Tale about Foundation Damage Control…those who cover up for Foundation activities, i.e building blown up in battle against CotBG becomes building demolished for renovation into new technology corporation.
"Let's see…flip the long part over here…pull this up…then…wait. Shit. Fuck it I'm wearing a clip on."
Arnold Randolf hurriedly tore off the bow-tie, throwing it on the bed in his sparsely furnished, Foundation-provided living space. Not everyone chose to live on site; in fact, most Foundation personnel actually lived in one or two of the nearby towns. But it was comforting for Arnold to live near his work. He liked the idea that he could visit one of the labs he was assigned to at any time, just to get away. Sometimes the sheer volume of people at Site-19 was overwhelming.
Besides, the food was free here.
"I could have sworn I had one in here somewhere," he said, muttering to himself as he dug through the drawers. He had this exact same problem last year. Surely he wouldn't have thrown it away!
"Ha! Got you, you little bastard!" He pulled the elastic-band over his head and let it snap into place. After making sure that the tie was straight in the mirror, Randolf flattened his collar and hurried out the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out.
"Can't be late, not this year…"
"Tonight is a very important night! As you know, we have been selected again to cater for our staff and, possibly, the O5s themselves!"
Surprised looks and muttered exclamations were exchanged among the cooking and serving staff gathered in Site-19's kitchen. The O5s? Since when did they come here?
"I honestly thought they were a myth…" one server could be heard whispering.
The speaker let the muttering persist for a moment, relishing in his staff's growing excitement. This would be the biggest event they had catered in a great many years, at least the biggest since the full re-opening of the site after Dr. Kondraki's ride on the back of the big lizard.
He smiled. Now that was a party.
"Now, to mark the occasion, we are rolling out a new recipe, one that we have been working on for quite some time. There will, however, be a slight substitution in the recipe. Rather than the normal salt that we use, we are substituting in a new spice given to us by one of the researchers here for just this occasion. He has assured us that it has been through numerous…er…human trials and is perfectly safe for consumption. In point of fact, our benefactor is here with us at the moment. Everyone, a round of applause for Doctor Robert Feld!"
Feld, a small man with both dark hair and a dark complexion, bowed his head in acknowledgement of the staff's applause.
After the pause had died down, he cleared his throat and said, "Thank you. To further assure of the safety of the product, I myself have had it. Tastes good, if a touch salty, so be wary of how much of it you put in your dishes. That said, it does add a certain robust flair I believe the staff will enjoy. Now, I believe the party begins soon, and as many of you know, I am tonight's emcee so my presence is required elsewhere. I wish you the best of luck and may your dishes be cooked to perfection!"
Another round of applause, followed shortly by the sounds of cooking, followed the man out of the kitchen.
Arnold Randolf rushed across Site-19's grounds, trying to get to the assembly room as quickly as possible. The party didn't start for another hour, but Randolf played a key role tonight. He and some of the other more musically inclined members of the research and security staff were providing tonight's entertainment. After all, what's a formal without some formal music?
As he ran, he pulled out his cell phone and made a quick call.
Robert Feld glanced over the attendance roster quickly, looking at the total number of projected attendees. Almost 2000 people gathered in the same room. A small nightmare for the kitchen staff, the events staff, and of course security.
And he had the "privilege" of being partly in charge of all of it as the emcee.
"Normal parties don't have their hosts plan almost everything. Normal parties give the host a screen with what to say on it and tell them where to stand. Foundation parties make the host plan half the damn party!" he muttered under his breath. Stress was the word of the day.
In his jacket pocket, his phone buzzed frantically. A quick glance at the caller ID confirmed Feld's fear. "Not this twit again…"
"Feld here. Yes, yes the arrangements have been made. Yes, everything is set up. Yes. Yes. Of course security has been upgraded. O5 Command's personal security forces have been integrated into our own. Yes. Site-19's other security forces are well stocked as well. Food will be bought to them as well, as requested. Why does that matter to you anyway? You're playing music Dr. Randolf, nothing more. Now please, we both have work to do. Goodb- Yes. Yes Dr. Randolf I gave the kitchen staff your spices. Now please! Yes, of course. You're welcome. Goodbye."
He ended the call and rolled his eyes. "Dear God that man is a worrier if every there was one…"
Later
Feld took the stage at last, smiling a bright, blinding, megawatt smile.
"Welcome! Welcome to you all!" he said into the microphone provided for him. "As you know, this the 45th Annual Site-19 Foundation Formal, and we are very pleased to announce tonight's very special visitors, and our bosses, O5 Command. I count twelve of you…is the thirteenth joining us later?" This drew a small smile to the stern faces of the Foundation leadership.
Feld took heart in their smiles. Any smile from them, no matter how small, was the equivalent of hysterical laughter in other people. And indeed, his next series of jokes did have the other staff members laughing.
"Now, down to business, I'm afraid. The business of eating, that is. Tonight's food is provided by Containment Cuisine, our very own catering service. The entrees being served are a beef dish, a roast chicken, which smells fantastic by the way, and a brand new dish, a crab-stuffed mushroom, served with your choice of sides, salads, or soups, and prepared with a special ingredient. Music this evening is provided by the Foundation Symphony Orchestra-Site-19 branch. Your servers will be with you shortly."
Dr. Randolf, viola in hand, smiled. It had worked. The substitute ingredient was being served. The Insurgency would be pleased.
"Sir, for you?"
"…the beef please. Thank you."
At least the food was free here.
07:15 Dr_Imp Which came first, the voice or the echo?
07:16 OMGbeta I fell this is a trick question. So… the person who made the voice?
07:16 * ProcyonLotor quit (Quit: Leaving)
07:16 Dr_Leonard Dr_Imp: I don't know?
07:16 Dr_Imp It's more of a pseudo-metaphysical question
07:16 Dr_Leonard Oh
07:16 Dr_Leonard The voice, then
07:17 Dr_Leonard Because you can't have a voice without an echo
07:17 * ProcyonLotor joined #site19
07:17 +++ ChanServ has given halfop to ProcyonLotor
07:17 Dr_Leonard Or, actually
07:17 SoundChaser How can you have an echo without a voice?
07:17 Dr_Leonard No
07:17 RJ49 What?
07:17 Dr_Leonard The echo came first
07:17 Dr_Leonard Like
07:17 Dr_Leonard Echoes predate human existence
07:17 RJ49 Is this like a chicken or egg question?
07:17 OMGbeta A rock falls and bounces creating the echo
07:18 SoundChaser Wait, is it echoes in general or the voice's echo?
07:18 Dr_Imp An individual can verify where their voice comes from (or can they?), but good luck trying to find the source of an echo.
07:18 Montala Dr_Leonard: there could be a skip in that. Echoes that prey upon humans. Predatory echoes.
07:18 Dr_Leonard Montala: Write that up. /Please/.
07:19 SoundChaser What, like it devours their ability to hear?
07:19 SoundChaser Or make sound?
07:19 Dr_Leonard All the sound for the echoes
07:19 SoundChaser Like, even if they bash a table or something, it's silent?
07:19 Montala I don't know at this point…but I wanna do it. EchoPredation
07:19 RJ49 I am really confused
07:19 Dr_Leonard Montala: You should
07:20 Dr_Leonard It would be awesome
07:20 SoundChaser doo iiiit
07:20 Montala Snippeting all this conversation and putting it in my sandbox for inspiration. Updates to follow.
E: Refer to SCP-1044 to make sure different enough
17:57 Alexandra Athena_Grey said 5 hours, 21 minutes ago in #site19: one more thing I can think of: the Reality Bender flashback. Like, maybe it isn't a bad idea fundamentally, but as-is it's long and perhaps not that really interesting. Idk if you should rewrite or cut it all together,
17:57 Alexandra Athena_Grey said 5 hours, 20 minutes ago in #site19: but in any case I'd like to see the combat between the MTF and the 10 hostiles fleshed out a bit - another good way to establish the MTF's competency (before the plot makes MCD get the drop on them, of course )
weizhong: Zanon too expositiony. Make him more show less tell. Same with Maroe's team.
13:58 R-Reach Montala: Mmmm, question: "he struggled to remember." Why did Z struggle to remember something directly related to what he was reporting and was particularly intriguing to him?
13:59 Montala Reach: he had walked into it with little information to give. Not nearly enough to please his contact. So he forgot what he didn't initially consider to be important.
14:00 R-Reach Montala: He was meeting with a dangerous person… I mean, this is somewhat strange. But well, it's not so bad as to detract me from the tale.
14:01 Montala good point. I'll try and figure out a way to alleviate that.
14:01 R-Reach Now: "Should have taken my offer. Our cigs are much better. MC&D orders them special," -> I'd recommend this was inner dialogue.
14:05 R-Reach Montala: Why would anyone try to go toe to toe with a Type Green when shooting them with a high-powered sniping rifle is an option? I mean, there are reasons, but I think I haven't seen any…
14:07 Montala Initial plan was for the Green to be incapacitated and brought into Foundation custody and containment but intel proved to be crap on how powerful he was.
14:08 Montala They were just trying to get away alive at that point.
14:08 R-Reach Okay. Mention it.
14:08 R-Reach Montala: I'm feeling a high amount of Memetics-don't-work-this-way, too. Telekill does nothing, it's not psychic stuff; it's anomalous information, secret cheat codes that react in unexpected, anomalous ways with the human brain once they are read, heard, understood. No matter what the helmets are made of, unless they wear autocensor cameras or something.
14:11 Montala All right. Like in the gear they used you mean? Oh, yep I see what you mean, I think.
14:11 Montala Should've said they were inoculated /against/ certain memetics as a precaution.
14:12 Montala The box itself is for psychic stuff again as a precaution.
14:12 Montala If it isn't one but is the other, they'd rather play it safe with both.
14:16 R-Reach Montala: Yeah, I get the box. However, another warning, I'd recommend that memetics were one of those things they were specifically warned against before going on this mission. I mean, it's not what you expect to find in a mission, not even a mission related to a cognitive hazard.
14:20 R-Reach Okay, things I like: Book ends (love book ends), Zanon and the Zanon scenes. Things I don't like that much: the way memetics are used here, as mentioned before, the tacticool (which, granted, is not my cup of tea) scenes and the way the death of a workmate is shoehorned in the middle of the story.
Also, look up Digital Divide. Sounds like a good book.
- EchoPredation
- Meat Field
- Off the Books
- Survivors
- The Philosopher's Book
- SCP-XXXX "The Game of Life"
- Things to do in 2014
- Author Commentaries
Item #: SCP-SSSS
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Due to its nature, individuals contaminated with SCP-SSSS-1 are to be kept quarantined within an anechoic chamber equipped with an airlock mechanism, which is also to be anechoic. Attending personnel are to wear soundproofed headphones during all interaction with SCP-SSSS-2 instances, except during testing. No personnel Level 3 or above are to come within ten meters of SCP-SSSS-2's anechoic chamber or airlock. SCP-SSSS-2 instances are to equipped with a vibration-neutralizing collar to prevent noise or speech. The collar is to be removed only during testing in approved predesignated locations. All vocalizations made while the collars are removed are to be documented for further study. See addendum SSSS-1-Alpha for more information.
Should any SCP-SSSS-1 instances be created, all exposed and unprotected personnel are to be quarantined and designated as an SCP-SSSS-2 instance. Areas in which SCP-SSSS-1 are created are designated as temporary quarantine areas. Automated Decibel Creation and Measurement Devices (ADCMDs) are to be deployed until all SCP-SSSS-1 are contained successfully. Used ADCMDs are then placed in temporary containment in a room wired with decibel measuring equipment. Once all readings read 0db, the used ADCMDs are to be destroyed via incineration.
Description: SCP-SSSS is the collective designation for a self-replicating sapient echo, typically measuring ± 15 decibels, and those it affects.
SCP-SSSS-1 is the designation for a free-roaming being or beings composed of soundwaves in a non-solid, non-visible state. SCP-SSSS-1 entities are formed by vocalizations made by SCP-SSSS-2 instances. All attempts at mapping a defined shape for SCP-SSSS-1 have failed, with the most successful being an attempt utilizing modified passive SONAR technology. A partial shape was rendered before the SCP-SSSS-1 instance undergoing observation became aware of the test and raised its decibel output to 185 decibels, damaging the measuring equipment and resulting in █ hospitalizations due to severe damage to the timpanic membranes of those present.
So far, SCP-SSSS-1 instances have demonstrated themselves to be hostile only in the presence of vocalizations made by humanoid entities. Upon provocation via vocalization, SCP-SSSS-1 entities rapidly increase their decibel levels to amplitudes in excess of 170 decibels, causing pain severe enough to cause the subject to lose consciousness.
Trust me, I'm going somewhere with this. Is SCP.
Jared Zanon checked his watch. His contact was late…again. Zanon, a nervous man by nature, began to sweat, hands shaking as he lit another cigarette. Its pungent smoke filled the air before drifting away in the dark parking garage.
"You really should quit smoking those things you know." Zanon started, dropping his freshly lit cigarette as he spun to face the voice. "They'll cost you a fortune, and kill you besides. You could just switch brands. I'm sure we have a…special brand somewhere."
"Jesus! Don't you fuckers ever make a noise?" said Zanon.
"Less than you, but more than the average mouse," said the voice. By the man's tone, Zanon could almost tell that he was smirking condescendingly. The speaker was hidden, staying just outside the pool of light afforded by the few working overhead fixtures. Zanon could see that he was not a large man, but well-built. The light fell on his lower body, illuminating a pair of shoes that, Zanon guessed, exceeded the value of his average paycheck. A watch glinted brightly from his contact's wrist, made of a metal Zanon couldn't readily identify, but that drew his eye continually, shifting colors, forming patterns in his mind's eye. With an effort, he forced his gaze to where the man's eyes would be, if he could see them. Though his contact was never the same voice, he was always almost exactly the same build, same height, same weight… Then again, thought Zanon ruefully, given the circumstances, it wouldn't surprise me if they were clones. Clones or not, they were Zanon's exact opposite.
Zanon was woefully overweight, his plain white dress shirt stretched tight over his large gut, off-the-rack khaki pants leading down to scuffed brown faux leather shoes laced on feet that seemed too tiny to support the man's massive bulk. On his wrist was a cheap plastic digital watch, in his pockets an assortment of pens, lighters, and cigarette packs, mostly empty.
Shakily, Zanon licked his lips and lit another cigarette. "I think I'll stick to my Marlboros, thanks. No telling what shit you'd stick me with."
"Your loss. What do you have for me? Something useful this time, I hope." The voice's tone shifted abruptly, going cold as ice.
"Well," he took a drag on the cigarette, drawing the smoke into his lungs, "it looks like they're going to be pulling in another new object. A big one, judging the materials they're trying to acquire. Heavy armor, big guns, armor piercers, anti-memetics, the works. A couple decades ago, they'd have been okay with AKs, Kevlar, and telekill."
"Do you have any guesses as to specifically what your employers are after?"
"Hey, I'm just an accountant. I do books, records, occasionally acquisitions records when Fred's on vacation…I can only do so much." Zanon flicked his cigarette butt away, pulling a fresh one from a pack in his pocket and lighting it.
The cold press of a gun barrel to the back of his head caused Zanon to drop his fresh cigarette.
"I suggest you search your memory. Find a number that means something to me." The voice, behind him now, was colder than he had ever believed possible.
Zanon began to sweat even more profusely, beads falling from his face and darkening the concrete around his feet.
"Well, I mean, um, they…they, they requested, um, uh…"
"Out with it Mr. Zanon. I'd prefer to let you live, but I have ways to extract what you know, living or not."
"Please! It's a, uh, a, a…they wanted a…" he struggled to remember. It was a large sum for a very small object, he remembered that much.
The gun clicked. The safety was off.
"A box! It was a box. Small, no bigger than a jewelry box. Lead-lined, with telekill particulates…it made it extremely expensive, required O5 permission to use an object for acquisition of another object. That's why I remember it. Please, don't kill me."
A pause, and another click as the safety was flicked back on. "Anything else you remember, Jared?"
Zanon shivered at the man's now casual use of his name. "Um, keypad lock, voice recognition embedded. No other biometrics. Standard containment otherwise."
"Thank you." The gun shifted from Jared's skull, the pressure gone. Jared relaxed, visibly sagging.
The shot caught him by surprise, blowing through his back, piercing his heart. Death was swift.
"Unfortunately, we no longer require your services. Living, at least."
He watched as the late Jared Zanon crumpled to the ground. He was an asset that had lost its value. As blood pooled around the slowly cooling body, the man stepped into the light, revealing a cold, cruel face, almost cleanly bisected by an ugly scar, his only blemish. He pulled out a phone, pressing the first speed-dial number.
"This is Roche in Acquisitions. Let Mr. Carter know that the Foundation is actively pursuing the necklace. Tail their team and relieve them of the artifact as soon as possible. Let them do the heavy lifting." He listened a moment. "Oh, Zanon is dead. I'll need a recovery team for the body, and a clone if necessary. Maybe make him a touch less…wobbly this time? Roche out."
He turned the phone off, placing it in his pocket. Roche stepped into the pooling blood, his shoes absorbing it greedily, growing shinier in the dark. He bent over the body, rifling through the dead man's pockets. He pulled a cigarette - Zanon's last - from the pack and lit it, puffing a single drag before throwing it away, grimacing at the sour taste it left in his mouth.
"Should have taken my offer. Our cigs are much better. MC&D orders them special," he tossed over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving no trace as he disappeared into the shadows.
"All right everybody, do a final equipment check. ETA is five minutes, then things could get ugly."
A chorus of clicks sounded from the weapons and gear as the assembled men made their last preparations.
Jason Maroe looked at his men, pleased with the team. He had no reason not to be. His MTF had one of the highest clearance rates in the Foundation, successfully retrieving more items and losing less men than almost any other force in the group.
Not to say that we don't lose men, thought Maroe as looked at the space Javier Martinez should be occupying.
Martinez had been killed in action two weeks prior during an attempted recovery of a reality bender. Ultimately, recovery and containment were deemed too difficult and beyond the resources available at present. The entity was terminated via a high-powered sniper round to the back of the skull. Never saw it coming, he thought with a wry smile.
The smile faded as he remembered what had happened just before the kill order was given.
Martinez stood, trying to give cover fire for Maroe and the rest of the squad as the reality bender tore up the city streets around them, turning blocks into writhing serpents and solid streets into pits lined with spikes.
The reality bender, eyes glowing with a surreal light, spotted him. A swift flick of his wrist sent Martinez flying ten meters away, slamming him into the side of a building. Martinez landed roughly, rolling to lessen the impact. His armor had absorbed the worst of the blow.
Even from as far away from the entity as Maroe was, he could see surprise flit briefly across its face before being replaced by a small smile. It viewed Martinez as he was: a challenge, possibly the best of the group.
It turned its full attention on the young man as he stood, pulling his sidearm to replace the top-of-the-line assault rifle that had fallen away in his unexpected flight. Seeing that Martinez had little chance unless the entity was distracted, Maroe opened fire on the entity. Without looking, it batted the bullets away, sending them flying towards Maroe and the rest of the retreating squad.
Martinez opened fire, slowly and methodically, each bullet aimed at a vital organ, the majority concentrating on the head. All were flicked harmlessly away.
The bender quickly grew tired of the game, turning Martinez's gun into a puddle of slag and solidifying the mass around his hands, locking them together. The ground around his feet loosened, becoming as quicksand and letting him sink up to his ankles before become solid once more.
Again Maroe opened fire, and again the bullets were sent spinning away, one into Maroe's thigh.
The bender floated through the air towards the immobile Martinez, stopping inches away.
It leaned in towards Martinez's face, appearing to say something…from this distance, it looked like it thanked Martinez.
And then Martinez just…stopped existing. He seemed to explode and implode at once, forming both a void and a presence, before simply vanishing. Seconds later, the bender's head exploded in a mist.
But nothing could change what had just happened.
Maroe snapped back to the present as the tactical vehicle stopped in front of a fairly decrepit looking warehouse. He stood again, wincing at the dull ache in his thigh where the bullet had hit.
"All right everybody, we're here. Intel says this shouldn't be a difficult recovery, so let's get moving. Just in case, masks and helmets on. I want cams running at all times. Roberts, I want you and Verdin to carry the case. Once we have the item, we need to get it in the box immediately. Reports indicate a strong psychic element…shouldn't pose a problem, probably just mess with your head, which is why we have the masks. Telekill-like properties with…so far…none of the nasty side effects. No memetics present that we are aware of, but your helmets are resistant nonetheless. The case should block out the target's effects completely, once we get it in there. Intel suggests no more than ten hostiles holding the item…hopefully this time they're right. Beirut was a disaster; we don't need a repeat of that. Everybody ready?"
A chorus of affirmatives rang through the vehicles with varying levels of enthusiasm. All the men had worked with Martinez and remembered his quick laugh and easy smile, save for the new guy occupying his seat.
Maroe smiled grimly. "Then let's get this done!"
Across the street, two people in stylish suits watched the group move out, taking positions at the doors and windows. The person in the driver's seat, a woman, looked at her companion, and held out a hundred dollar bill.
"Hundred bucks says they get it in less than twenty minutes."
The man beside her looked at the bill and pulled out one of his own. "What's a little pocket change between friends?" he said wryly. "A minute more, and the hundred's mine."
"Breach on my go. 3…2…1…go go go!"
The team moved quickly and efficiently, entering the building and subduing the hostiles in less than ten minutes. Only one enemy combatant got a shot off, which landed harmlessly in the ceiling.
"Roberts, Verdin, do you have the item?" Maroe barked into the helmet's built-in radio. A crackle of static filled the airwaves, then nothing.
"Roberts, Verdin, do you have the item? Do you copy?" Again, a crackle of static and then silence.
"Weapons hot everybody…this could get ugly fast. Fan out and find Roberts and Verdin. I hate to say it, but recovery is priority here."
The group split up, covering both floors of the two-story building. They found the two men in a corner room at the top of the warehouse, holding the mobile containment unit between them. The two men stood transfixed, staring at the necklace where it lay on its display pedestal. It glinted strangely in the dull light, drawing the eyes of the team, despite the masks and helmets they wore.
Carefully, keeping their eyes averted, the remainder of the team transferred the necklace from its pedestal to the box, sealing it in. Roberts and Verdin's eyes followed the item greedily, practically boring holes in the box, though they made no move to take it back.
"Come on everybody, let's go home." The group turned to go, Verdin and Roberts following obediently, but never taking their eyes off the box and its cargo. "Martinez," Maroe started, "er, sorry, Franco, administer the amnestics and let's get out of here."
Without warning, Verdin grabbed the box, hefting its bulk as if it were nothing and running down the stairs, Roberts at his heels. The two burst into the light of the street, stumbling momentarily at the sudden blinding brightness.
The two men, united in purpose, bolted down the street away from the vehicle they arrived in.
Two shots burst from across the street and the two men fell, their cargo falling roughly to the ground. A black Crown Victoria whips across the street, pausing just long enough for the man in the passenger seat to grab the box and throw it into the backseat. By the time the rest of the team caught up, the car was long gone, leaving behind only the smell of burnt rubber and cordite and two cooling bodies.
Reluctantly, the man handed his companion a hundred dollar bill. It had taken the team nineteen minutes and forty-five seconds to breach, neutralize hostiles, and obtain the necklace. Fifteen seconds short of a night on the town. The woman accepted with a wry smile.
"Well, now that that's done, I don't suppose you two could get back to work?"
The two started at the sudden voice speaking from the shadows in the backseat. In the speaker's lap sat the box containing the necklace.
"You do realize that it wouldn't have been nearly that simple if those two hadn't already fallen under the control of the necklace, yes? A simple object, but it makes the bearer irresistible…which in turn, makes it irresistible. Fetched a pretty penny before, it should again."
The woman swallowed nervously. It rarely boded well when one of the upper-level employees showed up. Especially one of the Acquisitions men.
"Of course, sir. We were just on our way back to the club to drop it off."
Even without seeing his eyes, she could feel the coldness of his stare on the back of her neck. "See that you do. This item is worth more than your life. I mean that literally."
The car subtlely picked up speed as it wove through the streets towards its destination.
Jared Zanon woke up in his cubical, not knowing, for a moment, who he was or where he was, much less when he was. A quick glance at the calendar affirmed his suspicions; he had been amnesticized again. The dates didn't match up…he'd never sleep in today. What he was made to forget, he didn't know, but it didn't matter. He'd been out for three days.
Three days too long. His next meeting with his contact was in an hour and he couldn't be late. The man, whoever he was, would kill him without a second thought. Zanon stood up, pushing the chair back from his desk in his mad rush to get from his cubical to the parking garage. It shouldn't take an hour for him to get to the parking garage…it was, after all, connected to the site he was stationed at, but better to be early than late, he reasoned.
He passed the cubical next to his, waving briefly at his coworker. His coworker waved back, popping his head out of the cubical at the fleeing figure of his fellow accountant. "Yo, Jared," he called out, "did you lose weight or something man? You look good!"
Did I lose weight? What happened to me before the amnestics? Doesn't matter. Gotta get there.
An hour later, Jared Zanon began to sweat, hands shaking as he lit another cigarette. Its pungent smoke filled the air before drifting away in the dark parking garage. His contact was, as ever, late.
"Well hello Mr. Zanon. What have you got for me today?"
Item Number: SCP-XXXX
Item Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Due to the immovability of SCP-XXXX, the structure was modified to appear derelict and abandoned. A 3 m tall chain link fence has been erected outside of the structure. Two guards are to be stationed at the fence's gate at all times. At least three guards are to patrol the outside of the perimeter of the fence at all times.
Civilian traffic near SCP-XXXX, both pedestrian and vehicular, is to be allowed with no restriction. Under no circumstances are Foundation personnel allowed to enter SCP-XXXX in any group exceeding three members. D-class personnel used in testing are to be given civilian clothing, one blank journal, and one black ink pen.
For testing, CCTV cameras leading to observation posts have been installed throughout SCP-XXXX. Additionally, a nonlethal neutralization system consisting of knockout gas administered through air vents has been installed to aid in the capture of test subjects or unauthorized personnel for detainment and questioning.
Description: SCP-XXXX is an abandoned two-story warehouse in S██ F████████, C█████████ formerly used for storing furniture. The building is structurally sound with no functional utilities, but has rudimentary living areas set up in multiple rooms, as well as a common area in the central storage area of the warehouse composed of three sofas arranged around a makeshift fire pit. Fortifications have been made to windows and doors leading to the outside of SCP-XXXX by past inhabitants, including test subjects. At least two central rooms on each floor of SCP-XXXX are heavily fortified and serve as a weapon storage room and food larder. Attempts to open either room prior to an Activation Event have proven fruitless. Following an Activation Event, both rooms are found to be adequately stocked with approximately a month's worth of provisions, ammunition, and weaponry.
The manifestation of the anomalous effects of SCP-XXXX, designated Activation Events, occur when a group of five or more are present inside the structure for a period exceeding twenty minutes. Following twenty minutes, the group, hereafter designated SCP-XXXX-A-E, exhibit signs of extreme stress and fear and attempt to get as far from doors and windows as possible. After several hours, SCP-XXXX-A-E separate and explore the building, each subject choosing one of the living spaces as his or her own.
For approximately the first twenty-four hours following an Activation Event, SCP-XXXX-A-E stay in their chosen living areas, avoiding contact with the rest of the group and staying as far as possible from all outside windows. During this time, subjects continue to exhibit extreme emotional duress. Subjects show no sign of knowing that they are under observation, despite having been told so before the commencement of testing. Approximately forty percent of subjects have been observed to write in the journals given to them during this time.
Following the initial twenty-four hours, subjects begin to meet in the common area. It is during this time frame that a member of SCP-XXXX-A-E will discover the weapon storage and food larder. Subjects continue to exhibit signs of emotional duress and stress, but at reduced levels compared to those present immediately after the Activation Event.
Approximately three hours following nightfall, SCP-XXXX will be assaulted by entities hereafter designated SCP-XXXX-1. So far, the Foundation has been unable to stop these entities from manifesting and assaulting the structure. Any attempts at intervention invariably lead to heavy losses by Foundation personnel, both from SCP-XXXX-1 and from SCP-XXXX-A-E as they attempt to repel the attack. To date, no instances of SCP-XXXX-1 have been recovered, either alive or deceased.
Instances of SCP-XXXX-1 appear human, but have proven highly resistant to conventional firearms. Additionally, SCP-XXXX-1 instances have shown strength exceeding that of a normal human, being easily capable of
Item Number: SCP-XXXX
Item Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept in an hermetically sealed containment locker with a standard keypad lock. All personnel involved in the handling of SCP-XXXX must wear latex gloves. No open liquids may be brought within 5 meters of SCP-XXXX or any individual instance of SCP-XXXX-1. D-class personnel involved in testing with SCP-XXXX-1 are to be classified according to the manuscript being read (e.g. SCP-XXXX-2-M for SCP-XXXX-1-Marx, SCP-XXXX-2-P for SCP-XXXX-1-Plato, etc.).
Instances of SCP-XXXX-2 are to be contained in standard humanoid containment cells and are to be monitored at all times. Any writings made by SCP-XXXX-2 instances are to be confiscated immediately. Instances of SCP-XXXX-2 are not to be allowed any writing materials. Should the instances scratch writing onto the walls, they are to be temporarily moved to a different containment cell while the current one is repaired. Should problems persist, the instance is to restrained using a standard straightjacket. At least one armed guard must be present during all interviews with instances of SCP-XXXX-2. Personnel involved in long-term containment are required to wear sound-cancelling headgear unless specifically instructed otherwise by a level 3 researcher or higher.
Following Incident SCP-XXXX-Alpha, all research personnel involved in testing for a period of time greater than one week are to be given a psychological evaluation every two weeks. If any measurable change to their psychological profile is observed, they are to be given a follow-up examination every three days. If continued change is observed, personnel are to be removed from all assignments involving SCP-XXXX, administered class-B amnestics, and reassigned. Following this, psychological evaluations are to be conducted every three days for two weeks and then every two weeks for six months. Should a relapse be determined, personnel are to be administered class-A amnestics and transported off-site to a Foundation psychological facility for treatment for a period of no less than one year.
If problems persist, termination may be deemed necessary. Additionally, individual instances of SCP-XXXX-2 are to be terminated following one month of examination and containment. In rare and extreme cases, SCP-XXXX-2 will become actively hostile to all Foundation personnel encountered. Such instances are to be terminated immediately.
Description: SCP-XXXX is the collective designation for a box set of books, titled Philosophy Made Simple: Be a Philosopher Just By Reading (Clear and Easy to Read Explanations Included!). The books included in the set are well-known philosophical works credited to, published, or authored by various philosophers. The books were published by V████████ Publishing. No publisher matching this name has been found. Anomalous effects have only manifested in regards to works credited to, published, or authored by Siddhartha Gautama (the first Buddha), Confucius, Plato, Aristotle, René Descartes, Immanuel Kant, Karl Marx, Jean-Paul Sartres, and Sigmund Freud. Each individual book is hereafter designated SCP-XXXX-1-[author] when referred to individually or SCP-XXXX-1 if referred to as a group.
SCP-XXXX-1's anomalous properties manifest when read by an individual or group. Testing has shown that the anomalous properties do not manifest if the item is read via an electronic medium, i.e. uploading the contents of a page to a computer database, manipulating the item via remote and reading through surveillance footage, etc. Instances of SCP-XXXX-1 have been determined to change themselves to the reader’s, hereafter SCP-XXXX-2, first language, or the language they best understand. Grammar and syntax have been observed to change to best fit the SCP-XXXX-2’s level of reading comprehension. After SCP-XXXX-2 has read an instance of SCP-XXXX-1, they are to be considered infected. If observed via an electronic medium, the book will be perceived as written with English characters, though the words themselves are jumbled and unreadable.
Approximately one week following initial infection by SCP-XXXX-1, instances of SCP-XXXX-2 will begin to quote the instance of SCP-XXXX-1 from which they read, both verbally and in writing, if possible. If no writing materials are given to SCP-XXXX-2, it will begin to attempt to write using an available means, even to the detriment of its health. If possible, instances are to be restrained and are to be given medical attention if necessary. Instances of SCP-XXXX-2 who have read more than one instance of SCP-XXXX-1 present ideas from all the works read, as well as a 20% shorter incubation period. During this time, regardless of the amount of volumes of SCP-XXXX-1 instances read, SCP-XXXX-2 will frequently attempt to peacefully spread the ideas of its vector of infection, being fully cooperative with Foundation assets.
Writings made by instances of SCP-XXXX-2 are capable of spreading infection given repeated exposure over a period of three days. Class-B amnestics have proven effective treatment in 63% of reported cases. At present, vocalizations by SCP-XXXX-2 have not been observed to spread infection been observed to infect individuals over a greatly extended period of time, usually after four weeks of repeated exposure. Class-B amnestics have proven effective in 90% of verbal infection cases.
Note: At this time, cross-infection of philosophies (i.e. being infected by both SCP-XXXX-1-Plato and SCP-XXXX-1-Marx) has not been observed. Subjects appear to be infected only by the first instance of SCP-XXXX-1 read.
Approximately two and a half weeks following exposure and infection, SCP-XXXX-2 will begin to exhibit extreme distress, variable by the instance of SCP-XXXX-1 read. Following three weeks of containment, infection is considered to be complete. Instances of SCP-XXXX-2 will exhibit in-depth of knowledge of the instance of SCP-XXXX-1 by which they were infected and will begin to take the ideas presented to a form of radical extremism. See Addendum SCP-XXXX-A for further information and understanding.
SCP-XXXX was recovered from a fireproof safe in the remains of a private residence in B██████, Illinois. The residence, as well as the rest of the town, had been destroyed by fire approximately two weeks prior to Foundation involvement. Class-B amnestics were administered to all involved and all references to B██████ were removed from public and private records.
Addendum SCP-XXXX-A: The following document was recovered with SCP-XXXX. Handwriting is a confirmed match to Mark D██████ of B██████, Illinois. The town had been found with the majority of buildings burnt to the ground. Investigation by Foundation assets showed signs of accelerant indicating arson.
My name is Mark D██████, owner and proprieter of Just a Small Town Bookstore in B██████. Or what's left of it. I'm writing this to warn whoever stumbles onto what's left of the town. Don't read the books. Or, if you've already read one, don't read the others. I don't know if it makes a difference, but don't let anyone read more than one. If you've got to read one, read Descartes or Kant. Those at least seem to be harmless. I've burnt all the other sets I could find, the whole damn shop too, just in case. This is the last one. They don't seem to come after me as long as I have these…almost like a hostage situation. If I go anywhere without at least one, they try to kill me for burning their books. Not that it matters. Curiosity got the best of me before I realized what the hell was happening and I cracked one open.
It all started when those damn books arrived at the store about two weeks ago. I knew there was something off about them as soon as I opened the first shipping crate. I knew I sure as hell hadn’t ordered them, and no one else in the store had either. When we finished unloading them, we found a note at the bottom. “Consider these a donation, use them wisely,” it said. If I find the prick that sent those before I lose it, I’ll kill him.
The books sold like hotcakes at first. I couldn’t keep them on the shelf. Couldn’t figure out why. B██████ isn’t exactly known as a hotbed of philosophical thought. Then, after a while, business took a nosedive. No one came in the store for a week. Most of my employees didn’t come in the store for a week. Actually, now that I think about it, I think I was the only one left there at the end. Don’t know how I missed that.
I guess that must’ve been about the point I got curious and opened one of the books. Some Greek guy…Plato, was his name. Wasn't a bad read, actually. I guess that was…about a week ago? I don't even know anymore.
For awhile, things weren't bad. In fact, they were better than they had been. Business began to pick up again, I even got a few new customers in. People I had never seen before came in and bought stacks of books, mostly philosophy. Another clue I missed in hindsight. They'd come in, grab their books, spout off something they'd read in one of those damn box sets, pay for their crap and go. They were happy, I was happy.
Looking back at things, the whole town was happy. Crime rates, low though they were, plummeted to near zero. Business picked up for everyone. The local government actually got shit done for once instead of sitting complaining about it. Everything was great. Just a peaceful exchange of ideologies and ideas and plans. Knowledge for knowledge's sake.
Then it all went to hell.
It was little things at first. A small argument here, someone being too subservient for someone else's taste, someone doing whatever they wanted, small things.
A few days after the little things, the metaphorical hammer fell. Everything shifted and changed.
The town had been divided into factions. It was like…like the philosophers’ ideas taken to an extreme. The first two days were insane. The Platians and Aristotelians were rioting out in front of the courthouse, demanding a “just state.” The Confucians were doing whatever they were told, so long as they were told by someone higher up than them. The Sartresians were doing…whatever they wanted. Which usually involved nothing legal. The Descartesians and Buddhists at least were peaceful. They just sat and did nothing for the most part. The Kantians were the only good people around. They were trying to do what was right, even if you could tell their heart really wasn’t in it sometimes. The Freudians…let’s not even go into those guys. That’s some messed up shit.
I knew I was screwed, knew B██████ was screwed. I did the only thing I could. I took my copies and destroyed the store. Being a tradesman is all I’m really cut out to be, but not a lot of point if there’s no trade. Then I started going getting rid of as many of those books as I could. I felt awful, burning homes like I was. I try not to think about the people that might have been in there. But I was only doing what was right, what was just. Trying to even things out, fix things as best I could. I’ve not got a lot of time left before I lose it. I’m not sure there’s going to be anything left by the time we’re all done fighting over this place. The Marxists are breaking into and looting businesses every day, burning them occasionally. They’ve even targeted a few former business owners. At the rate things are going, they’re going to have destroyed the town by the time the Platians and Aristotelians restore the true balance, return things to justness. The Kantians are treating the wounded as best they can, but the town’s only doctor became a Sartresian I think. If only I could help balance things in some way. There is no rationality here. There may never be.
We’re screwed. Don’t let this happen to you. Be just.
Markon Diomikianos, Platian
MARCUS D██████, CITIZEN
SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures:
SCP-XXXX is to be kept in any standard environmentally-sealed containment locker with a standard lock. No personnel with a history of depression or a disposition towards violence are to be assigned to SCP-XXXX. Unless specifically requested for further experimentation, all D-class personnel who win the game are to be immediately terminated to prevent potential containment breaches. Under no circumstance is a game to be allowed to continue past 150 turns. If this threshold is reached, any D-class personnel playing the game is to be immediately terminated. All requests for testing must be approved by a Level 3 Researcher or higher.
Description:
SCP-XXXX is the collective designation for a standard copy of the board game Life, consisting of a nonanomalous case and game pieces, collectively designated SCP-XXXX-1, one instruction manual, designated SCP-XXXX-2, an equivalent number of tiles as those present in a standard copy of the game, collectively designated SCP-XXXX-3, and a slightly modified game board, designated SCP-XXXX-4. SCP-XXXX-2 contains only one page with a single line of text reading:
Life comes with no guide. Figure it out.
In the center of SCP-XXXX-4, near the spinner, is what appears to be a score counter, labeled Life and Player 1 with scores at ████ and ██ respectively. The scores accumulate through gameplay, following the conclusion of each round. Once begun, the game will continue until its conclusion, with any participant, hereafter designated SCP-XXXX-A, playing against SCP-XXXX. Any attempts to move more than 2 meters away from the game board at any time after the start of the game results in the player being forcibly dragged by an unknown force to within playing distance of the game board. Should XXXX-A attempt to cheat at any time, whether intentional or through a lack of knowledge of the rules of the game, the result will be the immediate death of the subject. Autopsy of deceased subjects reveals the cause of death to be natural. (See Addendum XXXX-Gamma for additional information.)
In most cases, instances of SCP-XXXX-A will take actions during the course of gameplay that mirror the events of their life to date. College graduates will "attend college" in-game and take out a loan of precisely the same amount as that which they took out for college and then enter into their real-life career field in the game. In the case of D-class test subjects, the subject's actions will again mirror the events of their life up until their incarceration and recruitment by the Foundation.
After reaching their current position in life, the events of the game begin to diverge from those of an instance of SCP-XXXX-A's life, almost always in negative ways, i.e. XXXX-A will land on a space requiring the drawing of an instance of SCP-XXXX-3, which will contain an event such as the death of a spouse or child or the loss of a home due to a natural disaster. Said event will occur within ██ minutes of drawing the tile. SCP-XXXX-A typically shows signs of distress and pessimism at this point in the game, though whether this is stress induced, memetic, or both is as of yet undetermined.
As the game progresses, events printed on SCP-XXXX-3 will increase in severity, i.e. threatening worldwide socioeconomic stability to increase the amount of interest owed on SCP-XXXX-A's home or causing wars, natural disasters, or containment breaches to directly endanger a member of SCP-XXXX-A's close family or friends or the subject themselves.
The severity of these events seems occur at irregular intervals, shown below:
Number of Moves | Severity of Event (approximate) |
---|---|
0-23 | Minor. Loss of property, theft, sudden financial hardship etc. |
24-40 | Minor. Destruction of property, assault on family or friends, slight personal injury. |
41-60 | Moderate. Total destruction of property, death of family or friend, major bodily injury (rare). |
61-88 | Moderate. Death of entire family (accidental), death of close friends (accidental), sudden loss of all income, significant increase in debt. |
89-123 | Major. Potential for severe bodily harm, even death, to subject, death of all known relatives and close friends due to a newly started war, severe socioeconomic instability worldwide, possible containment breach of SCP items inimicable to life. |
124-150 | Severe. Potential for containment breach of several Keter class SCP items with little chance of recontainment. |
151+ | [DATA EXPUNGED] |
Note: For approximately the first ███ tests, these events, even at advanced stages of the game, were of considerably less severity.
In 97% of games played, the subject will forfeit to SCP-XXXX after approximately 125 turns, occassionally attempting to cause physical harm to the game board or its components which results in equivalent bodily harm to the subject. If physical harm is not done to any of SCP-XXXX's components, the subject is free to leave the play area and the score counter on the game board increases, adding half a point to the score listed under Life.
Immediately after leaving the area, SCP-XXXX-A enters into an extreme depressive state, equivalent to severe clinical depression. Administration of antidepressants has proven an effective treatment in 20% of cases and administration of Class-A amnestics in 53% of cases. Losing, untreated subjects typically commit suicide within a week following loss of the game, resulting in an additional half point being added to the Life score.
However, should a subject win a game, the score listed under Player 1 will increase by one and the subject is free to leave the play area. Winning subjects often report feelings of euphoria and increased physical fitness and health. Additionally, winning subjects will have all negative effects of the game reversed and improved, for example, a death will be determined to be incorrectly reported and the victim to be in critical but stable condition. Also, the subject will invariably demonstrate further success in his or her field, often going on to receive promotions, raises, etc. In the case of D-class, the subject is invariably used in experimentation with several Safe class SCP items or placed in situations, such as containment breaches, where it may be possible to escape Foundation custody. At this time, it is unknown if the item actually causes the events to occur or if it merely predicts them. Following Incident XXXX-Epsilon, the item has been shown to actively cause events to occur. (See Incident Report XXXX-Epsilon for full details.)
In approximately 0.5% of games, SCP-XXXX-A will take actions during the game which differ from their current life. Typically, these differing actions are lingering regrets from different points in the subject's life, for instance, marriage, resolving an argument with a friend or family member, purchasing or not purchasing an object, or in the case of D-class, avoiding incarceration. In all such events, written records and the memories of all directly affected individuals have changed in a manner indicative of a change in the past. SCP-XXXX-A retains the memories of both the differentiated and undifferentiated past. For the remainder of the game, despite negative events that occur due to experimentation with the item, affected subjects tend to display a more positive, optimistic outlook, often going on to win the game. Should the subject lose the game, all events differing from the subject's life to date will be reversed.
Should SCP-XXXX-A win the game, the subject's differential actions will begin to manifest in the present, often actively seeking out the subject if possible. In most cases, affected subjects will attempt to leave Foundation custody or employ in an effort to take advantage of what they perceive to have gained through playing and winning the game. Class-A amnestics have proven effective in negating this effect.
Addendum XXXX-Alpha:
Winning subjects of the game typically become fiercely protective of it, often crediting it for their sudden success. All attempts, intentional or not, to damage the game in the presence of a winning subject have resulted in the forced termination of the subject in order to prevent a containment breach. (See Incident Report XXXX-Rho-18)
Addendum XXXX-Beta:
Further testing following establishment of SCP has shown that the object's negative effects on the world at large have begun occurring with less time in gameplay per test. Rather than beginning after ███ moves, they now begin after ██.
Addendum XXXX-Gamma:
Following the supervised attempt by D-7865 to cheat and the subject's subsequent death, the following was found on a new page in SCP-XXXX-2:
Ah ah ah. No cheating! That spoils all the fun, now doesn't it?
Addendum XXXX-Eta:
The following was found written on the inside of SCP-XXXX-1 following the completion of a game in which the subject lost and immediately committed suicide. The game took 150 turns precisely before the subject finally conceded.
My numbers keep going up, as do the Lives I ruin. I applaud your persistence and tenacity, but I will have you all before I am through.
Further testing suspended following the near containment breach of SCP-███.
Senior Researcher █████████
[[tab Ideas Pre-draft/ in-conception]]
- Contract new-hire Foundation higherup doctor / upper-level management. tale. HOLY SHIT ITS UP AND IT WORKED (Welcome Aboard) :D
- scip Foundation can only just physically contain. Must be known by public to effectively contain, breaking Masquerade. Foundation can't break Masquerade. Doable?? NOT DOABLE AT CURRENT SKILL LEVEL Well. Someone beat me to it. Good for you! If you happen to be reading this, I liked it.
- Slice of life tale janitor @site. need to work out specifics
- UIU tale-competent UIU w/ bad luck Sorta kinda. It changed from here to the paper. But it's up and alive.
- Scip building in urban setting that activates when a group of five or more enter. Makes subjects feel isolated and alone. Any entrants after activation are perceived as threats by subjects. If removed from building for long periods of time, subjects perceive threats that aren't there and go catatonic, indicating death. Hook: they are seeing a future in which the Foundation has failed and few if any people can be trusted. Show post apocalypse scenario through diary entries from various members of the group
- Post at least one SCP that sticks.
- Post at least one other tale that sticks. Check. UIU tale. Can't Catch a Break is up…but lackluster for now.
- Soooooo…we're gonna try another one. Surely I can think of something! And check: Ethical? is up and, for the most part, favorably received. Yay!
- Get to the point I can create an author page. Accomplished with Ethical? assuming it sticks and Troy/Moose/Gears/[insert correct figure here] gives me the go-ahead.
- Get more involved on the site and chat.
- Get Very High karma 3/10/14 with a post on the Ask the Person above You thread. -.-
- Write this: (From the Fifthist hub) We don't know much about the other manifestations of Fifthism. For all we know one of them could be a family of squirrels in Russia, and how would they document things? Probably involves acorns or something.
At the time of this writing, it's sitting comfortably at +35. Yay!
Annnyyywaayyyy.
I'm really pretty proud of this one. It was one of those things that just kinda came to me. Literally, I wrote this in…like, two hours? Three? Posted it up for review and everybody liked it. It's evidently riddled with logic problems. But most people enjoy the humor enough to upvote it.
So yay! My first one was a success.
At the time of this writing, it is sitting on shifting sand at +12. I literally have no idea how this one is going to land. (caveat from later: it landed at about +15)
I'm kinda meh towards this one to be honest. I liked it at first, but honestly, it received lackluster reviews and, while I still like it, it's kind of like…cold food. It's still okay…it's just not all that great either.
But, it was inspired by a post on the SCP-RP wiki about the UIU. So, I made a UIU tale. Originally, in my head, they were supposed to be good and capable and…well, that didn't work so well. So this happened. I'm happy with it…but I'm not nearly as happy as I am with my first tale.
Well, I'm a lot more happy with this one than with Can't Catch a Break.
At the time of this writing, Ethical? has been up for about 2 hours and has garnered a rating of +14 with one downvote.
This was inspired by going through and reading the Broken Masquerade canon and wishing I could do something to fit into it. Initially, and I've had this idea since I first found the canon, I either wanted to do Gears in front of a Congressional panel or something, or maybe fully write a TV interview with one of the bigger SS like Clef, Gears, KPC, etc.
Thankfully, that changed into what it became: an original character so I didn't step on anyone's toes, in front of a UN panel regarding the Ethics Committee's, well, ethics.
Also, if anyone reading this needs help stylistically with story telling, parts of a narrative, general techniques, etc., find DrDrash in chat. The person's a gold mine of info.
THESE ARE COMPLETED WORKS THAT SUCCEEDED
Wait, so we're hiring this guy blind?" asked the man as he sat at a table piled high with papers.
"Yes sir. He's just been informed he has a high-level position with us, plus good pay and benefits. He'll be in momentarily. He just needs to sign these," said the younger aide, gesturing towards the piles of papers.
"And if he asks about particulars?"
"That's your problem. You're the lawyer."
"…figures. Send him in. And kill the lights. May as well have a little fun with him."
"Yes sir."
Thomas LaFerro rubbed his eyes as he waited for the new hire. It had been a long day, and he hated hiring people when they didn't know what they were getting in to.
"H-hello? Are you in here?"
Internally sighing, LaFerro said, "Yes, right over here. Have a seat and we'll begin."
Slowly, the new hire walked over through the room and sat down in the chair. It and the table of papers were the only illuminated things in the room.
"Wow, you guys take your shit seriously."
"Yes we do doctor. We find caution and secrecy to be paramount. Now, before we begin, this entire session will be recorded for verification purposes. This is not a request, I'm just informing you that everything you say is going on the record. Is that understood?"
"Yes. But what do you mean verif-"
"Please state your name for the record, doctor."
"Doctor Henry Olstein."
"Good. Now, we, by which I mean you, just have a few papers yet to sign before you are officially an employee of the Foundation. This should take no more than an hour of your time, after which you will be sent where you are supposed to go, given an orientation, and assigned to a team. Any defection during this time will result in termination. Is that understood?"
"Yes. No leaving or I'm fired."
"…we'll go with that. First is a Foundation-standard nondisclosure agreement. By signing this, you agree to not reveal or publish the details or findings of any project or projects you work on from here on, in this time or reality or any other. Additionally, you agree to be held to the same regarding other staff members of the site at which you are to work unless they are on your team. Your home, should you choose to live off-site, will be bugged and wired for surveillance purposes. Any breach of contract will result in termination. If you agree to these terms, print your name here, sign here, and initial here, here, and here."
Dr. Henry Olstein briefly held the pen before saying, "So…no publication? Ever? Even if I discover something that could change how we understand reality?"
"Good God, they didn't let this guy know anything!" thought LaFerro.
"Permission may be granted to publish your findings in an internal Foundation-only publication. Permission will come from your site director and depends on your assignment, your findings, and an internal review process of the publication. I'm told the review process is exceptionally harsh and has reduced more than a few to several sessions with Foundation-employed psychologists. Please sign the form so we may continue Dr. Olstein."
LaFerro watched as Olstein scratched his signature on the paper. Another life, thrown away into secrecy. This man would never see the light of day again, at least not with family or as Dr. Henry Olstein. A life in the shadows.
"Thank you doctor. Now, we have just a few more to sign. This packet of forms explains your clearance level, pay grade, sick days, site policy, holiday policy, housing arrangements, vacation days, etcetera. If you agree to all the terms and conditions laid out herein, you need to print here, here and here, sign here, and initial here, here, here, here, here, and here. This needs to be done throughout the packet. I'll give you a moment."
Olstein scribbled furiously, apparently anxious to get on with the job. "He wouldn't be so anxious if he knew even a fraction of what he was getting into," thought LaFerro. But then, none of them really did. Some knew more than others, but no one really knew.
"Very good. Now, this packet outlines your benefits, insurance, tax exemptions, food plan, and gives you the choice between the standard, death/dismemberment/displacement compensation and the death/dismemberment/displacement/dislocation/relocation/multiplicity/immolation/[DATA EXPUNGED] compensation packages. Yes, they've actually written [DATA EXPUNGED], no I don't know what it means. It should be noted that this package will take a significant amount more out of your paycheck, but will guarantee total compensation and financial stability for the designated recipient upon your accidental death, dismemberment, etcetera. Please mark a checkmark by the package of your choice and the designee's name. Then, if you agree to all the terms listed, you need to sign here, here, and here, and initial here."
"The, uh, death/dismemberment/displacement/whatever package…that's all a joke right? Not ever actually going to happen?"
"I'm afraid I'm not cleared to tell you that, nor do I know for certain doctor. Do you wish to continue?"
"…yes."
"Very well. This paper details the amount of budget per annum you will receive for projects. Additional funding and resources may be requested. If this looks acceptable to you, please sign here."
"That was the fastest I've ever seen someone sign their name," thought LaFerro.
"…what are D-Class personnel, Mr. LaFerro, and why do I have such a high number of them?"
"That information is above my clearance level doctor. I have approximately seventy-five more pages for you to sign before you can leave. For the sake of brevity, I'm going to let you peruse and sign them at your leisure. They all need to be initialed in the upper right corner and signed at the bottom. I'll give you a moment."
Olstein skimmed and signed the papers quickly, looking more agitated with each paper.
"Okay. This has to be a joke. 'Under no circumstances are you, the signee, to touch the anomalous penguins that may or may not be present on your site. At no times are you to make a penguin, bird, or fish comment around said penguins. Testing of penguins is strictly forbidden. Breach of this contract may result in demotion or termination.' This is a joke right?"
"I'm afraid not doctor. Those penguins drive a hard case. I cannot think of a time they've lost in Foundation civil court. Please sign the form if you agree to the terms."
Grumbling, Olstein signed the paper.
"Amazing," thought LaFerro. "He gets caught up over the penguins clause but signs the 'no contact with family' clause without hesitation. I'll never understand these people the Foundation hires."
"Well doctor, I believe that is all I have for you to sign. You may leave. An Agent will be waiting outside to escort you to your assignment. Congratulations on your employment Level 3 Researcher Henry Olstein."
As Olstein left, LaFerro looked down at the papers in front of him.
"Dr. Henry Olstein, Clearance Level 3/682," read the paper.
"Poor bastard. Send in the next one."
The man looked around the back of the van at his assembled team. Three agents, a driver, and himself. He quietly checked his equipment once more. They were going after something that definitely didn't belong in this world. Some days it was good to be a team leader. It was even better to have a wonderful, glorious team.
"This is Team Alpha. We've got a Cart in sight and we are in pursuit. Do you copy? Over."
"Team Alpha, this is your SAC, we copy. What do you have a cart of? Over."
Agent Aaron Jay, team leader of Team Alpha of the FBI's Unusual Incident Unit sighed. Sometimes, it seemed like he was the only competent person in the agency. Or at least his branch of the agency.
"A Cart, a confirmed artifact, Sally! At least try to remember the…you know what, fuck it. Sally we've got something funny here, we can see it, and we're going after it now. I'll report in when we finish. Over."
"Roger Team Alpha. And don't call me Sally, this shit is recorded. I mean, over."
Jay tossed the radio into the back of the van, where it clattered at the feet of the rest of his team. His wonderful, glorious, bumbling, absolutely incompetent team.
Some…no, most days, I hate this job, he thought.
Looking over at the driver, he said, "Charlie, keep the artifact in sight. And keep your eyes on the damn road this time, please. We don't need another wrecked vehicle and I don't need more paperwork."
"Right, sure thing boss."
Some days I'd kill for just one "yes sir," he thought.
He turned to address the rest of the team.
"Everyone, after a month of searching we have finally found a Ca — artifact. For now, this is observation only. As soon as we can get that thing alone and in our custody, we are to do so. Agent Callahan, you are to — Agent Calla — KEVIN."
"…huh?"
"Kevin, just…stay with the group and don't shoot anything until I say so, okay?"
"Don't shoot until you say so. Got it."
Other teams…well, not UIU teams, but other teams…have snipers with nicknames like "Sharpshooter," "Ace," "Singleshot," and I get stuck with Kevin "Spray and Pray" Callahan. What did I do to deserve this?
He looked over to the team's resident explosive "expert" DiMaggio, who was slightly overequipped with standard issue flashbags, a few tear gas grenades, a couple smoke grenades and…
Shit, are those frags? Not again…third time he's smuggled them from the weapons locker this week…
"Agent Di — you know what? Forget it. Don. Don't blow shit up when we're within ten feet of it okay? Gina is still in the hospital after the last one. Let's get this over with. Charlie, just…gun it. Ram the damn thing. We'll knock it out, drag it in the back, take it back to HQ and maybe, just maybe, for ONCE get a little bit of respect. And maybe I'll finally get transferred OUT of this shithole and back into a halfway decent job!"
"…Sooo…ram it?"
"Just do it Charlie."
"Yes sir. Let's see how fast this thing can go!"
You've got to be fucking kidding me. Now he "yes sirs?"
"Everybody hold on! We're about to hit!"
The three men in the back of the van held tight to the seats, ready for the bone-jarring crash that was sure to follow. Charlie was driving. The results could be no less than catastrophic.
"Annddd….NOW!"
The rest of the team looked around expectantly before turning to stare at Charlie.
"What the…we just went right through that fuckin' thing! It's behind us! And it looks pissed!"
"Shit, Kevin, open the back doors, Don grab the rifles and pass me one. No, don't throw it, that thing's loaded!"
Kevin opened the doors, revealing the artifact in full. It appeared to be a large dog until it opened its mouth. Teeth the size of knives burst from slavering jaws as a hungry growl rolled from the depths of its chest.
"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, WHAT IS THAT THING?! SHOOT IT SHOOT IT SHOOT IT!"
Most of the team took one look at the thing and let loose, firing every round they had into the artifact. Most missing wildly. The woman who had screamed was the worst of all, hitting the van more frequently than the open air.
Jay looked curiously over at the one member of the team he had thought wouldn't fuck it up.
Can't I have one person that can do this job? Just one?
"Its a dog! Problem Agent Rona?"
"I don't do dogs!"
"Karen, we knew from the start that intel said it looked like a wolf!"
"I'm fine with wolves! I don't do dogs!"
Jay blinked twice and rubbed his eyes. "…I think I'm getting a headache."
The Cart took a leap forward and easily bit through the van's bumper, leaving a jagged hole behind.
"Whoa, shit, shoot it! That is an order from your superior Agent Rona! SHOOT THE DAMN DOG!"
Three of the four agents in the back opened fire on the artifact, while Kevin stared mutely at it.
"Kevin, what the hell! Shoot the damn thing!"
"But…you said…"
"SHOOT IT! Don, do something, blow it up, I don't care! Charlie, get us out of here!"
"Sir, this old thing can only go so fast!"
"Then make it go faster! That thing is gaining!"
The Cart got closer still, panting heavily but gaining with each step. It lunged again, snapping at the members of the team.
"Shit! Keep shooting!"
Don started pulling pins and throwing grenades randomly, hoping to hit something, anything that would slow the Cart down. The street quickly became pocked with craters from his seemingly endless supply of explosives.
"Uh…oops. Flashbang! Look away!" he yelled a moment too late.
Jay, partially blinded by the intense light, turned towards the front of the vehicle to try and recover.
"Shit Charlie, watch the bridge!" Their driver had apparently fared little better than the rest of them, having seen some of the flash in the van's rearview mirror.
"Bridge? Shit, BRIDGE!"
The van broke through the guard rail and plummeted thirty feet into the water below, the group in the back saved only by death grips on the nearest solid objects.
The last thing Jay saw through the open doors was a metallic net cover the Cart and men in full gear swarm it, quickly subduing it.
Ten minutes later, Jay, along with the rest of his team, washed up on the opposite bank of the river.
From across the river, a different van could be seen pulling away. The words Safely Capturing lost Pets could be faintly seen stenciled on the van's side.
"Everybody okay? Report in!" Jay spluttered.
"We lost the dog, so I'm good."
"Lost the van, but I'm good."
"Lost the grenades, but I'm good."
"Saved the gun, but I think I broke my leg."
"Oh good. We're all alive. Anyone have a working radio?"
Charlie reached into a waterproof pouch around his waist, pulled out a slightly smashed radio, and handed it to Jay.
"SAC come in, this is J- Team Alpha reporting on the status of the op. Do you copy? Over."
"Team Alpha, this is SAC. We copy. What is your status? Over."
"We need an extract. We lost the van and most of the equipment. But we almost had it. We were literally right on top of it. Over."
"Sure you were. We'll have an extraction team to your location ASAP. Over. SAC out."
Aaron Jay sighed again, looking at his bruised and battered team.
Well, at least I got a "yes sir," he thought ruefully.
"State your name for the record, please." The voice echoed through the vast space, amplified by the microphone.
"Um, Dr., um, Dr. Robert Feldon, sir," he said into the microphone timidly. It was the first time he could ever recall being timid. Usually, he was the one with the booming voice, echoing out from on high in a dark room.
Of course, this room was hardly dark, in fact it was illuminated as well as or better than some of the rooms in the facility Feldon had worked at before the Masquerade failed. And the man, or rather men and women, accusing him were only slightly higher than him.
He observed the group before him carefully, looking, as he had in the past, for weaknesses, for fears, for anything he could use to his advantage.
They stared back with same expression.
Feldon began to sweat.
"And your former position with your past employer, Dr. Feldon?" the man in the middle spoke again.
Balding, slightly corpulent, dark clothing, glasses. A dead stare. The same expression many had thought Feldon once wore at similar times. Except that Feldon was slightly younger and more fit. Completely bald, but in his former line of work, that could only be expected.
Feldon cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone again. "Former head of the Foundation's Ethics Committee, sir. Before it was phased out to this body, sir."
"And how long have you held this position?"
"For the past seven years, sir."
Despite himself, Feldon heard a bit of pride creep into his voice and inwardly cringed. A quick glance confirmed his suspicions. They had heard it as well and were less than pleased.
The group murmured a moment before a glance from the man in the middle quieted them. He seemed to be the man in charge, and would presumably lead the entire hearing.
"…I see. And for how many of these…SCP objects…were you involved in devising the 'Containment Procedures,' Dr. Feldon?"
"Well, that depends on what you mean by 'involved' actually. Do you mean objects in whose containment and research I was personally involved before my appointment to the Ethics Committee, or do you mean objects in whose containment procedures I was involved in the approval or revision of following my appointment to the Ethics Committee?"
"Answer the question, please."
"Right," said Feldon, looking somewhat nervously at the other, silent members of the panel, "Um, at a guess, something close to, um, 435. Maybe 437."
"Any particularly…notable…procedures, Doctor?"
"To be honest, sir, they all start blending together after awhile. And when you consider all the information I've been privy to that is above even your paygrade, it's little wonder I remember no specific procedures. Sir."
Shit, why was he back-talking this group, the people that determined his future? thought Feldon.
"Yes, well, that is subject to change. Very shortly, we should have access to all the information. As the UN New Committee on the Ethical Containment of Anomalous Objects, Events, and Creatures, we will require knowledge of all that the Foundation contained and is currently containing. Procedures deemed unethical will be revised. If no revision is possible, containment on the object will cease. If the object itself is deemed inherently inimicable to human life, it shall be destroyed without exception."
Feldon privately wondered how many of them would be left on the board after they discovered some of the Foundation's blacker secrets. Things only the former O5 Command and the Ethics Committee were cleared to know.
"Doctor, please, the question."
"I'm sorry, sir. Could you repeat the question please?"
"Were you involved in the containment of objects numbered, 453, 231, 158, 239, or any objects classified as 'humanoid' by your former employer?"
Feldon looked away, wishing he could lie and deny any involvement.
"Yes. Inevitably, all the members of the Ethics Committee were at some point involved with a humanoid object. We did our best to reduce the object's discomfort while keeping it contained. He or she, I mean."
"You are aware, Doctor, that most of your humanoid containment procedures violate many laws in many countries, I trust?"
"We didn't have a choice! If we hadn't, the world could have ended!"
"Doctor, the general populace still has little knowledge of what your organization terms 'reality benders'. As such, it is thought by many to be highly unlikely that a pregnant woman or a young child could possibly destroy the world. Have you any evidence to the contrary?"
"Plenty, said Feldon, beginning to move from the stand at which he had been placed before realizing the two rather large men that had accompanied him in wouldn't let him walk around, "Prior to my time as head of the Ethics Committee, I observed testing involving SCP-239. During testing, I saw 239 shift entire rooms in a secure Foundation facility to suit her liking. In this case, a giant doll house. This wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't also shifted the personnel in the rooms into life-size, animate ragdolls, complete with their memories and personalities. When told she had to turn everything back, she told the head researcher to, and I quote, 'go away, butthead'. I trust I don't have to explain what happened to the poor man's head, but suffice it to say, he went away. Walked out the door and disappeared. Eventually, she got tired of playing with her 'dolls' and they simply vanished as well. This was one incident out of many and this was by far one of the least serious."
"And the woman you designated SCP-231?" asked the man in the center, already disapproving of an answer that hadn't yet been voiced.
"Sir, there are some things no one wants to know. I assure you that is one of them."
"So you consistently subject a human being to something so horrible you won't speak it aloud or commit it to paper, and you see nothing unethical in this?"
"Oh, I see plenty that is unethical about that…by conventional ethics, at least," he said with a grim smile, "You see, what most people don't realize about SCP-231 is that it isn't a single pregnant female. What everyone in the general public knows about SCP-231 is, in fact, incorrect. The general public, and frankly most of the enlightened public, yourselves included, are unaware that SCP-231 is actually designated SCP-231-7. She is the seventh and last of the women we contained with the SCP-231-X designation. The others all died. They died either due to a break in the containment procedures we designed, by their own hand, or by our attempts to remove the…fetus. On one occasion, SCP-231-1 actually did give birth. The resulting incident caused hundreds of casualties. Were you aware of this, sir?"
The panel remained silent, absorbing the information.
"And were you aware that each fetus has had the potential to cause or has caused more catastrophic damage than the last?"
The panel sat silent still, fidgeting slightly. The bald doctor now had the upper hand.
"You can all fact check me when you have clearance, as trite as that sounds."
The panel looked uncomfortable for a moment more before the man at its center spoke again.
"Doctor, this body will determine that for itself. Even taking into account what we now know about what your organization termed 'reality benders,' we find it hard to believe that any being under the age of ten has enough to power to, as some of your peers have put it, 'vaporize my head' despite the information you have provided. Additionally, whatever the hell you're doing to the person that you have objectified as 231 will stop as soon as this body has the official power to do so."
But they were a little less sure, a little less full of themselves, Feldon could see it. He felt the power shift in the room. This was his stage now.
"Very well…sometimes seeing is believing. But if you find out you are wrong, what then do you intend to do?" he asked smugly.
"Dr. Feldon, this hearing is not about what we as a body intend to do. This hearing is about you and your peers and your decidedly unethical treatment of many human beings of many nationalities. As such, this avenue of discussion is closed. Is that understood?"
"Of course. Do you have any further questions?"
"Do you contain anything that doesn't destroy the world?"
"Well, we have a two-person llama costume wearing galoshes. Before we took it into custody, it was being used as a psychic-dissociative recreation, but then its users overdosed and died."
"…what?"
"Never mind. Any further questions?"
"Yes. To the extent of your knowledge, do any of the containment procedures you've authored or revised contain intentional harm to human beings?"
"…yes."
The panel as a whole frowned at this.
"And do any of the containment procedures you've authored or revised place other human beings in danger?"
"Yes. But we—"
"And do any of the containment procedures you've authored or revised involve cruel or unusual treatments of human beings?"
"…define 'cruel and unusual'."
"Doctor, that statement in itself is enough to convince this panel that you are of questionable moral judgment. Your actions have been, by your own admission, unethical."
"So, in light of this, in light of the possible deaths of hundreds or thousands or more, that could be caused by one of the entities we contain, what is ethical? What is right and wrong? What is cruel and unusual? Are you prepared to ask these questions every day for the rest of your time?"
The panel was silent for a long moment again.
"As the Ethics Committee, were you not trusted to keep the Foundation ethical? In this, you failed."
"You think I failed? Wait until you know. You'll want me to come back, to take your jobs from you."
"Because of your statements Doctor, let it be known this committee is recommending that you be permanently dismissed from any work with the Foundation in its current iteration. Additionally, we are recommending a full psychological evaluation in an institution of our choice. Should any problems be found, treatment, regardless of length, is mandatory. Remove him."
Two large men, the ones who had brought Feldon into the room, escorted the former Ethics Committee head out of the room to a waiting vehicle that would take him to a mental institution, one of many that former Foundation employees were being sent to regularly following the new necessity of following international laws.
The man who had served as the head of the panel looked at the members gathered alongside him.
"Bring in the next one."
.
.
.
.
Two weeks later
HEADLINE: FORMER FOUNDATION "ETHICS"
COMMITTEE HEAD RELEASED, RETURNED TO
SERVICE
May 10, 2014
Today, Dr. Robert Feldon, the former head of the Foundation "Ethics" Committee was released from the institution he was placed in following the UN Committee hearing two weeks ago and restored to his former position. The majority of the panel declined to comment on their decision to repeal their choice and return Dr. Feldon to his former position, replacing panel and Committee head Gregory Rexin as leader of the UN New Committee on the Ethical Containment of Anomalous Objects, Events, and Creatures.
When questioned, Rexin said only, "In this world, this world in which everything we know is turned upside down, what is ethical? What is right and wrong and how do we define cruel and unusual?"
Further comment was declined. Cont. pg. 2A ETHICS.
THESE ARE COMPLETED WORKS THAT,
FOR SOME REASON OR OTHER FAILED.
PLEASE NOTE THAT THESE MAY ALSO BE
BEING REWORKED AND WILL BE LABELLED
ACCORDINGLY.
Air.
AIR.
AIR.
His head broke the surface of the freezing water, hope flaring briefly in his heart before dying again. He was still trapped in this frozen hell. Below him lay a cold, dark, and airless world. Above him was the realm of light, warmth, freedom, and life. Between the two was a sheet of ice, oddly bubbled and distorted, creating air pockets like the one he was in.
He took a deep breath and dove again, hoping against hope to find a weak spot or even a hole the next time he came up.
Cold. So cold. The water was freezing, but his strokes, strong and steady, helped keep the worst of the bite at bay. Faintly now, but stronger before, he could feel the current relentlessly tugging at him, pushing him off course, if he truly had a course; it was almost pitch black beneath the water, visibility reduced to a few feet at best.
He thought back to how he had come to be in this predicament.
The snowball smacked against his head as a high laugh, pure as a bell, floated through the still, chilly air.
"Got you again Marc! You'll have to do better than that!"
He quickly scooped up a handful of the snow around him and threw it back at her.
"I let you have that shot and you know it Lire!"
She laughed again, smiling broadly at her fiancé.
She looks beautiful, Marc thought, even layered in coats and sweaters…but doesn't she always?
He smiled back, loving every minute with her…even if meant getting snow down his shirt, between the jackets. He ran at her, tackling her to the ground. The two rolled in the once untouched snow, enjoying their brief respite from the craziness that life had been for them lately.
Air.
AIR.
AIR.
His head again broke the surface of the water, wishing he had seen light above, or even that the ice was thin enough to break. He had tried earlier, the first few times he had found one of these air pockets, and had quickly learned how to tell when the ice was too thick to break.
The current was stronger here, and the water slightly colder. At least it was a change. It took more effort to keep himself in one place. At least it kept him warm. Another deep breath and he was on his way again.
If he kept swimming in one direction, he'd find the shore eventually. It was a small lake…
The two were walking, hand in hand, through the snow. All around them was pristine, untouched snow, coating the woods, weighing down boughs and reflecting the sun in millions of directions.
It was beautiful.
"The wedding is only a couple of months away…can you believe it?" asked Lire, her breath fogging out in the chilly air.
"No, I can't…but I can't wait either," he replied with a broad smile. To spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved? He could see no other way.
"Do you know that when I asked you to marry me, I was afraid you'd say no?" he asked.
She stopped them in a small, sunlit clearing and turned to him. "Why on earth would you think that?"
"I…don't really know. I guess I just…never expected anything like this to happen. Well, to me, at least," he laughed.
"Well, don't worry about that anymore…nothing can stop us now!"
They stood still for a few minutes more, silent and content in the silence before moving on.
"Do you want to go to the lake? Slide around a bit before we have to head back home to get ready for my parents?" asked Lire.
I can't remember ever being this cold, he thought as he swam.
Everything burned with a cold fire, his legs, his arms, his shoulders, his lungs, everything. A pity that fire wouldn't keep him warm.
He couldn't feel his feet, his fingers, his nose…he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, getting a little slower, a little more unsure.
I will NOT die here. Not today.
Tiredly, he stroked upwards towards a patch of light, hoping for air, longing for escape.
The lake wasn't this big. Was it?
The lake wasn't really a lake, so much as it was a larger pond. Everyone just called it a lake. Old habits die hard. It was the biggest body of water around, and it froze in the winter, so it made for really the only place to do much in the way of winter sports.
The two of them slid around on the ice almost effortlessly, even without skates, enjoying the spontaneity of the day, enjoying each other's company.
The sun sparkled off the ice, blinding them, but at the same time amazing them. They knew, of course, that it was just refracted light…but even the simplest of things can be amazing, depending on the person with whom you experience them.
"Lire…what do you think about the Bahamas for the honeymoon? Lire?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. The Bahamas are fine."
"…you okay?"
"Yeah. I just…I can't believe we're almost there, y'know? Like…we've come so far, but this is really only the beginning."
"I know. I know how you feel…it's crazy. But you're right, and it's just the beginning. We'll be fine."
The two slid to a stop, facing each other for a long moment. Marc leaned in slowly, tilting her face up to his.
CRACK.
The ice shifted below them, spiderweb-like fractures radiating out from under them.
"Shit, Lire MOVE!" he shoved her hard, sending her sliding across the ice, away from the majority of the cracks.
Before he could move, the ice gave way and he plummeted into the depths below.
"MARC!"
"The lake, pond, whatever, is nowhere near this big," thought Marc as he floated in another air pocket, "What the hell is going on?"
He hadn't frozen yet…but time was running short, he could feel it. He had been swimming for so long, moving from pocket to pocket.
"How the hell does this thing even have pockets? It was perfectly smooth before I fell through…but then again, it was light up top when I fell through as well…"
He only had time for a few more tries. He could feel his heart stuttering in his chest.
Another deep breath. Another dive.
Warmth.
Light.
Lire.
.
.
.
.
.
Air.
AIR.
AIR.
Or maybe not. I have never figured out how to upload an image to wikidot -__-