess not. I take that the payload you had your second team deliver was-"
Thorne paused, noticing that they could now see their breath. The interrogation room's lights flickered and dimmed.
A spectral Amur unit then appeared on the table. The small droid gave the Agent a wave and then turned to Anderson where it made a happy chirping sound.
"No fucking way… Benny?" Anderson said. His mouth hung open and a look of terror came over his face. "We need to get out of here, now! The only way Benny could show up here is if-"
"It's one apparition," Thorne said cautiously looking towards the observation window for backup. "Besides, they're your ghosts, call them off."
"There'll be more of them!" Anderson shouted. "And they're fucking pissed at me, and Saker #137 shot up my fucking bargaining chip!"
Agent Thorne stood and drew their pistol.
"Do you think your bullets will work on a ghost, Agent?!?"
Thorne did not get a chance to answer. The room filled with an anguished mechanical howl as the lights died. In the back corner, an ellipse of white, glowing fog appeared. The legs of a battle-scarred auto-turret began to pull through, its armaments clicking as they took aim at Thorne and Saker #137.
The android flipped the table for cover, knocking Anderson backward to the ground. Thorne cast the first incantation that came to their mind. Crouching behind the now glowing blue slab of metal, the agent could feel their energy dwindle as shot after shot from their spectral assailant collided with the makeshift barrier. Eventually, the electric howling ceased.
"Get back! I'll destroy you! No! NO!" Anderson screamed out. A scurry of footsteps could be heard, followed by the crashes of a struggle, and then silence. The room began to warm, and the lights began to return.
Thorne and Saker #137 peered over the overturned table. The white ellipse was beginning to fade. Saker #137 immediately charged the vanishing portal, diving through it head first. Seconds later it vanished with a small pop.
Thorne gasped for breath and looked around, tens of evaporating bullets remained lodged in the room's various surfaces, with hundreds embedded on the surface of the table.
The agent shook their head.
"God damn it."

« Non-Volatile Memory | End of Line | Volatile Memory »


A dreamless night is not a happy night for an aspiring member of the Fifth Church.
Louis Anna is startled from his slumber by a loud rap at the door. Slowly peeling his face from his table, he examines the empty bag of powder, and for good measure, crudely throws it under his old bed.
“LOUIS, YOU IN THERE MAN?” exclaims a voice from outside the door, “I AIN'T BEEN SEEIN' YOU FOR A FEW DAYS AND I WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU WERE A-OK!”
After a brief stumble in the direction of the door, a ray of midday light strikes his face as his neighbor falls through the old trailer door. Santana Taylor, a large man who consistently manages to have more grease on his shirt than the actual cotton, lay on the newly broken door a few feet from the stunned Louis.
“Uhh, sorry ‘bout that” Santana muttered awkwardly, pulling himself up from the ground, “I heard you went on some bender and I wanted to make sure you ain't dead. Also, you should fix your door, some fella is gonna end up stealin' your provisions and such.”
“You gonna pay me back for that?” grumbles the hungover Louis, moving away from the sun.
“Wish I could Louie, but I ain't the one tryin' to get tax cuts,” mused Santana, “besides, during your little bender you pissed in my AC! You know I just paid that off and now my whole trailer smells like piss.”
“Sorry, but what the hell are you talkin' about with them tax cuts? I don't know nothin' about that.”
“You barged into my trailer the other night rantin' about how you were gonna start up a church. ‘Course, can't be trustin' your coked up mouth.”
“Wha-what did I tell you?”
“Something stupid about your dad and a starfish. You got a whole crowd though, your buddies were all cheerin' you on, making a huge noise outside while I was tryin' to sleep.”
“Who would I have been with?”
“The hell is this, The Hangover Part One? Just ask them, they're all outside.”
Stumbling into the sunlight, Louis sees a rough assembly of four men in soiled blue bed sheets laying under a large oak tree. The noise of Santana's yelling stirs a few of the men, who gazed around the area blankly. Upon noticing the arrival of Louis, the two awakened men awaken the rest.
One of the men immediately jumped up and ran towards Louis. In an attempt to run away from this clearly deranged man, Louis attempted to run away, but was caught in a bear hug by the man.
“Thank God-err, the Starfish-thing that you're okay! You stumbled into your trailer a few days ago and I had to keep these fuckers off the congregation crack supply!” the man cries into Louis' shoulder.
“Uhh, thank you, but what the hell is going on?” Louis replies, out of breath, “and could you please release me, I can't breathe.”
“Sorry Father Anna!” the man replies, releasing his hug, “You told me this might happen so here's what I'm to give you.”
Fumbling around under his robes, the man produces a damp sheet of paper. Gingerly picking it up, Louis reads his own sloppy handwriting on the paper.

I'm going to hate this but I accidentally roped these idiots along on our little religious escapade. I don't know if I will remember any of this but they might be useful. Hopefully by the time I've sobered up I've finished what I was going to write. In a moment of lucidity I am writing this to me because I can't let myself lose the only people who have actually believed in our holy mission. I've given this note to Kevin Jones, the lanky one with the weird teeth is John Hines, Frank Miller is the redhead, and Brian Perkins is the bigger one.
Don't fuck this up,
Louis Anna

Louis glanced up at the expectant face of the man, Kevin Jones, and sighed.
“What have I gotten myself into this time?”

"How the hell have y'all fools not finished fifty fundraising flyers yet! Y'ain't even done ten!"
Louis Anna is practically foaming at the mouth. The First Southern Fifth Church of Texas huddles in a small mobile home, the smell of sweat and permanent marker floating through the air. The mobile home has been retrofitted into a small base of operations, with a hand-drawn starfish hung up on the wall. Symbols similar to an ampersand with five points sticking out of it had been carved into an excessive amount of space on the walls.
"Please be forgivin' us sir, but most of us don't gotta write all too much. And these symbols are hard to draw." Brother Hines mumbled. Crumpled up beside him are dozens of crumpled up pieces of paper.
"How could you not be gettin' that symbol memorized yet? You can't even look around this room without seeing it."
“These hicks are too illiterate to write the same few things over and over again.” Louis thinks to himself. "How am I supposed to lead them?"
"Alright, fine, let's take a break to read. If y'all want to become Fifthists you gotta learn how to write and read for yourself." A general cheer arose from the congregation. All eyes turned to Father Anna as he retrieved his annotated copy of Seventeen Red Tales. "The fruits of my days labor are right here in this book. I got somethin' new for you, my ex-ca-loosive 18th tale."
A murmur overtakes the congregation as Father Anna retrieves his transcript from the back of the book. "SHUT YER TRAPHOLES!" Brother Perkins yells to the congregation. "We gotta listen to Father Anna!"
"Thank you Brother Taylor. Now, listen up, I don't want none of y'all missin' this." Louis Anna boomed, the sound echoing through the small mobile home. "For Five nights I slept, for Five nights I dreamed,

and for Five nights I wept. Waiting for a sign, a dream, a feeling. In my dreams, I waited for anything that would prove my convictions, but nothing came in Fives. When I dreamed, it was meaningless, lacking in imagery, cohesion, and feeling. When I awoke, I felt no compulsion to write, sing, or preach. My faith was shaken. "Give me the signs my brethren have received!" I cried to the heavens, to no avail. I reread, and reread the Seventeen Red Tales, but I felt nothing. Could I have been wrong all along?
No.
In my despair, I slipped back into my bottle and snow, and in my darkest hour I was spoken to. Five bottles and I wanted no more. Five lines, and I stopped. It was then when I realized my purpose. It wasn't I who was to be taken to World 390, but I was to lead others to it.
My father taught me of The Fifth Church and his congregation, though he was called, leaving me behind. I realize now that I am to bring others to Georgia, to join the congregation and expand the will of the Starfish. If I will not be shown in my dreams, then I will show myself, making myself a vessel of the will of the Five. While my pen is guided, my steps will be my own to take.
Who will join me on this journey?

Father Anna stopped speaking and glanced up from his paper. The four other men gaze blankly up at Louis. Brother Jones was the first to recover, opening his mouth and saying,
"So, uhhh, when are we leaving?"

Hub | On the Road Again »


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SITE-12 DEEP STORAGE PROTOCOL
Removing Items from Storage

  • Items are to be removed only with plurality consent of the Overseer Council.
  • Items are to be removed only under the supervision of a containment specialist.
  • Items are to be removed only after screening by the supervising specialist.
  • Items are never to be removed during ongoing emergency conditions.

Dhole stood in a vault buried deep in the bowels of the world. There were countless more down there, all sunk under what must have been leagues of earth and stone, all locked away behind massive metal shutters. The Overseer only cared about this one though, or at least about the towering wall of safes contained within. Something faint fouled the air around them, and the yellow lights overhead flickered intermittently.
"It's been a long time since I've come down here," said Overseer-6 as she entered numbers into a keypad on the wall. "I got complacent. Built myself up. Built us all up. Then I let it all get torn down." She laughed loudly, then coughed louder. Dhole had only seen her in person a few times before, but this frailty was something new. Her body trembled, her dark skin lacked luster, and her breaths rasped. Would their contract be void if she died? Or would it simply last in perpetuity?
One of the many doors along the wall beeped and opened with a long hiss. Behind it sat a clear cylinder full of something dark and squirming. Dhole lifted it out of a metal cradle and noticed its faint warmth, not unlike a stone that spent days drinking the sun. That warmth slowly pulsated as she carried it back.
"You've served me well, these few years," said the Overseer. She pulled rings from her fingers as she spoke, alternating from brass to silver. "You and Egret."
"Save the scraps for your dog. They taste empty to me."
The Overseer grabbed Dhole's free hand and pushed the rings into it. They were heavy and cold. "I'll be locked in a cell soon. Somewhere secret and safe. And dark, certainly dark."
Dhole shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the canister in the crook of one arm. "Speak your will, then."
"Tend to my slug. Find me once it's grown. Bring it to me. Bring me my rings. I'm trusting you with this, Dhole. Don't fail me."
Such a foolish statement deserved a reply with teeth. Something about how such trust was misplaced, or how the houndmaster should have made a leash if she expected to be followed after. The world around Dhole vanished as she struggled to form cutting words, color and light dripping away. Moments later she found herself standing in the middle of a junkyard. A full moon shone over stacks of butchered cars, and beasts howled in the distance.
For the first time in years, Dhole felt well and truly alone.
She sat on the rusted hood of a car for a long time. It might have been a day, or two, or longer. She ate the emergency rations in her bag, drank bottled water, and stared at the canister perched on her lap. The darkness inside flowed like a worm twisting inward on itself. It did not speak to her, did not demand of her, but insisted itself upon the world all the same. It would grow. The sun passed from one horizon to another. It would grow. Clouds filled the sky, disgorged rain, and passed again. It would grow. It would grow.
Yes, it would grow, but Dhole couldn't sit around waiting. She had obligations now, as the contract she signed with the Overseer would attest. The only question was how to go about the search. Egret would have already formed a vile plot, but the Overseer's hound had surely breathed her last already. Dhole would not mourn the woman. Dogs deserve dogs' deaths. All the same, following after her had undeniably become customary. How had she become so hesitant? How tight had her collar grown? It would only be so long before her nature matched her canine mask, and her eventual death would shift in kind.
Dhole rolled the canister back and forth across her lap as the sun sank again. She couldn't stay there, but couldn't decide what she should do instead. Finally mourn fallen friends, maybe. She could spend the rest of her life doing that, with who had been lost. Find the money needed to finish her mission, perhaps. Except she wasn't sure she could still wring silver from stone. It had a long time since she last wore a sheep's face.
All that, but her strongest obligation was visiting her family. To show them that she persisted, in one form or another. Dhole didn't relish that obligation. Other business had to be attended to in her home city though, and she could no longer excuse herself with the Overseer's dirty work. She carefully stowed the canister of night in her satchel, alongside the remains of her meals, her old mask, and Egret's only gift to her. If she had endured the last few years, she could endure this.

The trip home was unpleasant to say the least. Spanning the gap felt like years of life compressed into a single moment of potent clarity, but one without meaning. It was to be on the cusp of realization, to grasp at the flowing strands of thought, only to fill her hands with dirt. Going the other way had been easier when she shared the discomfort with a friend.
The sky over Dhole's homeland loomed high and gray, unaware or uncaring of anything happening below. The Howling Pillar rose in the far distance, her home located somewhere in its shadow. Dust engulfed the path, but following it was easy all the same. Each road led to the same end no matter how many guideposts were missing.
Giant blue birds perched on railings along the path, staring with beady eyes as Dhole passed by. Each waited for her to die. Waited to feast on her flesh and her spirit. She tossed loose stones at them, but they only scattered for moments each time. Even raucous squawking would have been better than the silence they regarded her with.
Travelers passed in the opposite direction. Each had odd forms, but were uniformly sunken and haggard. Many came to witness the majesty of the Pillar and the city slowly crawling up its sides. Most left with empty purses, useless trinkets, and crushing disappointment. It had always been hard to care about the fates of tourists, especially when they treated her bookstore like a common library. She had survived her ordeal, so they could manage their own.
Dhole stopped behind an outcropping of rock at the outskirts of town to switch her mask. The moment between faces grated harshly, but nothing compared to the shame of being recognized with a dog's aspect. She was a sheep. She made money. She didn't hurt anyone. That was her nature, no matter what had happened. No matter what would happen.
The gatehouse guards stared as she approached, eyes intent behind paper masks. Once, Dhole would have never dared to enter this part of the city without an escort, but not now. She remained unconcerned even as peasants stared openly at her. Violence was apart from her nature, but she had seen enough of it to not be cowed by its possibility. Pitiful light shone from lamps above her, barely strong enough to illuminate the patchy gardens and dying bushes that lined the street. Not a pleasant part of the city, and thankfully not her destination.
She walked up through three rings of the city, each built better than the last, each clinging closer to the base of the Pillar. The edifice dominated her vision as she climbed, gray stone thrusting up to spear the sky. People stared at her along this path too, muttering under their breath to each other. Many had finer masks than her own, replete with gilded teeth and gemstone eyes. Her family's standing was such that she should have been recognized at most, worthy of a slight nod only if they were feeling respectful. Their attention was more unnerving by far, but Dhole could do little but bow and carry on toward her parents' bookstore. There would be solace in that austere place. Calm, for a time. Peace, if she deserved something like that anymore.
Dhole passed under trellises thick with red flowers and alongside long fountains that sprayed mist into the air around them. She walked by towering statues of the exarchs, each wielding the ceremonial swords of their office, and past plaques telling the ancient history of the city. A flock of the giant blue birds followed close behind, silent and staring even in flight.
She stood at the foot of her childhood home and stared blankly at the empty lot sitting in its place. Grass grew at its edges. Bits of the foundation poked through the earth. A faint memory of smoke hung in the air.
She turned toward the base of the Howling Pillar and kept walking.

It took days to climb the stairway carved into the guts of the Pillar. Days of wind screaming through narrow holes in the walls. Days of gentle, gnawing hunger. Days of fellow climbers collapsed on the stairs. Only the exarchs, replete in their arrogance, could possibly expect anyone to make such a climb for simple meetings. Step by step, one foot over another, she left the dusty earth behind. Her bag grew heavier as she ascended, but her heart remained light. Even doing such weighty business would be better than violence by far.
The climb was a familiar one, and Dhole reached upper levels without issue. Faceless attendants whisked her through a maze of cells draped in ornate tapestries and reclining magnates, stopping short of the threshold to a room full of first morning's light. She had to cross that boundary on her own. A wide window dominated the office, second only in majesty to the open chests full of naked lucre. A long, black sword balanced haphazardly against a desk piled high with coins of every sort. A tall figure waited for her in the middle of it all
The Exarch of the First District looked down at Dhole through an iron mask wrought in the shape of an impossible beast. Antlers forked upward, long ears hung straight and even, and a distended jaw exposed a nonsensical collection of teeth. The face of a god over the spirit of a slug.
"Fires are dim before you," said Dhole, bowing deeply from the waist. "The sky is low before you."
"High and bright before you," said the Exarch. His white robes billowed as he stepped closer, golden thread sparkling in the light. "High and bright indeed. The prize head of a most capable herd, sheared and shamed. Sheared, shamed, alone. Where is your brother lamb? Where are the prizes promised to me?"
Dhole picked at the bandages lining her fingers. "Dead. Gone. My apologies are unadorned."
"Useless. Well and truly useless. What of my investment? My hoard?"
"Lost. Gone as well." She picked harder. Dark blood welled at the edge of one bandage, running down her finger and dripping to the floor.
"Useless three times over!"
The Exarch stared at her through glassy eyes. Dhole stared back. The man's presence was a scourge on her. Revolting, to see him care more for what money could have bought than the money itself. To hear him whine over its loss. He had never been less worthy of her family's supplications. One of the birds that followed her up the tower landed on the windowsill and chirped in an eerily familiar fashion.
"Does my family remain in your favor's shadow?" she finally asked, when the silence became too oppressive.
"How could they, when their lamb disgraced them so? I do not shelter contract breakers."
"They would never!"
"Did you not?"
Dhole ground her teeth viciously. Late, she may be, but only under extenuating circumstances. Failed, she might have, but only due to freak chance. The bird chirped louder, each high-pitched noise sounding more like a word than the last.
"What has become of them?"
"Does the lion mind the rats? They are vanished one way or another. Our agreement remains, however, and its violation is severe."
He kept on talking, but Dhole struggled to listen. She struggled to breathe easily, to not ball her hands into fists. Violence was not in her nature, she repeated to herself again and again. If she owed money, she would produce money. As simple as that. As pure as that.
The bird on the windowsill chirped louder still, seemingly unnoticed by the lecturing exarch. The sound grew rounder and more fluid, flowing and forming into sensible words. Is that really your way though? came a familiar voice.
"You're dead," hissed Dhole.
You shouldn't let him talk like this. Take it from me.
"–and twenty more years mining salt," the Exarch concluded firmly. "Five hundred years of service and your debt will be paid in full."
An expected conclusion. Promises had not been kept. Obligations must be met. The persistence of other obligations gave her pause though. Some things would not wait that long, especially not the insistent canister in her bag.
"Might I be allowed to order my affairs first?"
Not like that!
"Why should you be, when mine have been set to disarray?"
Asshole! Tell him he's an asshole!
"Other contracts are just as binding."
Dhole!
"Others are not present to wring out your debt."
The bird flapped silently into the room, alighting weightlessly onto Dhole's shoulder. She could not feel its talons digging into her skin, and the Exarch did not so much as flinch away from it. The Overseer's a better boss, isn't she? She never treated you like this, did she? Tell him you found someone else to follow. Tell him he's nothing!
"I will not break another contract," she said evenly. Payment would come, but it could wait a while longer. Payment would come when she could stomach toiling for the sake of a slug.
"The choice isn't yours," he said, placing a heavy hand on the shoulder opposite to the bird's perch. It felt vile. Just as vile as Egret had ever been. "Nor should that face be yours after the fortune you lost me."
Dhole wrenched back as the Exarch reached for her mask. He stumbled forward, but did not relinquish his grip. The room filled with a flock of flapping birds, each screaming at her. Do it! Do it! Do it do it She clawed inside her bag for the thing Egret had left her do it do it do it do it shoved the Exarch back doitdoitdoit brought the muzzle level with his chest Do it! and pulled the trigger. The gunshot filled the tiny room.
Dhole pushed him back again, taking grim satisfaction in his grip's sudden weakness. She turned away just long enough to swap masks again. The comfort provided by the dog's face disgusted her, but she would bear it. The birds were gone by the time she finished.
"You have the right of it," she said, walking after her victim as he tried to crawl away. "I don't deserve this." The sheep mask clattered loudly against the floor. "In this trial, I find you just as undeserving." She leaned down to pry the iron mask from his head. The man behind it was just as plain as she always expected. The feeling of emptiness swelled up inside as she shot him again, and again, and again, until the trigger clicked impotently.
That's not enough, is it? chirped a voice inside Dhole's own head. Her own? Egret's? She agreed regardless. The sword leaning against the desk was heavy in her hands. It had the weight of generations inside it, a terrible symbol of a worse past. She lifted it as high as she could before driving it into the Exarch's chest.
You need my help, the voice continued as she stalked out of the office, bloody sword dragging behind her across the stone floor. Just listen to what I say and we can save the Overseer. Do what I say and the blood won't even be on your hands. Trust me, Dhole.
The laughter coming from inside her mask was harsh and barking. Of course her hands were clean. Nothing could be her fault when people pushed her like this. Nothing would be when the world kept on shoving.
The darkness inside her bag squirmed appreciatively.

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▼ You Saved My Life And I Don't Even Know Your Name - m4f ☒

△ You Saved My Life And I Don't Even Know Your Name - m4f ☒

During the last containment breach I was the researcher who got trapped under the falling debris. You were the black haired security guard who unloaded your gun at SCP-1305, you may know it as the Cat Lure, and drew it away from me. Without you I know I would have been turned into one of those things. I would enjoy the chance to at least buy you a drink or dinner sometime at the site cafeteria, so please reply with what SCP-1305 said just before you shot at it.

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▼ I Hope You Remember Me! (Site-██) ☒

△ I Hope You Remember Me! (Site-██) ☒

I'm a researcher at site ██. You were the one working with me on Project [REDACTED]. I'm the one who was able to [REDACTED] when the [REDACTED] went [REDACTED]. I hope this message will help you remember me, because I really think we had a thing. The number to contact me is (███)███-████.

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▼ Meet me for infinite Pizza? (Site-17) ☒

△ Meet me for infinite Pizza? (Site-17) ☒

To the person who used SCP-458 on Tuesday the 13th prior to 1:30 PM. I thought I was the only one who enjoyed pineapple and anchovy pizza on a wheat crust with white sauce but after discovering the remains of your lunch set in the waste disposal unit, I have discovered that I am not alone in my strange prefrences for pizza. I would love to meet up for lunch. Please meet me in the Site 17 cafeteria tomorrow at 1:30 PM. We can share our unique tastes and maybe something more. I'll be wearing the yellow tie and the black rimmed glasses.

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▼ To the one with the gun named "Martha" - Dinner on me? (Site-19) ☒

△ To the one with the gun named "Martha" - Dinner on me? (Site-19) ☒

To the red-haired female agent I saw in the mess hall the on saturday at 12:30ish, thank you for buying me lunch. I lost my wallet and you were kind enough to buy me something to eat- I was STARVING! Sadly, you left before I could even get your name. You told me a little bit about how you used your gun. I think you referred to it as 'Martha'? I'd like to know more about you! I'm stuck in the labs mostly so maybe you can tell me some stories about the outside over dinner? It's on me! Please meet me outside site 19's mess hall at 5pm on the 21st (sunday!)

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▼ I need to thank you - f4nb ☒

△ I need to thank you - f4nb ☒

Me: Head Researcher, you know the project
You: Short but sharp in your grey suit, smiling, your L4 badge skillfully obstructed
We both know how the council voted on this program, but then you swept in and out of my office anyway, leaving a stack of folders and no perceptible trail.
I need to find you. I need to thank you.
And I don't need to know which one you work for, but you have to tell them: We need more.

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▼ It was all in your eyes - m4f (Site-41) ☒

△ It was all in your eyes - m4f (Site-41) ☒

I never learned your name. You came into Site 41 with the new transfers after they decommissioned some of the Western Alpine containment areas. The first time I ever saw you, you looked to be in your 50's, maybe a few years younger than me, with your greying amber hair in a loose bun. When our eyes met, I saw relief cross your face, and maybe something… deeper. Then your eyes went wide, and you looked away.
You must have transferred away after that, but the personnel records must have been scrubbed or classified beyond my access level (which in itself is impressive).
I've been at this job for so many years, and I've never felt anything but alone. I've never questioned that bitter truth or my life of cold service, but now the doubt is there and I can't ignore it. I should know better than to ask now, but I have to know.
What am I missing?

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▼ You're really funny (Site-551) ☒

△ You're really funny (Site-551) ☒

Hey, so, I'm really going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment. I just have very overwhelming apathy for everything that happens. You were a researcher at Site-551, the one where I'm stationed at. A really big containment breach happened, I don't know the specifics, but we we're in the safe room waiting for the MTF to get everything under control, and everyone was scared as hell.
You decided to pass the time with some jokes, and some personal life stories. I'll be really honest, but that's probably the hardest I've ever laughed for as long as I can remember. For the first time in a while, you've made me feel better when I needed it most.
I think we should hang out sometime. Maybe grab a sandwich from Sonic? I haven't seen you since the breach happened, so I don't know if you got transferred over or something, but when you get the chance, we should hang out.

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▼ You ran from me (Site-89) ☒

△ You ran from me (Site-89) ☒

You were the MTF agent at Site 89 who saw me, a researcher, and ran like you'd seen a ghost.
I don't blame you. I was angry with you for a while about what you did, but in the end I did the same thing too. What right do I have to be angry, then? I understand. When someone calls on you, you have to answer. Maybe it's just a miracle that we answered the same call.
I know you, or at least the person you were before. I don't think running will help either of us, and maybe we can fix what broke. I'm upset too, but I miss you more, and I don't think you did the wrong thing five years ago. Even if you're mad at yourself, or at me, I just want to talk. Even if it doesn't work out, I think we should try.

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▼ Missed Connection During Cleaning of 173 Container - m4f ☒

△ Missed Connection During Cleaning of 173 Container - m4f ☒

I am D-██████. We had to watch 173 last Thursday while someone else cleaned its container. I didn't want to take my eyes off it to ask for your number. I can't access the cleaning log, so I thought I'd try here.

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▼ you were there when i needed it (Site-231) ☒

△ you were there when i needed it (Site-231) ☒

Hey. We worked on SCP-231 together, I'm not sure if you remember. If you took pills to forget about it and I've just reminded you, then I'm sorry. But you don't seem like the kind of person who would want to forget this experience.
The procedure was
actually, I don't even need to explain it. If you remember it, then you'd know that words can't comprehend what we had to do.
I had nightmares for weeks. I don't know whether you had them or not, but your pep talks seriously helped. In my opinion, I felt a bond growing, and it was growing fast.
You voluntarily moved off-site, and I never got your personal contact info. Look, I'm going through some rough times right now, and if you got me through the procedure, you can get me through this. Maybe we can talk over a drink?
I know you're a busy man, so I hope you are able to read this.
See you soon. Hopefully.

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▼ To the archivist that saved my a** ☒

△ To the archivist that saved my a** ☒

In 2016, I put in a request to access documents on a time-sensitive anomaly that only manifests once every four years, only to find that RAISA had a six-month backlog on archival requests. On top of that, my request was vague as hell, less than a paragraph. But you came through for me in a day. I don't know if you're a man, woman, some automated search engine that processed my request at a higher priority because of some keyword I inserted without knowing, but I'd like to meet you, to say thanks in person.

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▼ We worked on the thing in Boston together - f4m ☒

△ We worked on the thing in Boston together - f4m ☒

You know which Boston; it's not the one in Mass., but in the Midwest. We were so busy containing the growth that we didn't get to exchange names. I was a scared rookie, and I wanted out. I was willing to down a bottle of amnestics and go back to living my life, but you showed me that we could still be human despite all of the horrible shit we see and do. Maybe we can get a drink around Christmas?

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▼ To the fellow Modest Mouse fan (Site-64) ☒

△ To the fellow Modest Mouse fan (Site-64) ☒

I've been listening to my music out loud in the Site-64 cafeteria at nights for years now. Running those experiments into the early hours of the morning you often have the place to yourself when grabbing a coffee refill. You entered behind me at some point and started singing along. We talked about music for another fifteen minutes before I needed to get back to the lab. I never caught your name and I haven't seen you around the site since. Hope to see you around again sometime. Until then, I guess we simply Missed The Boat.

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▼ To the D-class with the grey eyes and loud laugh (Site-11) ☒

△ To the D-class with the grey eyes and loud laugh (Site-11) ☒

I still remember the day you were supposed to be terminated. I was transferred off before, of course. I don't think they'd let you remember, but I'd been a wreck.
It's alright, I remember enough for the both of us. I remember you asked if I was okay. I remember how your eyes looked like my sister's and I had to remind myself that preserving human life, preserving your life, it didn't matter if only lasted a month. I remember that you were the only person who laughed at my jokes on the team, how it was loud and a little hysterical. I remember the pitying look my supervisor gave me as I watched you go every night with a mix of relief and cold horror. I remember counting down in my head to the thirty-first. I think it fucked me up more than the project did.
I think you might have been the only person there who looked at me like I was still human. Seeing you at Site-11 made me feel more so than I had since. They wouldn't let you remember, but I swear I saw something in your eyes change.
It doesn't make sense to kill hundreds every months. I don't think they ever wanted me to remember you as a person.
Look, I'm sorry. I want another chance. I want to talk. I don't know if I can get you a coffee, but I sure as hell intend to find out.

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▼ You are my best nightmare ☒

△ You are my best nightmare ☒

I met you when I was sinking in the void. You told me a tale of a world's end, of a universe sundered by immense calamity, but I was glad just to meet you. You came to me at my darkest hour, a streak of moonlight in the endless darkness. You saved many lives with your messages, and my life might not even matter for you, but know that you saved mine too.
I've told them your message. I wonder if I'll ever be able to tell you mine.

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▼ To the person who's followed me for the past 3 sites - f4nb (Site-41) ☒

△ To the person who's followed me for the past 3 sites - f4nb (Site-41) ☒

Where are you nowadays? Are you holding up? I feel a little silly reaching out like this, but you're the one person who's been a constant in my Foundation career, so far. In Area 12 you were the one giving the seminar to all the new researchers. You somehow managed to make it digestible, even though everything I knew about science and the world was being shattered in front of my eyes. Later, I got transferred to Site-36 because of God-knows-why, and you apparently came along too, since I saw you (beautifully) play your cello for the Site's annual talent show. I asked around a little bit, but apparently that was your last day? Then I got kicked around to Site-41. I saw you in the hallways, and in the mess hall, but I never worked up the nerve to talk to you until my last day there.
Which just so happened to be the day we had an unannounced containment breach drill.
Rambling aside, I would've liked to have known you better, and I hope you're doing well, wherever you are.

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▼ I Swear I Knew You (Site-31) ☒

△ I Swear I Knew You (Site-31) ☒

So, I think I knew you. I saw you — tall, brown straight hair, not sure of gender, high ranking at Site-31 — while walking around to the cafeteria and I just got the worst case of Deja Vu. Thought it might be just one of those things that happens, but I got to thinking about how memory's a bit fuzzy around here, what with that window meme going 'round and all. I thought about it longer, and yeah, I really think I must have known you at some point.
So, I'm Level 3 Site Wide, so I've got that little orange badge that you get, and I have 4/3018 clearance. I'm out inside SCP-3018's enclosure from 9:00 to 5:00 (almost makes it sound like a normal job) every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Sometimes I'm out there Saturdays for recreation. I used to wear glasses (got contacts now), I'm a little overweight, I've got a mustache and the beginnings of a beard that never grows quite like I want it to. If you were erased from my memory for some classified reason, then I guess ignore this, but if not, I'd really hate to forget an important person in my life.
Oh, and if you wear glasses, uh, please don't when you come out to see me. I'm supposed to be clean of window meme now, but you never know with these things.

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▼ I can't remember what you look like (Site-19) ☒

△ I can't remember what you look like (Site-19) ☒

It was the breach at Site 19 last month. I don't remember much of what happened. Maybe the higher-ups dosed me with amnestics, for some reason. It doesn't matter. I remember you. I don't remember your name, or what you looked like. I don't remember what we spoke about, or even if we spoke. I just remember that you were so, so deeply fascinating.
…I also recall that you weren't a sphere.

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▼ and then there were two. ☒

△ and then there were two. ☒

Hey. It's been quite a while, huh?
The last time we saw each other was with that 096 shit. That was one hell of a memory.
Out of that entire squadron, it's just me and you left, dude. You were one hell of a soldier, and even though I haven't seen you in quite some time, I bet you still are.
I was wondering as to whether you wanted to transfer to Damn Feds with me. We were an outstanding team, and putting our skills together once again can only be beneficial, right?
Oh, also, there's the $20 bucks you owe me. That can contribute, too.
Hope to hear back from you soon, man.

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▼ Pilot who saved my ass. - f4f (Site-201) ☒

△ Pilot who saved my ass. - f4f (Site-201) ☒

Hi. I'm ███████, researcher at Site-201, but previously at Site-28. You might've been transferred, might've not? Anyway, back when a shipment of that shit from those Russians made it to Brighton Beach, we'd declared it a Level-V breach. Of course, we called in Epsilon-10, aka those hotshots who got all the hardware we borrowed from the US. So you come in, in one of our helicopters, shooting at some tentacle flesh horror, and then manage to stick a landing on an elevated train track. Honestly, chalk it up to me being stupid and gay, but i was instantly in love. I was inspired to write this because Site-201 is the all-important support site, and if you're not transferred, you'll be staying here. Get back to me and we can have a coffee or something.

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▼ I Know You Can See This ☒

△ I Know You Can See This ☒

Hey, sweetheart, it's been nice playing around in your head. Memetics, ain't they some shit? Just thought I'd say we got off on the wrong foot, you and me. How's about the two of us sit down and have a real… well I can't call it a heart to heart.
But give me a chance, doll. I may be taking up space in your head, but I can pay rent, if you know what I mean. Pop in front of a mirror sometime, we'll have a nice chat.

r̴e̸p̷l̸y̵ ̵�̵�̷ | ̶r̸e̶p̷o̸r̶t̶ ̷ | e̷m̵a̶i̸l̶ ̸t̸o̷ ̸f̴r̵i̴e̸n̸d̴

▼ You dropped your wallet (Site-62) ☒

△ You dropped your wallet (Site-62) ☒

Hey, so, you were a researcher who was needed somewhere ASAP due to an emergency, and you were rushing down the hallway to not waste time.
While on your way, your wallet fell out of your pocket, with about 150 bucks, your credit card (Don't worry, I didn't look at any important stuff), some gift cards for Sonic, and a bunch of pictures of a very cute little golden retriever (Absolutely awesome dog, by the way.)
Hit me up when you have the chance, I'd be happy to give it back to you. I'm at Site-62, and I'm probably not going anywhere anytime soon.

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▼ You helped me get my experiments off the ground. (Site-565) ☒

△ You helped me get my experiments off the ground. (Site-565) ☒

Hey, so, I was trying to get an experiment with SCP-████ off the ground. Since that'll probably be blacked out… the big one at Site-565? yeah, that one. Basically, the higher ups kept on saying that it wasn't worth wasting D-class on, and that we didn't have any more to spare after that containment breach back in May. Then you stepped in, reran the numbers, and got me enough to get my experiments done and then some. Without going into too much detail, those results helped cut the cost of containment down by 83% and got me promoted. I don't know if you fudged the numbers or if there was an actual mistake, but either way, I want to thank you. Maybe we can meet back up and grab lunch from that Subway just outside the Site? It feels like the least I could do. I have lunch from 12:30 - 1:45 PM; if our schedules overlap, you can find me at the table diagonally opposite the salad bar, probably wearing a Star Wars shirt. If they don't overlap, message me with your schedule, and I'll see if I can work something out with my superiors.

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▼ I finally found you! ☒

△ I finally found you! ☒

You - An young cadet in your twenties, leaving with Mobile Task Force Beta-10 ("Time Hoppers") on a mission last Wednesday at 17:00.
Me - The 63-year-old female scientist that passed you in the corridor.
When i saw you i dropped everything in my hands and just stared, I could not believe my eyes. I knew then and there that you were the one i have searched for my entire life. I hurried away, happy and confused with a clump in my throat and butterflies in my stomach. I know it is inappropriate and probably will cause trouble but I just have to see you again.
Please meet me in the cafeteria on level 2, any day between 12:00 and 13:00.
I think you might be my father.

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▼ I want to know you, but I can't - m4f ☒

△ I want to know you, but I can't - m4f ☒

I hope you see this. Although, you probably won't. I saw you in passing, as I was walking through the hallway at Area 2, Sector -19. You're a researcher, or engineer, working on some kind of technology. A beautiful, intelligent woman. Your hair in a ponytail. You wear a light blue, lab coat.
I don't know why I'm reaching out to you. We can never know each others' names, jobs, or work. We're not supposed to know where we work. So, any conversation we have will have to be a lie. But I don't care. Let's meet and lie to each other.

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▼ You got me that book off the top shelf ☒

△ You got me that book off the top shelf ☒

I was in the Library, doing some research into the Fyraxian Revolution (it's very hard to find good information since their culture is not exactly prone to keeping a written record). I could only reach three shelves up. I couldn't find any ladder to reach much higher. But then you came over and, just cocked your head at me. I sheepishly pointed at the higher shelves, and you umm… brought me up there. Well, you flew and just carried me like a small child. I grabbed a few books, and then we found a table in the corner where we both sat and read quietly. It was peaceful and comfortable. I forget if I even said thanks.
If you want to read together again, I'd be happy to find the time.

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Post A Missed Connection

The Foundation is as vast as it is clandestine. Yet studies have shown that personnel require social interactions and personal connections to maintain their emotional and mental health. This Missed Connections page is for those with the express interest in meeting someone they met in passing, have lost touch with, or were otherwise unable to exchange contact information with.
All personnel are required to be up-to-date on the Employee Conduct Handbook and Interpersonal Relations Guidelines. Postings are for meeting with an interest in a platonic or romantic nature. Postings of a joking quality will be moved to the "humorous missed connections" page. (this includes postings about or by SCPs, SCP-Js, GOI personnel, or other non-Foundation personnel)
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